The fallen City: Chapter Two

It didn’t take Tharos long to reach what he considered his house; well, it was more like a massive tower complex than an actual house. But it was home to him, and at the end of the day, it was a place to sleep and it felt comfortable for him, and that’s all that really mattered. In this city’s heyday, the streets would have been brightly lit by the lights emanating from the windows of many houses and buildings or by lamplights fuelled by magic. Only a small subset of the many inhabitants who once called this great city home preferred to live their lives in the shadows of the moon rather than in the light of the sun. Among these people were weary travellers from distant lands and races unknown to the city’s inhabitants. They included individuals of questionable reputation who lurked in the shadows, often preying upon the naive or gullible. There were also sacred prostitutes, men and women from the various temples dedicated to fulfilling the primal desires of those who sought their services. The desires of the lower soul weren’t something that was unfamiliar to him; in fact, he was all too familiar with them. Although he wasn’t sure he could enjoy such worldly pleasures in his current state, he felt nothing aside from existing in itself if that could ever be described as a feeling one could feel.

His mind and eyes felt heavy with every step, yet he didn’t feel like his lungs were on fire, nor was his heart beating with the speed of a shooting star. This level of exhaustion was unfamiliar to him, even during his youth when his body and mind were pushed to the limits. He spent countless waking days and nights training in the art of war and politics. However, the exhaustion he felt back then paled in comparison to what he was experiencing now. In fact, ever since he had become like this, exhaustion or even feeling tied down was something he no longer experienced. But this was different. It wasn’t the physical exhaustion from exertion or mental exhaustion from deep thought or overuse of his powers. It was a weariness of existence, a tiredness of life that had accumulated over time. However, he thought that a weariness of life itself was a contradiction at best and an unsolvable paradox at worst. Every living person or creature, no matter what they might say, desires to live for as long as possible, right up until their last moments before the light leaves their eyes, their breath stills, and their body slumps to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut. It was a sight he had seen many times, a sight that would bring him both great joy and great sorrow. He recalled the older elves he had encountered during his travels, some of which had lived for untold and unknown millennia, and they had a term for this feeling.

“Elven Grief” was a term that proved difficult to translate accurately into human language. For no human language seemed capable of fully conveying the intense emotions associated with it. Even his native tongue, with all its linguistic complexity, fell short. The emotions that humans experienced paled in comparison to the depth of feelings felt by elves. He wondered if he was undergoing a similar experience, as much about his current condition remained unknown to him. He had lost a significant portion of his strength and found himself bound to the city by a magical barrier. Any attempt to push past this barrier resulted in excruciating pain that felt like being caught in a whirlwind of glass shards, with heavy chains dragging his limbs back to the city. He was trapped, unable to leave.

There is still so much I don’t know. The expression on his face darkened as he absorbed the impact of that fact. Soon, he reached his intended destination. The building in front of him was a tall, multi-story structure adorned with the symbol of a large eye with a black gem in the centre, and outside this eye was a large bird of prey, a Zarbarian plains hawk to be precise, an animal he was compared to in his youth. It was carved into the stone above the main entranceway and surrounded by a walled courtyard. The front of the building featured what was once a lovely, well-tended garden with many flowers and a small water fountain in the centre. The flowers had long since withered, and in the stone fountain, no water flowed, only dust or rusty brown sludge. A stone pathway led to the front door. The back of the building was much wider and longer, with a massive, wide-open space marked only by a stone floor. Like the temple, it was well-maintained to the best of his abilities, given his limited knowledge of practical skills like carpentry. While reading could provide a broad understanding of a subject, there was a certain irreplaceable value in hands-on experience that reading about a subject couldn’t give. In his experience, practical knowledge offered a level of nuance that books alone could not provide. To truly grasp a concept, one had to learn through first-hand experience.

As he pushed open the main door and walked to his room, he passed numerous rooms and corridors in the building. Faint whispers and the sound of chisels on stone tablets or ink pens on parchment filled the air, echoing in his mind. Whenever he tried to locate the source of the sounds, he only found empty hallways and rooms, some untouched for millennia. The only real sounds breaking the silence were his echoing footsteps and soft, slow breathing. He felt a sense of comfort in this building, his home in the city. As he ascended the stairs to his room, he couldn’t help but wonder why this place felt so right to him.

The room was spacious, adorned with wooden furniture and shelves overflowing with books, scrolls, and stone tablets. A large bed dominated the space, while a worn-in chair and desk occupied a corner. By the window on the other side of the room, offering a high view of the cityscape below, stood a large square mirror. In front of it was a desk with buttons, gears, and knobs, and behind it was a wire that ran into the wall. Unlike the one in the temple archives, which had a golden frame and looked fancier. He removed his armour, and as it hit the floor, it made a metallic clang that echoed throughout the building, which would surely have woken anything that was sleeping and visiting the land of dreams. However, nothing stirred, for he was truly alone. He placed his weapons by the bedside and changed into his night robes, revealing his well-built physique. His broad shoulders, well-toned chest, and agile and limber limbs spoke of his skill as a swordsman, something he often received compliments for.

As he sat at his desk, he studied a detailed map of the city, marked with locations and movements. In his mind, he pondered the mysteries of the city and his place within it. There was a pattern to these treasure hunters; they always entered through the south gate, camped near the temple and the sorcerer’s tower. They might be using these locations as points of interest and landmarks.

Perhaps I can leverage this to my benefit, making it easier to ambush them. He thought to himself that this plan should suffice until he could come up with a more permanent solution.

As he worked on devising his next plan of attack, he noticed a tall woman sitting next to him on top of his desk. She had long, curly sandy brown hair, wide and expressive hazel-colored eyes that burned with fire, a refined and elegant face with thick lips, and a slim hourglass body with a shapely, well-endowed frame. She was sitting on his desk next to him, her eyes meeting his. Her hair flowed freely, and instead of a fine silk robe, she wore a plain gray robe that accentuated her figure. It seemed the purpose of the robe she was now wearing was to highlight her figure, to excite and tempt his senses, and inflame his lower soul. She watched him with a warm smile that adorned her face, dangling her legs casually over the desk. He appreciated her smile, though not as much as she seemed to appreciate his. There was something familiar about this woman to Tharos. He felt a warm sensation spreading across his body as he laid eyes on her, as if he knew her. However, he couldn’t pinpoint the nature of their connection. Based on this feeling, he would assume they were close, as this wasn’t the feeling one would get from an acquaintance or a random person in the crowd. It was the feeling one would get from someone they were close to and had an intimate familiarity with. However, he couldn’t recall who this woman was aside from the fact that she was the same woman he saw in the palace, although she was dressed differently. Instead of the rather ostentatious white robe with jewellery she originally wore, this robe was plain in comparison, even though it was just as well-made as her previous robe. The only things that hadn’t changed were her warm hazel eyes and smile.

As he looked at her, sitting on his desk, he reached out his hand to touch her, to feel her just one more time. As he did so, she disappeared in the blink of an eye, fading into the background of the room like a faint shadow of a memory, a memory that he could barely recall. He then noticed the light of the new dawn greeting him as sunlight slowly poured into the room, warming his body and indicating that a new day had dawned. He was unsure of how much time had passed and whether he had rested at all, but the feeling of exhaustion had vanished. This was a mystery he would need to explore further, but for now, he had more urgent tasks to attend to. It was now morning, and he proceeded to dress in his usual attire before heading to the palace. As he prepared to leave the room, he glanced back at the desk, a sombre expression clouding his face, as if he had just remembered something about the woman who was sitting at his desk watching him with a warm smile on her face.

The last time he had seen her, she looked much different. She was lying on a bed, dying, hooked up to various machines, and attended by servants as her life began to fade before his very eyes. Her beauty was starting to wither like a wilting rose, her tanned skin was becoming paler and losing all its softness and lustre. Her sandy brown hair, once long, soft, and silky with perfect curls, was now short and matted like the hair of oxen, and her hazel eyes, which once burned with a fire hotter than the light of the sun, were starting to flicker and wane like a candle in the wind. Her clothing was also in just as bad a state as she was; her white silk robe was stained red by blood and black by soot. Her jewellery, once polished and shining, was now rusting and grimy. As she lay there, he held her hand, feeling her pulse weaken with every passing second. He didn’t need his powers to know that she was dying, and fast. In fact, his powers only confirmed what he already knew: her life force was flickering in and out like a candle caught in the breeze, and soon would be snuffed out. However, regardless of how advanced his people were in both the arts of medicine and magic, there were some people who couldn’t be saved. If it was your time to go, as decreed by the grand cosmic order, who was he to stop it? Not that he could, her mind, body, and almost her spirit were crushed, mangled beyond all repair. Only the most powerful of magi or even the gods could possibly save her now, for it would take a miracle to save her from her current fate as there is no cure for death. Although there’s not much left to save at this point in time.

As she lay there dying, tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to speak, but he gently silenced her by placing a finger on her lips. “Save your strength,” he whispered. Yet, she refused to give up, displaying the same fiery spirit that he always admired in her. Even in her final moments, her determination shone through. She pushed his arm away and gazed directly into his eyes, her voice still strong but tinged with soul-crushing despair. It was the type of despair that only those whose hearts and minds have been completely broken could experience. But she reached out, trying to grab his hand, blood that still left on her hands stained Tharos’ robes until he gently guided her arm and took her hand, holding it tightly in his.

She turned her head slowly to face him, her eyes in a daze as if all she could see were clouds. From her lips, she uttered weakly, her voice like a faint whisper. Tharos leaned in a bit closer to listen. “Promise me, Tharos. Promise me you will save them. Promise me you will do whatever it takes, no matter the cost. Save them, please.” she begged him. These were going to be her last words, and she wanted to use them to convey her final wish. It didn’t take him long to decide; in fact, it wasn’t much of a choice to begin with. Who was he to deny her this final request while he held her hand tightly? He owed her that much at the very least.

“I will,” he declared with confidence. Although perhaps he wouldn’t have done so if he was aware of what it would cost him, but maybe he knew that he was willing to shoulder the burden, anything for her, even in her final moment. As she heard this, a small and weak smile appeared and formed on her lips. “Thank you,” she uttered, and as she did, her breath slowly faded into a gentle sigh, as she slumped back into her pillow. There were then beeping noises and alerts that went off, from the machines around her and he was moved and pushed away as servants rushed around, checking her pulse and trying to resuscitate her to no avail. No medicine nor magic could save her now; she had returned to the Spiral. Perhaps to stay in the seas of souls or begin life anew, in a new body with a new name and a new cosmic destiny. Regardless, that was the last time he had seen her in the flesh, and everything else was just a memory, as intangible as the ghosts of the past that still haunted his dreams.

“I broke my promise, didn’t I?” It was a question that wouldn’t get an answer, and to be honest, he already knew the answer even if he himself didn’t want to openly admit it.