Arc One: Awakening

Chapter 7: Court of Magic

Almost tripping over his own feet, Bartholomew floundered down the grated steps. He collided with the desk at the bottom and groaned out a pained wheeze, snatching the edge to halt his forward tumble. The legs screeched under the strain as he recouped his balance. Behind him, his personal gateway to Solgarde thrummed, static crackling between the incoming and outgoing streams. In truth, he hadn't been certain it would still operate, but despite the violent clanks and occasional grinds, his creation proved itself capable after all those centuries of quiet.

He locked the portal and skimmed the office, heady, earthy scents streaming through the smashed windows and the faintest breaths of the fiery sunrise roaming about the blinds. Any shred of his existence had since been absorbed by time, metal rusting, wood warping, and the paper of his cherished books and research wilting. Vacant gaps on the shelves and counters collected the least dirt, meagre compartments displaying where his treasures had once been before covetous locals pillaged the place.

Bartholomew snatched a few buried trinkets and stowed them into the pouch on his belt before he wandered out into the brisk morning chill. He pinched his scarf into his collar, steadying himself as quivers bolted beneath the foundations of the planet to announce the turbulent return of the gateways. He analysed the velocity of the shakes and surmised they would soon subside, but what damage they'd spread through Myriad he could only guess.

The route from his solitary hut drove him north through the plains of Celestria. On the way to the capital, he passed through a village resting in ruins. He recognised it as Tiveris, formerly a tranquil town of miners and farmers. Barely anything remained. Skeletal timbers hung from the surviving structures and the once vivid grass shrunk in clumps of sludge. He saw no signs of a struggle or a fight, but the stone steps of the mines had vanished, and he dreaded to consider the unfortunate fate that had befallen the villagers.

After departing the debris, he took the northernmost roads. Paths diverged from all over the plains, concentrating on a central point within the fields and heading for the various gates into Mora. The capital itself advanced along the coastal highlands. Even from that distance, he spotted the trio of bridges linking the two districts. But what surprised him most was the tangle of houses and small buildings compacted along the valley. On his previous visits, a vast river ran between the hills, swelling beneath the stone bridges and rushing towards the harbour where low ships ferried cargo to the inner city. Now it was a town, and a ramshackle one at that.

Arriving at the main gateway, Bartholomew fed the wardens on duty a humble story and passed into the city. Most of the houses and shops had evaded the brunt of the vicious shudders, a few garden fences and the odd corner of a roof crumpled. All repairable with the right skill and a bit of time.

The townsfolk paid no mind to him and worked quickly to clear the rubble, the strongest hauling the larger clumps while the nimbler among them combed the debris for trapped souls. A physician in white almost hit him in her rush, spluttering out an apology before jogging to the wounded patients congregated on the green. Clicker horses attached to wagons clacked their hooves on the cobbles of the promenade and huffed their warnings at him in streams of smoke.

On the outskirts of the commercial district, a grey-bearded man swept scatterings of glass from the porch of his bakery, smeared sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He glared up at Bartholomew as he approached and returned to his task.

"Hello there," the professor said with a warm smile, waving at him until he surrendered his attention with an indignant huff. "I was wondering if you know where I might find a mage called Lilith Cleaver."

With a scoff, the baker lifted himself from the gravel and threw the glass shards into a wheelbarrow. "I couldn't tell you, but what I can tell you is that this is probably all her fault," he growled, gesturing at the disarray. "Foolish girl doesn't know when to quit messing with powers beyond her control."