Lucian POV
The soft glow of the lamp on my desk cast long shadows across the stacks of books
and scrolls piled around me. The faint hum of the city outside my office was a distant
reminder that life carried on, oblivious to the storms brewing beneath their feet—
both figurative and literal.
I leaned back in my chair, the encrypted scroll I retrieved from Cylvana spread out
in front of me. Its faded ink and jagged script seemed to mock me, daring me to
uncover its secrets. Hours had passed, and my eyes burned from the strain of
deciphering its contents.
The mark on my chest pulsed faintly, a cold reminder of the power coursing through
me and the cost it demanded. I pressed a hand over it, steadying myself before
diving back into the cryptic text.
The scroll's language was ancient, fragmented across time like the relics I sought.
"The storm will break where isolation meets eternity," I muttered under my breath,
piecing together the lines. The phrase was haunting, but its meaning was becoming
clearer.
Maps of forgotten lands littered the desk—sketches of distant towers, rough
coordinates of uncharted oceans. One map caught my eye, its edges singed and torn.
A faint marking near the center labeled it as The Tempest Spire.
"A place of eternal storms…" I whispered. The words matched the scroll's
description. The Spire was rumored to stand amidst a raging sea, cloaked in winds
strong enough to shred ships to splinters. Few who sought it ever returned, and
those who did spoke of the tower's tests—trials that unraveled the mind.
I scribbled notes on the side of the map, aligning the scroll's cryptic clues with what
little history remained of the Spire. This wasn't just about the relic; it was another
test, one that would undoubtedly demand more of me than Cylvana.
As I finished marking the map, I leaned back, exhaling slowly. My fingers drummed
against the desk as the reality of what lay ahead settled in. The first trial had tested
my past—my regrets, my mistakes. If Cylvana had taught me anything, it was that
the Goddess of Time had no intention of making this easy.
I rolled the scroll back into its case and tucked it away in my coat. There was no time
to waste. The Spire wouldn't wait for me to find courage, and courage wouldn't come
while I waited.
"Well," I muttered to myself, standing and throwing on my cloak. "Here's to another
test of my sanity."
As I reached for the door, I paused, glancing back at the desk. My eyes landed on
an old novel Lilith used to love, still lying where she had left it. A bitter smile tugged
at my lips.
"This is where novels usually give the hero a moment to gather their resolve, isn't
it?" I shook my head and turned away. "Too bad I'm not much of a hero."
I stepped into the hallway, the shadows of the past still clinging to me as I moved
forward. The Tempest Spire awaited, and with it, the second piece of the Goddess's
game.
As I pieced together the final clues from the scroll, a new sense of urgency settled
over me. The Tempest Spire—a name I had only encountered in the faintest whispers
of old texts—was more than just a location. It was a crucible, a place designed to
strip away facades and expose the truth beneath.
Time wasn't on my side. The world wouldn't wait for me to ponder the risks or prepare
myself further. The storm-ravaged tower awaited, and if it held the second
fragment, then every second wasted brought me one step closer to failure.
I wasted no time chartering a discreet airship. The journey ahead would be
treacherous, but hesitation had no place in my plans. With the first fragment
secured, I was prepared to face whatever trials the Tempest Spire demanded. Or
at least, I told myself I was.
The airship groaned under the strain of the raging winds, each gust threatening to
rip the vessel apart. I stood at the bow, gripping the railing as the storm surrounded
us, a vortex of chaos stretching far beyond the horizon.
The pilot, a grizzled man with more scars than teeth, barked commands to his crew.
"This ain't natural!" he yelled over the howling wind. "The storms around here got a
mind of their own!"
I ignored him, my focus locked on the faint silhouette of the Tempest Spire in the
distance. It pierced the heavens like an obsidian dagger, its surface illuminated by
the flicker of lightning. The closer we got, the more oppressive the storm became,
as if the tower itself were alive, repelling anyone daring to approach.
A surge of power pulsed through the mark on my chest. I grimaced, clutching at the
spot as the sensation coursed through me—a cold, invasive energy that fed off my
anticipation. It had been growing stronger ever since Cylvana, like a parasite thriving
on my progress.
"Lucian!" the pilot called, stumbling toward me as the deck tilted violently. "We're
not gonna make it much closer! The winds'll tear this thing apart!"
I turned to him, the weight of my presence silencing whatever protest he might've
had. "Get us as close as you can," I said, my voice cutting through the storm like a
blade. "I'll handle the rest."
The man hesitated, but a flash of lightning illuminated my expression, and he quickly
nodded, retreating to his post.
The storm intensified, rain lashing against the deck in sheets. Waves towered like
mountains below us, their peaks frothing with a violent hunger. The Tempest Spire
loomed closer now, its details becoming clearer—twisted spires of stone and
weathered glyphs glowing faintly along its surface.
The airship groaned again, shuddering as the winds threatened to throw it off course.
I stepped toward the edge, channeling the mark's power through my veins. The
sensation was like grasping a shard of ice, sharp and unyielding, but it responded to
my will.
Raising my hand, I summoned a barrier around the ship—a translucent shield of
crimson energy. The winds screamed as they collided with it, dissipating harmlessly.
The crew watched in stunned silence, their terror momentarily forgotten.
"Keep going," I ordered, not looking back.
The shield held, but each second felt like a battle. The mark thrummed with exertion,
and I could feel its backlash—a dull ache spreading through my chest and limbs. But
I didn't falter. This was nothing compared to what I'd already endured.
Finally, the ship reached the edge of the Spire's base. The winds howled in protest
as I released the barrier, allowing the vessel to drift to a precarious hover.
"This is as close as we can get!" the pilot shouted.
I nodded and turned to the crew. "Stay here. If I don't come back in three hours,
leave without me."
The pilot opened his mouth to argue, but something in my expression silenced him.
Without another word, I stepped onto the railing, the storm lashing at me like a
living thing.
The Spire called to me, its presence a magnet pulling me forward. Without hesitation,
I leapt from the ship, plummeting toward the jagged rocks below.
For a moment, there was only the sensation of freefall—the wind roaring in my ears,
the storm consuming everything around me. Then, I reached out, summoning a burst
of energy to cushion my descent.
I landed on the Spire's slick surface, the impact sending a shockwave through my
legs. Rising to my feet, I looked up at the towering structure. The glyphs etched into
its walls pulsed faintly, as if welcoming me—or warning me.
"Let's see what you've got," I muttered, stepping forward.
The storm raged on, but it felt distant now, like background noise to the true
challenge that awaited within. The Tempest Spire stood silent and foreboding, its
secrets locked away behind ancient doors.
I reached for the entrance, the mark on my chest flaring in response. The trial was
about to begin.
The chamber was vast, the kind of vastness that swallowed sound and made every
breath echo like a thunderclap. At its center stood the pedestal, bathed in faint,
shifting light, the relic fragment resting atop it.
I stepped closer, the weight of the moment pressing on me. The air was thick,
charged, alive with ancient power. I reached out, but before my fingers could graze
the fragment, the pedestal pulsed violently. The light it emitted expanded outward,
enveloping me in an overwhelming brilliance.
I shielded my eyes, but the light didn't fade—it transformed. My surroundings
dissolved into a blinding haze, and when the world reassembled, I wasn't in the
chamber anymore.
Instead, I stood in a place that felt uncomfortably familiar. It was my office—or at
least, a version of it. The walls were cracked and worn, the furniture aged and
battered, as though this space had endured centuries of neglect.
And there, seated behind my desk, was a man I recognized all too well.
My present self.
He looked exactly as I did now, but his demeanor was unnerving. His crimson eyes
burned with a cold intensity, and his expression was devoid of the subtle nuances I
clung to—no flicker of doubt, no trace of guilt. Just unrelenting power and
detachment.
"So, you've come," he said, leaning back in the chair with a smirk that didn't reach
his eyes. "To see what you really are?"
I didn't respond immediately, my gaze locked on him as he rose to his feet.
"You don't like this, do you?" he continued, gesturing to himself. "But this is who you
are now, Lucian. The ruthless, unfeeling machine who does whatever it takes to get
what he wants. Who burns everything in his path and calls it progress."
"Stop," I said, my voice low but firm.
"Why? Because it's true?" he countered, his tone mocking. "Look around you, Lucian.
Do you even know what you're fighting for anymore? Or has the blood you've spilled
drowned out the sound of your own conscience?"
I clenched my fists, my mark throbbing painfully against my chest. "I know exactly
what I'm fighting for," I replied, forcing steel into my voice. "I'm fighting to fix this
broken world. To burn away its corruption and rebuild it from the ashes."
"And how many lives will it take?" he shot back, stepping closer. "How much more
blood will you spill before you realize there's nothing left to save?"
The room seemed to warp around us, the walls twisting and shifting as though
reflecting my inner turmoil.
"You're not me," I said, stepping forward. "You're just a shadow—a distorted version
of who I am."
His smirk deepened, and his form began to shift. His features twisted, becoming
more grotesque and monstrous. His voice grew deeper, reverberating with an
unnatural echo.
"I am you," he snarled. "The you that you're becoming. The you that will stop at
nothing, no matter the cost. Face it, Lucian—you're losing yourself. And this... this is
your final chance to turn back before it's too late."
Energy crackled in the air, the room exploding with light and power as he lunged at
me. I braced myself, summoning every ounce of strength and resolve I had.
"If this is who I'm meant to become," I muttered, the mark on my chest flaring with
crimson energy, "then I'll fight it with everything I have."
The clash was inevitable. Power erupted around us as we collided, the force of our
battle shaking the very foundations of the illusion.
The doppelgänger—no, the shadow of my present self—was relentless. Each blow it
delivered carried the weight of my own doubts, fears, and guilt, magnified and
weaponized. Its strikes were precise, aimed not just at my body but at my resolve.
"You think you can fight me?" it taunted, its voice echoing in the warped, surreal
space. "I'm everything you've chosen to ignore, every truth you refuse to admit. You
can't destroy me without destroying yourself."
Its words cut deeper than its blows, but I couldn't afford to falter. The mark on my
chest pulsed painfully, each beat driving home the truth of its words.
But I couldn't let it win. Not here. Not now.
I countered its next strike, forcing it back with a surge of energy. The illusion around
us rippled, responding to our clashing forces.
"You're wrong," I said through gritted teeth. "I may carry the weight of my sins, but
they don't define me. They drive me. Every drop of blood I've spilled, every sacrifice
I've made—it's all been for something greater."
"And what is that, exactly?" the shadow spat, its form flickering with unstable
energy. "Vengeance? Power? Or is it just an excuse to justify the monster you've
become?"
I lunged at it, channeling all my frustration and determination into a single strike.
The force of the blow sent it crashing back, but it recovered quickly, its crimson
eyes burning with fury.
"This is what you are!" it roared, its form shifting again, becoming even more
grotesque. Its features twisted into a monstrous caricature of myself, its body
crackling with dark energy. "Admit it! You've already lost your humanity!"
"No!" I shouted, my voice reverberating through the space. "I haven't lost anything!
I chose this path, knowing the cost. But that doesn't mean I've given up on who I am."
The shadow hesitated for a fraction of a second, and I seized the opportunity.
Summoning every ounce of power I had left, I unleashed a burst of energy that
engulfed it entirely.
The space around us erupted in light, blinding and overwhelming. For a moment, there
was nothing but the deafening roar of raw power.
When the light faded, I stood alone. The twisted version of myself was gone, its
form reduced to wisps of fading darkness. The illusion around me began to dissolve,
the warped version of my office crumbling into nothingness.
I was back in the chamber, standing before the pedestal. The relic fragment hovered
above it, pulsing softly with a steady, rhythmic glow.
I approached it cautiously, my chest heaving with exhaustion. As I reached out and
took the fragment, a strange warmth coursed through me. The crystalline hourglass
was light in my hand, its sands shifting gently with a hypnotic rhythm.
It wasn't just a relic; it was a symbol of balance—a reminder of the delicate line I
walked between who I was and who I might become.
The chamber began to quake, the ancient structure reacting to the relic's removal.
I turned and made my way toward the exit, the weight of the fragment heavy in my
grasp.
This trial had tested my resolve, forcing me to confront the truth of my present
self. But I had emerged stronger, more certain of my path.
As I stepped out into the stormy skies surrounding the Tempest Spire, I knew the
journey was far from over. Two relics down. One to go.
And I was ready for whatever came next.
The storm had begun to die as I stepped out of the Spire. The winds, which had
howled and screamed like angry spirits when I entered, now whispered in uneasy
surrender. The rain still fell, but the droplets felt lighter, almost hesitant, as if they
too had been subdued by what had just transpired.
In my hand, the relic fragment pulsed softly, an hourglass of crystalline sand that
shifted without rhyme or reason. It felt warm, alive even, as though it recognized
me. Or maybe it judged me. I couldn't tell which, and I wasn't sure I cared.
The trial still lingered in my thoughts, replaying itself over and over like an unending
echo. Seeing myself—what I am now—through the eyes of everyone I've hurt,
everyone I've betrayed… it stung in a way I didn't expect. It wasn't the accusations
that cut the deepest; it was the truth I couldn't deny.
Was I losing myself? Or had I already lost everything and just refused to admit it?
I tightened my grip on the relic, the faint glow of its core spilling through my fingers.
It felt heavier than it should've, like the weight of it matched the responsibility I
was forcing onto myself.
The ocean stretched endlessly before me, dark and wild, with no clear horizon to
separate it from the stormy sky. For a moment, I stood there at the edge of the
precipice, staring at it. I wanted to say the chaos out there reflected the chaos
inside me, but honestly, it didn't.
No, what churned within wasn't chaos. It was purpose. It was focus. And no amount
of doubt or guilt would change that.
The Spire groaned behind me, its ancient walls giving in to the power it could no
longer contain. I didn't bother turning to watch it crumble into the sea. It had served
its purpose, and now it was just another ruin.
Two relics down. One more to go.
I glanced at the glowing fragment one last time before slipping it into my coat. The
storm picked up again, almost as if the Spire's collapse had reignited its fury. I let
it rage around me as I started back toward the airship.
The questions from the trial still whispered in my mind, and I knew they'd follow me
for a while. But I wouldn't let them slow me down.
The world has a funny way of testing your resolve when you're close to changing it.
And I wasn't about to let it win. Not when I'd already sacrificed so much.
Let the storm rage. Let the doubts linger. Let the world crumble if it must.
I'll bend it all to my will. Or I'll burn it to ash trying.