The sun was obscured by clouds in the sky, and a cold breeze swept through the city. The city was blanketed in snow, a welcome change from the usual scorching heat and sand that typically dominated the landscape. Tharos sat on the roof of a rundown house in the labourers’ district, with his legs crossed. His black hair and tatted cloak were thickly covered with snow, enjoying the cool winter air on his breath and the cooling sensation of snowflakes melting on his skin. It had been years, even centuries, since the city had seen such heavy snowfall, and Tharos relished the change. It was better than just endless days of blistering heat and nights of chilling cold.
Even when the city of Zarbar was full of life and not a blighted, lifeless wasteland, surrounded by grassy plains and fresh water rivers, the temperature and climate were always moderate, aside from the occasional hot or cold snap. Even now, when all life has been sucked away from the land, this cold weather was a refreshing change, and the snow on the buildings made for a beautiful sight. The decaying buildings, for just a moment, glimmered like diamonds; it was as if the city was alive. This sight also reminded him of the several winter festivals he had enjoyed in his youth. While his people didn’t hold seasonal festivals, some of their neighbouring peoples did, like the Muscar, a blue-skinned nomadic mountain people who lived in the northern mountains of Aria. They worshipped the seasons, with winter being the main one. When permitted, he would often attend some of these festivals. Although he wasn’t much into hearty food like they were, there was a certain allure to it, a homely allure that he didn’t often get when it came to his people. His people often lived lives dictated by strict rituals based on caste or station in life, with very few exceptions for those who could bend these rules.
It had been several months since he last visited the archives, and he had spent half of that time poring over the information he had gathered, reading through it with a fervour he had not felt in years. Taking a break from his work, he had spent the past month setting up the city’s more conventional defences, which surprisingly still functioned even after all these long years. For example, the inner gates that were used to separate the city’s various districts could be closed and barricaded. While it wasn’t a perfect solution, it would have to do for the time being, and at least it would make it easier for him to isolate and contain these treasure hunters. However, he knew that trying to activate the city’s magical defences, like the magical barrier or many constructs, such as the golem sentries, that were used in case the city was invaded, would be a challenging task to say the least, without a mage or, most importantly, a mage who was taught how it worked and how to operate it.
I wish Vartark was here at times like this; he would know what to do.
Tharos was knowledgeable in various subjects, but his understanding of the arcane arts was limited, unlike Vartark, who was not only born with the gift to use magic but was also quite talented even by mage standards. Vartark was strong in both magical energy and mind. He could cast even the most powerful spells with little difficulty or drain, and he was intelligent enough to make even the most complex magical formulas seem like mere child’s scribbles. It was a rare combination that was the envy of many. Even the Archmage of the city, Ormazd, as arrogant and proud as he was, had to admit that he was in awe of Vartark’s talent and skill. Although this talent and skill in magic weren’t unexpected, Vartark, like many talented mages, happened to be born in the right place and time and was part of a lineage where magic ran strong. Vartark, in many ways, was destined to be a powerful mage.
He was very much the same, born under specific star signs and into a bloodline with other omens occurring during his birth, such as the alignment of the planets and stars. His life path, interests, and hobbies were all predetermined and meticulously recorded on his life-scroll. Although he was neither destined to be a mage nor a warrior, his destiny was far more modest – that of a diplomat. He was moulded since birth by his elders to fulfil the role the universe had laid out for him, shaping him into the being he was meant to be, or their interpretation of what he was meant to be. Despite their advancements in magic and technology, his people paradoxically adhered to esoteric beliefs such as astrology and mysticism. They believed that every minute detail of a person’s birth carried profound significance, determining their destiny. Personality traits, skills, talents, and career paths were thought to be predestined by fate. While there was some truth to these beliefs, particularly regarding one’s magical affinities, he often struggled with this lack of choice, especially when he was a young boy. Though he might have enjoyed his diplomatic training to a point and had a bit more wiggle room than others due to his family, even then there were some rules that he couldn’t bend or break.
He often questioned and at times even resisted the constant reminders from his elders about his predetermined role in life, much to their chagrin, only to be told when his youthful rebellions had crossed a line.
“The universe has made you this way for a reason, Tharos. You have a purpose to fulfil, and this purpose gives your life meaning.”
Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but wonder if his current situation was either destined by fate or a consequence of his own decisions. Was the future set in stone, everything already decided for you before you even knew it, or was the future like a flowing river that branched off into endless directions based on one’s choices? It was a question that he didn’t have a clear answer to.
Tharos sat down, brushing off the snow from his new breastplate armour and his tattered cloak, and began to carefully polish his new sword. The blade was long, straight, and double-edged, crafted from what he assumed was crude iron, for it certainly wasn’t made of any steel or any other metal that he knew of. It wasn’t even magically enhanced, and while the design of the sword was practical and balanced, perfect for his needs, he would have preferred an intricate elven sword or even a sturdier dwarven sword. In fact, this sword looked like the type of sword some primitive barbarian would use; it wasn’t even sharpened correctly. Even the most backward of peoples from his day knew how to sharpen a sword, although if he thought about it, it could be this sword was dull from overuse, and if that was the case, he had to wonder what was going on in Aria.
After he finished polishing his new sword, Tharos stood up straight and gave it a few test swings. It felt heavy on his wrist, requiring more power behind each swing than he was used to, as Zarbarian swords were much lighter, in some cases as light as a feather, but just as strong as any other sword. After practising with the sword for a while, he sheathed it in its scabbard. Next, he picked up a small, rounded shield made from iron. It looked beaten and well-used, like the sword, followed by two larger, straight daggers. These daggers were different from his usual curved ones that he was used to using. On the plus side, these daggers would be much easier to throw, so that was a tactical benefit that he wasn’t going to ignore. Unlike the sword and shield, these daggers were much nicer and hadn’t seen much use. Lastly, he took a bow, it was a short bow made from Juniper wood, and to his surprise, it was of good quality. Notching a few arrows and doing a few test shots, he found it packed quite a punch. It was going to be quite useful to pick people off from range.
Although these are not up to the standards that I am used to, but beggars can’t be choosers.
He turned his head and fixed his gaze on the sorcerer tower, realising that it would be quite challenging. Through his research, he found what was needed and required to activate these defences. He discovered that in order to activate some of the magical defences, while most could only be activated at the palace, some of them could be activated at the sorcerer tower. He would need to ascend to the top of the sorcerer tower and activate them from there. However, this task was no easy feat. Even when the city was bustling, the sorcerer tower was a perilous place. Its magical traps and defences swiftly dispatched anyone foolish enough to approach without invitation. Those fortunate enough to be killed by these defences were considered lucky, as the unfortunate ones encountered the various creatures bound to the arch-mage’s service. Ormazd, as the arch-mage of the city, was given the tower as his personal workshop, as was his right as arch-mage of the city, where he would do his own experiments, but also monitor the ley lines as well as help deal with any magical anomalies that would happen in Zarbar or in the wider empire as a whole.
He usually avoided that location, not just because of some of the things that happened in that place, but also because he found Ormazd distasteful company. Even now, thinking about Ormazd made Tharos’ face, which was mostly aloof and unmoving, twist into a small scowl, as Ormazd was one of the few people He could say without a doubt he hated with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and Ormazd felt the same about him as well. But the urgency of the situation forced him to take action. If he didn’t activate the defences, the entity lurking beneath the city could escape into the world above. Despite his lack of connection to the current era or its inhabitants, condemning them to a terrible fate didn’t sit right with him. He had to do something even if, in the end, he wasn’t going to be rewarded or thanked for it. However, rushing in recklessly would only result in his demise, and even his extraordinary abilities wouldn’t ensure his survival.
With luck, the defences and traps may have deteriorated over time, but those creatures remain a concern. Tharos shook his head at the thought. What if the creatures I came across in the archives were actually creatures that had managed to escape from the tower?
The idea made him anxious about the contents of the tower, for what fresh horrors spawned from Ormazd’s mind would he find there. But he knew it would be unwise to jump to conclusions without evidence. Tharos stood up, descended from the building he was perched on using a rickety ladder made of rope and loosely attached wooden planks, and walked through the snow-covered streets towards the tower. Unbeknownst to Tharos, a dark figure high above in the cloudy sky was watching him with hungry eyes.
