The air in the archives was stale and thick, like a miasma. Tharos was accustomed to the smell and the sensation of it passing through his lungs, but his new companion was not. The only breaks in the deafening silence of the archives were the slowly rising rumbling sound coming from beneath their feet and around them as the walls of the archives started to quake and shake, or the occasional coughs coming from Cenric as centuries of dust passed through his lungs. As they ran down the vast network of winding corridors, hallways, and stairs, passing through various rooms or chambers, Tharos heard Cenric speak up.
(“Tharos, how long are we going to be down here? I can barely breathe down here.”)
(“Not long, Cenric, we are almost at the room where the old arcane reactor is being stored. Just keep going a little longer.”)
(“Arcane Reactor? What is that?”)
Tharos turned his head to face Cenric, his expression reflecting a shadow of bewilderment in response to the question that Cenric just asked. Back in his day, such a thing was common knowledge. Tharos had to wonder how much has changed in his absence. Has humanity declined so much that such a simple magical device is all but forgotten?
(“Cenric, I know you are just a mere boy of humble stature and origins, but are you really going to tell me that you don’t know what an Arcane Reactor is?”)
(“No, I have never heard of such a thing. What is it and what does it do?”)
(“Well to put it into simple terms Cenric. An arcane reactor takes in the energy of the world around us and converts it into mana. Much like a mage dose.”)
(“I see, so are you going to use this Reactor to cause some sort of explosion.”)
(“You catch on quickly, Cenric. But yes, I will be using this reactor to cause an explosion.”)
(“so how are we going survive this explosion exactly?”)
(“Don’t worry, it will take some time for it to build up the necessary energy to go critical. By the time it’s done, we should be out of the blast zone as long as we keep moving.”)
(“Great more running, you don’t sound So confident about that we going to get away in time.”)
(“Well as you soon will learn Cenric not all plans survive first contact with the enemy.”)
(“You speak from experience, Tharos.”) Cenric asked with a youthful tone, his voice filled with childlike curiosity.
Tharos’s face darkened at the question, the torchlight exaggerating the lines of his face as shadows began to cling to his features. With a sigh, he responded in a voice that carried a tiredness betraying his youthful looks.
(“Yes, Cenric, I do speak from experience. It is my failure that has brought us to this point, and it is my failure that has kept me bound to this world far beyond my natural time.”)
Tharos turned his head towards Cenric and noticed him tilting his head slightly to the side, resembling a dog’s curious gesture. Tharos could sense the confusion,
“Perhaps I should tone it down and keep it simple,” Tharos thought to himself.
(“What do you mean by beyond your natural time?”)
(“Let’s just say I am much older than I look, Cenric, and let’s leave it at that for now.”)
(“Are you like an elf or something Tharos.”)
(“Yes, that is a good way to put it, Cenric. Like an elf.”)
To be honest, Tharos had no idea what he was in his current state. But he didn’t want to alarm his new companion with uncertainty. He wasn’t undead; Tharos was sure about that. He had a pulse, was warm to the touch, and still drew breath. However, he never got sick, nor did he feel hunger or thirst. Sure, he could eat and drink, and it was still quite pleasurable to do so, filling, refreshing even. However, he didn’t do it out of necessity; he did it out of desire. But that was what worried him. Something was fuelling him, keeping him alive, but he didn’t know what it was. Was it his will that was keeping him alive, or was it something else?
(“Speaking of elves, Cenric, is the elven empire still around?”) Tharos wanted to steer the conversation to a different topic to keep his and also figure out what had changed during his absence.
(“The Elven Empire hasn’t existed for hundreds of years, at least according to my village elders. Most elves from what I have heard are living in forests or on floating cities in the clouds if you can believe it.”)
(“I see, is the dwarven empire still around or has that gone as well Cenric.”)
(“yes, Tharos the Dwarven empire hasn’t existed for a long time as well, I heard they have a few mountain holds left or a few cities underground. But outside of that I don’t really know.”)
(“I see, so who is in charge then. Who holds domain in the lands of Aria, who holds supremacy along the races of man. Tell me Cenric I wish to know.”)
(“Well, no one really at the moment, there is a massive war going on at the moment that seems to have no end in sight.”) Tharos could sense Cenric’s apprehension at the mention of the war. Cenric was about to continue, his eyes downcast on the dusty, sand-covered floor as tears started to well up and trickle slowly down his soft cheeks. Until Tharos motioned him to stop.
(“Never mind Cenric, you don’t need to continue on.”) Cenric nodded as he wiped the tears from his face.
“Have things gotten this bad?” Tharos thought to himself, his face darkening at the information. His amber-coloured eyes, which held a faint luminous glow, were momentarily obscured by the flicker of torchlight but then shone brighter for a brief moment. Even though it was basic information through the lens of a child, Tharos couldn’t help but be shocked by the current state of the world. If what Cenric is saying is to be believed, it’s truly alarming. As they continued running going down to the depths of the archives, with the miasma of dust getting thicker, and the shaking of the walls and floors around them growing more and more violent with each passing step. Even Tharos was starting to find it hard to breathe now; he could barely hold back his coughing as the dust passed through his lungs and gathered in the back of his throat.
Tharos’s eyes darted back and forth, scanning his surroundings, searching for the right series of passageways and correct flight of stairs that would lead him to the basement of the Archives where the old eleven Arcane Reactor was stored. It was a gift given to his people by the Elven Empire as a token of gratitude for their efforts in the Eternity War. The arcane reactor was what the elves used to help power their cities and, in case of war, power the magical enchantments and defences. The arcane reactor, although decommissioned and no longer in use, partly due to his people already improving the design shortly upon receiving it. Still had the ability to gather magical energy if activated correctly, the damage he caused to the city’s ley lines may have turned out to be a blessing in disguise. These Reactors were highly sensitive to the flow of energy, and one miscalculation or a massive spike in magical energy could result in damage to the reactor. In serious cases, it could lead to a feedback loop of energy that might cause a reactor meltdown. So far, the conditions were perfect for just that very thing. However, Tharos knew that this was optimistic at best. It would never be easy, so the best he could do was adjust to the circumstances.
As they continued running, they reached the end of a corridor. There, they encountered a massive stone door with sturdy wooden archways reinforced by a faint blue strip of metal. The metal was intricately woven into the archways in a spiral pattern. The stone door was adorned with numerous intricate carvings and symbols. In the centre of the stone door was a stone circle. Unlike the rest of the stone, which was a dark gray colour, this stone circle was pure black with a red outline of a handprint on it. Before standing in front of the door, Tharos turned his head towards Cenric, fixing his gaze on him as if to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say.
(“Cenric, you are to wait out here. I’m afraid you can’t enter this room, as it, and many others down here in the lowest levels of the Archives, are protected by several magical wards and traps designed to repel intruders. Unless you have been granted proper access, you cannot enter. I will only be gone for a few moments. Take this time to catch your breath and rest, for once I do what I am about to do, we will not stop moving until we are safely outside the city limits. Do you understand, Cenric?”)
(“Yes, I understand”) Cenric said as he slumped next to the wall to catch his breath, coughing every now and then as he tried to get the miasma of dust out of his lungs.
(“Good, now keep an eye out. I do not want to get ambushed and overwhelmed at this critical juncture.”) Tharos said as he turned his back on Cenric and walked closer to the stone door.
(“Don’t worry, I will keep my eyes peeled, Tharos,“) Cenric said in response as he directed the torchlight down the corridor. Keeping his eyes focused on the end of the corridor.
As Tharos approached the door, he placed his hand on the stone surface, moving his fingers gently over it. He wanted to remember this sensation, as it would be the last time he would see this place, walk its halls, and breathe its now bitter air. The door could only be opened in one of two ways: by touching the correct combination of symbols along with a passphrase, or by having the blood of the royal family. Since he had long forgotten the combination and passphrase, he had to resort to a different method. Tharos drew a dagger from his belt and swiftly stabbed it into his off hand, letting the blood drip down the blade. He clenched his teeth for a moment as he pulled the dagger out, the wound quickly healing over. With a flick of his wrist, droplets of blood hit the centre of the stone door. As the blood hit the stone door and slowly dripped down to the floor, the symbols on the door and the metal interlaced in the archway started to glow a faint blue hue. The red handprint mark in the centre of the door began to sink and fade into the stone, disappearing from view. A faint hissing noise accompanied by a rush of air could be heard as the stone door started to part ways, allowing the trapped air in the room to escape.
Tharos stepped past the threshold of the stone door and walked towards the arcane reactor. The room was massive, and the arcane reactor even more so. It was a massive metal cube of shining gold and silver with a circular tower-like structure with many lines and arcane symbols carved into it at the centre. In the circular tower, there was a massive mana crystal that was pure blue in colour. In front of the cube, there was an interconnected pedestal with many levers, knobs, and buttons. Tharos walked up to it, his face reflecting a great sense of regret, with a stray tear dripping from his right eye. Regret was a feeling that came naturally to him.
“Forgive me for what I must do.”
Tharos quickly made some makeshift repairs and reconnected the systems that had been disconnected. Once that was done, he pressed a series of buttons in rapid succession, pulled a few levers, and twisted one of the main knobs. As he did so, the machine started to spark to life. However, without a way to transfer or displace the magical energy that was starting to gather, it would quickly reach a critical point, and the reactor would begin to melt down. Tharos even removed the safety guards to speed up this process. He could sense the energy building up, knowing they had half an hour to reach the city limits before the reactor would blow. Wiping a single tear from his face, he turned around and ran out the door. There was no need for words as Cenric wasted no time, quickly getting up and following behind Tharos with all the strength his skinny legs could muster. They ran as fast as they could. The room behind them started to glow brighter with a blue light, with the snap and crackle of arcane energy sparking on the floor. They hastily left the archives, passed the throne room, and headed down the palace stairs. However, what greeted them as they reached the bottom of the stairs was a terrifying sight. Far in the distance on the main road was a mass of twisted creatures and several more faceless metallic figures rushing quickly to their location. There were too many of them for him to take on at once, even with the handicap of protecting Cenric. Plus, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
Cenric, with a tied and panicked expression, looked up at Tharos, hoping for reassurance. However, he found none as Tharos quickly ran in the opposite direction, with Cenric following closely behind. As they sprinted towards the north gate, Tharos felt a sharp pain in his head. Once he regained his focus, he noticed the ground violently moving and quaking. Turning his head, he saw several buildings in the distance behind him and Cenric starting to collapse into the sandy ground below, as if being sucked into a sinkhole. Out of these sinkholes emerged massive, long appendages that appeared to be a blend of flesh and liquid metal. The appendages then started to have massive whip-like tendrils spawn out of them, wrapping themselves around whatever building or structure they could in order to gain hold. Something was digging its way out from underneath the city. However, some of the tendrils started snaking their way towards him and Cenric.
(“Tharos!!”) There was panic in Cenric’s voice. Tharos could feel fear welling up inside himself and Cenric.
However, Tharos didn’t reply, only preparing to draw his sword.
Once again, Tharos had his work cut out for him.
