Part 1: The Shadow of the Feast
The banquet was at its peak. The Sky-Kin musicians played a rhythmic, airy tune on hollow bone-flutes, and the Eclipse members were indulging in the feast.
Titan was currently in a friendly eating contest with a Sky-Kin warrior, while Sylvia was interviewing a maid about the nutritional value of cloud-wine.
Amidst the laughter, a shadow fell over Elian's table.
An elderly female attendant, dressed in robes of deep indigo, leaned down. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the music.
"The Sky-Father requests your presence. Alone. In the Silent Study."
Elian wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. He glanced at his table. Valen was laughing, Roger was showing off a magic trick, and Isara was sharpening a knife. They were relaxed.
"I'm stepping out," Elian said quietly to Valen.
"Keep the mood light. Don't let them know I'm gone."
As Elian moved toward the side exit, a white blur floated to his side.
"I am coming," Caelum stated softly. It wasn't a question. "The mana shifting around the King is... heavy. You should not be alone."
Elian looked at the blind High Elf, then nodded. "Stay close."
They followed the attendant through a hidden servant's door, leaving the noise of the party behind.
Moments later, the music in the main hall didn't stop, but the King stood up.
"Enjoy the bounty of the wind!" Zephyr announced to the hall, raising a goblet. "I have matters of state to attend to. Drink until the sun rises!"
He swept out of the room, his silk robes flowing like smoke, following the path Elian had taken.
Part 2: The Storm-Prince
They met in a circular room located high in the central spire. It was devoid of windows, lit only by glowing moss embedded in the stone. In the center sat a massive, round table made of polished white marble.
Zephyr entered a moment later. He waved his hand.
HUM.
A translucent dome of wind surrounded the room. The sounds of the outside world—the wind, the dragons, the party—vanished instantly.
"Absolute silence," Caelum noted, impressed. "A vacuum seal."
"For what I am about to say," Zephyr said, his face stripped of the jovial host persona, "the very air must not hear."
The King sat at the head of the circular table. Elian and Caelum took seats opposite him.
"You asked for knowledge, Elian," Zephyr began, his voice grave. "You asked for the secrets of the sky. But the sky is only a curtain.
The truth... lies beneath."
Zephyr tapped the table. "Bring him."
A section of the wall slid open silently.
A figure stepped out. He was massive—taller than Vor'takh, broader than Zephyr. His skin was a deep, midnight blue, and his tattoos didn't just sit on his skin; they pulsed with living lightning. He wore armor made of dragon scales so dark they looked like voids.
Despite his size, he moved with the grace of a dancer.
"This is Thal'dor," Zephyr introduced, pride swelling in his voice. "My son. The Storm-Prince. The heir to the winds."
Thal'dor did not bow. He looked at Elian with eyes that cracked with electric energy. He placed a fist over his heart—a warrior's salute.
"The Slayer of Winter," Thal'dor's voice was deep, resonating in Elian's chest. "I have longed to meet the one who did what I could not."
"He will be King when I return to the sky," Zephyr said. "He must hear this too. It is the burden of our bloodline."
Part 3: The Descent of History
Zephyr stood up. He walked to the wall, away from the table.
"Stand back," the King commanded.
Elian, Caelum, and Thal'dor moved to the edge of the room.
Zephyr pulled a small, jagged crystal from his robe—it looked like a piece of a star. He placed it into a small indentation in the center of the marble table.
CLICK.
The sound was mechanical, heavy.
The massive circular table shuddered. Then, it split into six perfect wedges. The pieces retracted into the floor, revealing a dark, cylindrical pit in the center of the room.
From the darkness of the hole, a central metal pole rose up.
ZZZZT.
Light began to travel down the pole. It started as a white ring at the top, then slowly descended into the abyss, illuminating the walls of the shaft as it went.
"Follow," Zephyr commanded.
A spiral staircase emerged from the walls of the pit, interlocking with the central pole.
They descended.
As they walked down, the light from the central pillar cast long, moving shadows on the curved walls. Elian realized the walls were not bare rock. They were covered in murals.
Ancient, moving murals carved with light-magic.
"Our memory," Zephyr narrated, his voice echoing in the shaft. "Passed down from the First Father, carved into the stone so we would never forget where we came from."
They passed the first tier of carvings.
It showed creatures that looked like Sky-Kin, but they had no wings. They were standing on solid ground, looking up at a sky that was burning with red fire.
"We were not always of the air," Zephyr whispered, tracing the wingless figures. "The legends say we were the Wardens of the Soil. We tended the gardens of the surface."
They descended further. The second mural showed the earth cracking open. Massive, shadow-monsters poured out from the deep crust. The flightless Sky-Kin were being slaughtered.
"But the Great Breach occurred," Zephyr said solemnly. "The earth rot. The things beneath... they were hungry. They consumed the soil."
The third mural showed a massive floating city rising from the ground, lifted by great magical engines depicted as glowing suns.
"The Shapers... the Great Ancestors... they lifted the land to save us," Zephyr explained, interpreting the art as he had been taught. "They tore the Aerie from the ground to escape the rot below. We flew to survive."
Elian looked at the carvings. He saw something Zephyr didn't. The floating islands weren't rising to escape; they were being positioned. They were forming a formation.
"That is why the Four Kings exist," Thal'dor spoke, his voice heavy. "To guard the cardinal points. Winter freezes the rot. Storm burns it. Plague chokes it. Wind blows it away. We are the guardians of the floating sanctuary."
Part 4: The Prophecy of the Spike
They reached the bottom.
It was a small, circular chamber, miles beneath the palace, suspended in the void of the island's underside.
The air here was ancient. Stagnant.
There was only one thing in the room. A pathway made of solid light, leading to a massive stone wall covered in a single, terrified relief carving.
"This is the secret," Zephyr said softly. "The Prophecy of the End, left by the First Father."
Elian walked closer. The light of the pathway illuminated the carving.
It depicted a landscape of ruin. The sky was shattered.
In the center of the mural stood a massive, needle-like object. It pierced the world, stretching from the deep earth into the infinite sky.
To Elian, it was unmistakably the Tower.
But Zephyr did not know that name.
"The Great Spike," Zephyr whispered, fear entering the Sovereign's voice. "The legend says that one day, the Spike will finish its work."
Elian looked closer at the mural.
Standing in front of the "Spike" were figures representing all the races—Humans, Elves, Orcs, Sky-Kin.
They weren't fighting. They weren't climbing.
They were kneeling.
Chains made of light connected their chests to the Spike. The mural showed their essence—their life force—being sucked out of them and fed into the structure.
Above the Spike, in the carving, a single, massive Eye looked down, growing fat on the energy.
"The Shapers told us the Spike holds the world together," Zephyr said, shaking his head. "But the First Father left this warning. He believed the Spike does not hold the world..."
Zephyr looked at Elian, his eyes wide with a horror he didn't fully understand.
"He believed the Spike is eating the world."
Elian stared at the mural. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Zephyr thought it was a religious prophecy about a mythological object.
But Elian knew exactly what it was.
The figures weren't worshippers. They were batteries.
And the Tower wasn't a dungeon to be conquered.
It was a straw, drinking the planet dry.