Your return to the atrium is met with uneasiness. Something is wrong. You can feel it before everyone else, the strange low hum that rumbles beneath your feet. A shiver runs up your spine as the vibrations deepen. The gold veins in the sunstone brighten, flickering a few times before going completely dark.
The other Arcanists in the room begin to notice. They freeze in whatever they’re doing and look around for answers. A few study the walls, pressing their hands against it as if they can feel the physical change.
The Spire is weakening. It’s… hurting.
A sharp pulse of energy rips through the undercroft, the soft trembles strong enough to rock bookcases back and forth. The lanterns and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling sweep to one side and back again at the same time a few relics are thrown to the ground.
And then silence settles. The Arcanists are deathly still, everyone holding their breath as if waiting for another strange occurrence.
You don’t need to turn to know he’s there. And when you do, he’s looking at you, not the room or the lifeless obsidian walls. His eyes are only on you. “Stay where you are,” he orders, tone harsher than you’ve ever heard it.
Your heart clenches tight. Did you cause this? Have you gone from prisoner to executed so quickly?
But he adds just as coldly, “No one leaves the undercroft.” There’s a hint of strain in his tone, fear or perhaps uncertainty.
No one argues with him. No one moves. And neither does he. His attention is still locked on you and you sense there’s something unspoken he wants to relay. A warning or a plea. You can’t be certain.
Clandestine Mystic
You can only think about survival and the best way to do that is to escape. When the next wave of energy rolls out and rocks everything in the room, you don’t wait. Using everything in your power, you quell the very magic inside of you and slip into the shadows. You make your presence, your very existence, gossamer thin in the hopes you can escape.
The Spire’s walls are lifeless and if it weren’t for the fires burning in the sconces it would be pitch black in the corridor you’re sneaking through. It isn’t until you reach the stairs that you remember the relic from earlier. It weighs heavily in your satchel, its purpose a mystery to you, his request to return it to him even stranger.
As you take in the faint, dying sigils along the doorway, guilt grabs you by the throat. You shouldn’t hesitate but you do. For a brief, impossible moment you remember the way he looked at you back in the atrium. The way he looks at you every time he sees you. Not commanding or controlling but concerned.
When you look back down at the relic, you know you can’t leave just yet.
That’s when you sense him. Not just his eyes burrowing into you, but the faint touches of his magic gliding across your skin as soft as silk. His voice is low, breathier than before, “You’re leaving.”
For a moment you think he’s angry about it.
“You should. Before it’s too late.”
You spin around expecting it to be some sort of trap but his pained expression, the tension in his brows, tells you otherwise. It isn’t just the Spire that’s suffering, it’s him as well. He’s connected to it all somehow and before you realize what you’re doing you march towards him.
He shakes his head but he’s too weak to fight you. “Go while the Paladins are distracted.”
“What is your connection to this place?”
He doesn’t respond. He staggers backwards as he looks around for Paladins or whoever else might catch the two of you near the main entrance.
You snap hold of his wrist and the moment you touch him something happens. The walls brighten, not just the gold veins but the dark stone burns white. He takes a sharp breath as if a weight has been lifted off of him. He’s dazed, hardly able to move or say anything. The second you let go, the Spire goes dark again.
You’re shaking, trembling at the surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “What just happened?”
He can’t reply at first. Whatever weight was lifted from him falls back in full force. He drops down to his knees and leans forward until his forehead is pressed into the stone. “You have a talent. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“What talent?”
He shifts, but still doesn’t lift his head. He heaves down a few more breaths before rising up to one knee. “Your very touch can dispel…” His eyes gloss over as if he’s realizing something for the first time.
Arcane Strategist
You don’t panic. You process the way the Spire reacted, the way it’s still reacting. The stone is dark, save for a few flickers of light. There’s a pattern, a divergence in energy. It’s shifting for some reason as if…
“Something’s pulling at the barrier,” you mutter aloud, half-certain that must be the truth.
Quick as lightning, as if he stepped through the very fabric of time and space, he’s crossed the expanse of the atrium to your side. He’s close enough his chest brushes your shoulder. “Explain your reasoning.”
You turn slightly, holding your attention steady with his. “This isn’t an internal problem. Not quite. It’s a redistribution. That must mean the barrier is under strain.” Your brows pinch the more you unravel the mystery. “Another spire somewhere is failing…”
He’s quiet, eyes searching you but not in a way that hints he doubts you. There’s something softer in the way he’s taking in your expression. Admiration? Respect? “You see far more than I ever expected.”
“Then stop keeping me in the dark.”
“If I tell you everything,” he whispers, hesitating as he confesses the truth, “you don’t get to walk away from this.”
You stand taller and clench your fists. “I wasn’t going to.”
His voice lowers, dark and husky, “Stay with me.” He leans closer, his eyes almost predatory in the way he’s looking at you. He locks his hands behind his back, straining against whatever desire is running through him. “If you truly mean your words, then there is much work to be done.”
“Tell me where to start.”
Veil Breaker
You’re not afraid. Even when you feel the force of energy pressing against the Spire and the barrier, you don’t flinch. Your magic stirs to life, a mind of its own, and before you can decide whether or not to act, heat boils beneath your skin. Your power is rising, fast, defensive and angry.
A few of the Arcanists in the room step back, sensing the surge of energy rolling out of you.
But you don’t care. For a split second, beyond the wall of the Spire, you can feel the darkness in all its vastness. And you’re certain that it felt you. There’s a thin barrier separating you from it, and somehow, as your magic seeps out across the room, you feel like any second you could step over.
Then, before you can make your move, his hand is around your wrist. His grip is firm, grounding you to the physical room. “Not here,” he whispers, low and quiet.
You turn sharply to face him, the anger still hot in your chest. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
“Always.”
The word is heavy, the idea that this ominous feeling assaulting the Spire is one he feels all the time.
Courage or perhaps reckless bravery swells inside of you. “Then we should fight it. Let me help you fight this thing.”
“No.” His grip on your wrist loosens enough to move to your hand, softer and gentler than earlier. “You do not fully understand what you’re going against.”
“But you do.” You step forward, your power burning wildly, energy emanating out of you to everyone in the room.
He doesn’t let go. His hold on your hand tightens, but not in anger. In an oddly grounding way, as if he’s not only keeping you calm but himself. “Whatever you do, you must never cross the Veil.”
“The Veil?”
“The barrier between it and us.”
That’s what they call it? The Veil? And you realize then how easy it would be to cross it and face the evil for yourself. It feels just as thin as a veil. Too thin, and too easy to break.
Runic Enchantress
The Spire isn’t in pain, you realize, watching the sigils along the stone walls begin to fade. You sense the agony in the room with you, feel it sharp in your chest. And then you remember the deep bond an Anchor can have to the Spire.
Your head snaps up, searching for him only to find him across the room. Your chest tightens. He’s already looking at you. He felt the emotional assault from the attack but the way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s feeling something else.
You move without thinking, striding across the atrium to his side. For some reason, you’re out of breath, your heart is hammering. “What’s wrong?” You demand, desperate to know what’s happening to him and to yourself.
“Nothing.” His voice betrays him, the strain in his tone is obvious.
You step between him and the other Arcanists, using yourself like a shield. “Don’t lie to me. I can sense it.”
Oddly enough, you find yourself gripping his shoulder, finding comfort in being closer to him. The Spire pulses like a weakening heartbeat, and you feel the same power pulse through him. The more you focus on the energy, the more the world tilts, your mind going foggy.
He gasps, eyes rolling shut and shoulders beginning to sag. He looks seconds away from melting to the floor when he snaps awake. “You shouldn’t…” He steps far enough away to remove your hand from his shoulder. “Don’t take this pain from me.”
“You’re hurting.”
“If you do this,” he replies, voice raspy and dry, “it won’t just be me that’s hurting.” His hand twitches, reaching out for you before pulling back again. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t let you hurt yourself for me.”
“So you’re going to carry the burden alone?”
He drops his head into his hand, staggering back a few more steps to put more distance between the two of you. “That is my curse to bear. I am the Anchor of Sunstone Spire.” He repeats it again and again as if he’s convincing himself that it is the only truth that can exist.
“Who gets to decide that?” You swagger forward, faster than he can back away. “You might be the Anchor but I was brought here for a reason.”
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