The Tears of Kas̆dael

“Tonight? Why not wait till tomorrow? We could rest up and be better prepared for any conflict.” Although Ihra was the one to object, Jasper agreed with her wholeheartedly.

But Aphora shook her head. “With the creatures disposed of, there will be no fighting. No, I will not wait any longer - there is a fortuitous grouping of stars in the heavens above. Sleep for a few hours, if you must, but we will enter the Tower tonight.”

Back in the temple, he washed himself off in the pool of water. By the time he was done scrubbing himself, a layer of silt lay on the pool floor, but no amount of scrubbing could rid of the icky feeling that he had just been covered in bat poop. Joining the others in the lower sanctuary, he sat down and begin to meditate. They had “killed” more than a few monsters over the last few days, and he was sure he must have gained at least a few levels. I am the river...

Jasper Welles (45)

Level up available: x7

Exp: 375/2000

Health 1000

Stamina 1360

Essence 1700

Heritage(s)

Greater Djinn

Class(es)

Acolyte of the Secret Flame

Titles

The Blood Runs True

Betrothed of Kas̆dael

Survivor

Stats

Racial Traits

Class Abilities

Weapon Skills

Strength 30

Born of Flames

Sacred Star II

Improvised Weaponry I

Endurance 30

Uplifted

Purge

Sling V

Vision 20

Locked

Eternal Night II

Glaive V

Inspiration 47

Locked

Fiery Shackles II

Willpower 48

Seraph Burst

Charisma 20

He was disappointed, albeit not surprised when he saw that he still hadn’t reached level 60. I guess I'm not getting a new spell today. The real question was what to do with the twenty-one stat points. Five were already spoken for - he wanted to level inspiration and willpower up to at least 50, but he was unsure if he should just invest the remaining sixteen there as well or put some points somewhere else.

His eyes lingered on endurance. Jasper still hadn’t picked up a stamina spell yet, but he would definitely end up with some in the future, so he probably shouldn’t ignore the stat; plus, extra health was always a good thing. Decision made, he raised inspiration and willpower to 53, and dumped the rest into endurance.

When his points had been invested, a box popped up.

New Skill

Due to killing more than a hundred undead with a precise strike to the heart, you have formed a new skill.

Heart Stopper (Undead) - Destroy the final shackles of life by crushing the heart of an undead. Cost: 200 stamina. Restriction: requires dagger or sword to activate.

He frowned as he read the restriction. Damn it - that dagger isn’t mine! Still, even if the skill was a bit niche, it was hard to complain about a freebie. Just need to buy me one when we get back to Gis̆-Izum.

Jasper Welles (52)

Level up available: x0

Exp: 375/2000

Health 1200

Stamina 1720

Essence 2040

Heritage(s)

Greater Djinn

Class(es)

Acolyte of the Secret Flame

Titles

The Blood Runs True

Betrothed of Kas̆dael

Survivor

Stats

Racial Traits

Class Abilities

Weapon Skills

Strength 30

Born of Flames

Sacred Star II

Improvised Weaponry I

Endurance 40

Uplifted

Purge

Sling V

Vision 20

Locked

Eternal Night II

Glaive V

Inspiration 53

Locked

Fiery Shackles II

Dagger III

Willpower 53

Seraph Burst

Charisma 20

Heart Stopper (Undead)

He took one last look at his stats before reluctantly accepting Kas̆dael’s embrace.

With a sigh, he threw himself back on the bed. Pulling a pillow over his face, he was swiftly carried off to dreamland. Jasper found himself standing on a beach. The sky was dark, without a trace of light except for a crescent moon that hung low over the face of the waters. The crescent was unlike earth’s moon, lying on its side as if it was a boat sailing across the seas.

The sand beneath his feet was black, coarse and gritty, and the half-frozen beach was littered with sharp shards of obsidian. A relentless cold wind pounded against his back, and his cheeks burned as his eyes watered. In the dark clouds hanging over the sea, he could see the faint shadows of the Spectral Spiders, spinning their webs over the quick and the dead.

But it was the sea that demanded his attention. Its black waters stretched as far as the eye could see, the whole image preternaturally still and utterly mesmerizing. Not a wave, not even a ripple marred the surface of the dark waters. His eyes were glued to the dark mirror of the heavens, and he was unable to drag them away as the certainty grew within him that the waters were alive and watching him.

As the thought crossed his mind, a keening wail broke through the still night. The winds that pressed against his back turned into a gale, stirring up great clouds of sand along the beach. But the sea still did not stir.

Then the winds ceased and a terrible silence fell. As Jasper watched the reflection of the moon in the dark waters, it slowly changed. A woman stepped out, dressed in an all too familiar black gown. Kas̆dael. She carried the black dodecagons in her hand and cast them over the sea. They skittered across the surface of the waters as if it was ice. She frowned, examining the results, and cast again.

He watched as she cast the dice over and over, never once glancing in his direction. Time seemed to stretch, weeks or months passing by in an unending dream until finally, she cast the dodecagons one last time. A smile crossed her lips as she examined the results, and she turned her gaze to him. He trembled beneath the weight of her stare, and when she spoke, a ripple broke across the face of the placid sea. BALAṬU.

The word hit him with the force of a hurricane, and he found himself thrown back onto the sandy shores, a burst of pain blossoming in his shoulder as one of the sharp obsidian shards sliced into it.

He awoke with a gasp. Aphora loomed over him, an impatient look on her face. “Get up, it’s time to ascend the Tower.”

He wrenched himself off the cozy bed, a brief ripple of pain pulsing through his shoulder. The pain disappeared as quickly as it came, and he shrugged it off, hurriedly sweeping his belongings into his bag. As the group headed out of the room, the lights dimmed, obscuring in darkness the faint smear of blood left on his sheets.

Aphora’s movements were stiff and controlled as she led their small group out into the hall. A palpable feeling of tension hung in the air, but her eyes burned with a fire that belied her control. “I do not intend to return to the temple after ascending the Tower, so make sure you bring everything with us.”

Ihra and Jasper slipped into the armory, gathering their three mounts, and the group preceded up the ramp to the temple. “Is there a safe spot to stable our mounts, Lady Aphora?”

“We will bring them into the Tower with us - they should be safe enough there.” The group crossed the dark plaza in silence, no one in the mood to chat. A crescent moon glowed bright overhead, surrounded by the host of heaven that shined with a brightness that Jasper had never been able to see on earth. He studied the stars for a moment, futilely looking for any sign of the constellations he once knew, but there was nothing.

Winding their way around the sinkhole, they finally reached the gates of the Tower complex. The five towers scratched the heavens, their walls gleaming with stolen moonlight. As Jasper got closer to the central tower, it seemed to grow with every step he took, soaring higher and higher into the sky, like an angry fist raised against the gods.

The doors opened before them, sliding apart without a hint of sound as they walked up the waterfall of stairs that spilled out from the Tower’s entrance. The gateway glowed with an arcane light, and when he passed over the threshold there was a sense of pressure, as if the Tower sought to bar his way.

But he pushed through and gaped in astonishment at the sight before him. Snowy mountain peaks stretched out before him, a thin trail running along the upper edge. But there was no sign of Als̆arratu.

“Leave the horses here. We’ll have to go on foot.” Aphora didn’t wait for acknowledgment, setting out across the snow with a surefooted stride. Her feet barely sank into the drifts, and she soon disappeared from sight in the swirling flurries. They hitched the mounts as best as they could to an old tree stump and followed after her.

The snow was deep, three feet high or more in most places, which made their progress slow. Aphora’s faint tracks were soon covered up by the howling winds as they trudged along the tiny trail. Jasper kept his eyes forward, studiously ignoring the perilous drop-offs on either side, as he focused on just putting one foot in front of another. Their impromptu hike dragged on endlessly, but they were finally rewarded when a shape loomed through the flurries.

Another tower rose before them, its sides black as night. The tower swelled up from the rocks below, its surfaces entirely smooth and seamless, as if the tower had somehow been birthed by the mountain itself, not made by the hands of man. The door stood open and they hurried in, shaking the drifts of snow off their shoulders.

Jasper was somewhat surprised to see that the tower really was just a normal tower. The glassy black walls provided a welcome relief from the bitter winds as he scanned the empty interior. There was nothing inside the tower - no furniture or decorations, no windows or doorways, and, more importantly, no sign of Aphora.

The interior was hollow, the ceiling stretching far above them, although it seemed to stop short of the tower’s peak. There must be a room up there. He scanned the walls for any sign of a stairs or ladder but saw nothing. The only thing of note was a large, circular mural on the floor.

“Take a look at this.” The mural depicted a crescent-shaped boat sailing across a placid sea. A horned lady sat at the prow, stars shining around her head in a halo. “Is this the Lady of Yammaqom?”

Ihra examined the mural for a moment. “Maybe? Normally there’d be waves on the sea, but it looks similar to the small shrine my brother worshipped at.” She stepped onto the mural to get a closer look and placed her hands on the crescent boat.

Her face lit up as she felt the faint warmth of the stone beneath her fingers, the rock crying out for sustenance. “I think this boat is made of moonstone - try pushing some essence into it.”

Jasper joined her and, bending down, fed a trickle of essence into the mural. The moonstone greedily devoured his essence, pulling it out of him at a far faster rate than he intended as the entire mural begin to shine brightly. A click echoed through the empty room, and the mural slowly lifted up from the floor, rising up towards the ceiling.

They soared through the air, the platform gaining speed as they climbed higher and higher into the tower. As they approached the ceiling, the platform showed no signs of slowing down. Jasper eyed it nervously as the sudden fear that it might have been a cunning trap sprang into his mind. But his fear was for naught. At the last moment, the ceiling opened just wide enough to accommodate the platform. The walls sealed behind them, and with the screech of grinding stone, the platform was locked in place.

The abrupt halt threw them to the ground, but as he stood up, Jasper could see that they had reached the top. The tower was closed on three sides, but an arch on the fourth side opened out onto a large parapet. The cold winds swirled around the entrance, some gusts slipping inside to buffet them. When he stepped out onto the balustrade, the cold prickle of snow no longer kissed his face. Peering over the edge, the snow still swirling around the lower reaches of the tower, the tower itself somehow having risen above the weather.

The moon hung above them, far larger than he had ever seen it. Divinity filled the air and Jasper's knees buckled as an almost overwhelming urge to fall on his knees surged through him. With a strangled cry, Ihra collapsed to the ground, prostrate before the presence, but somehow Jasper remained standing. At the end of the balcony, Aphora stood in front of something, with her back to him. He slowly walked over to her, calling out to her through the howling winds. "Lady Aphora?"

The elf turned to greet him. The ground beneath her feet sparkled with tiny crystals of ice, no doubt supplied by the tears that streamed down her face. Her right hand fiercely clutched a silver dagger, its handle crafted from a deer’s antlers.

A sense of foreboding swelled within him, and Jasper staggered back a half step. Fear seized his heart as every fiber of his body screamed at him to run. But there was nowhere to run. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Ihra was still bowed low on the ground, not moving. I can't abandon her.

Pushing down his fear, Jasper turned back to Aphora. “What is this place? Why are we here?” His yell was almost carried off by the relentless gales, dispersed into the heavens, but somehow it reached her ears.

She smiled brightly through her tears. “This is the true Tower of Ysagila, a bridge between the heavens and the earth. Please, join me at the altar.”