Lonethorn

The Thousand Seaspires.

Known throughout the world as a trifecta: an oddity, a wonder and a dream. A sprawling conglomerate of a thousand 700 ft. square black stones jutting out from the seabed in the middle where three ocean meets. None truly knew how they came to be or what purpose do they serve. The black mineral of which they are made cannot be cut nor carved by any living knowledge of stonework. Whatever craft used in their construction have long since been lost for millennia. Of the Thousand towering stones, only a mere fraction of which contains entrances and egresses, a great many of the structures are but solid black rock with no apparent seams or entry points. As to how the first settlers train of thought to decide on settling on such a strange and bizarre place perplexes me. Then again, as I’ve come to learn in years since my childhood, humanity can have strange instances of inspiration and creativity, one that must not be underestimated.

Over the centuries, folk from other lands have also made settlements from the various gargantuan coral reefs that have accumulated at the base of some of these towers, reaching the sizes of small islands and mountains. These corals have porous holes big enough that made them ideal places for habitation, protected from the salty sea winds and high storms. The highest of these formations reached up to forty feet above the waterline at high tide. The nature of these reef formations as well as the Black Spires themselves are among the mysteries debated and sought upon by a great many scholars.

The more eccentric of these settlers had soil imported via ships and levered upwards toward the upper levels, creating hanging gardens that became a source of income and produce over the decades that followed, until becoming a vital trade route in the Grand Mare Triumvirata.

It was not long thereafter that the Seaspires made for a vital waystop for passing ships amidst the long distances necessary to cross the wide ocean expanses.

With only a few centuries under its belt, the Seaspires have no clear law. Much left to the individual towers and the respective Masters that control them. A center for artists, merchants and moguls, making the higher tiers where the rich and lofty are catered and gallivants in various soirees and balls.

None go hungry in these here splintered realms in the middle of the sea, where each tower were but a country unto themselves.

With the Tower of Resplendent Inspiration being situated on the clear waters of the Mare Veridium, it was an ordinary past time for me at that age to jump head long into the cool aquamarine waters along with the other children. The vibrant reefs were ever teeming with a myriad of marine life. Brassscales, Thornback eels, Amberjacks, Scarlet Gillfin just to name a few.

There was a decently sized reef at the base of the Tower as well. Of course, it could not compare to mighty Reeftown, the largest and chief of the reefs within the Seaspires. Nor does it even have an officially recognized name, mostly due to its size which can be compared to a small islet. (much to the chagrin of the towermaster). The locals of the tower simply refereed to it by extension as well and most commonly known as Resplendent. It possessed a taverna that doubled as an inn. As well as a dock, a customs building and a score or so of little tents and pavilions nestled in protectively in the natural formations of the reef for added stability. And being right in the middle of a trade route of over a hundred different countries, one is not left wanting from the variety of the cuisine made available by the hundreds of galleys, cogs, carracks that pass through daily.

My mother and I would spend our time on Resplendent should her hectic schedule permits it to pass the time. See the wonders and trinkets laid out in the pavilions and tents while eating the famous skewered meats from far-off Ardifa. Or even join me as well as other families as luncheon was set up by the waterside and we dive in together in the crisp clear waters of the Veridium. And always, and I mean always, end the day either by the reef or our loft, watching the setting sun bathe the world in a fuzzy lazy bleed of orange beyond the horizon of Mare Cerrulea until finally plunging the world in the darkness. My mother would hug me close and tight as if I were a babe still and not a five-year-old boy (maybe I still was, at that age, to her). Her jaw would click and clack funnily against my head to tease me.

And funnily enough, now that I think about it, I had a habit then of combing her long black hair with my hand, enjoying the smoothness of it between my fingertips. I had forgotten I used to do that.

Such were times for me then, in the innocence of youth. Simple. And without worry.

As the years would go on, I would go back to these days, these instances living in my heart and mind whenever Mother World and Father Time would wear on my soul as it does to everyone else growing up. Particularly the memory of me and my mother watching the setting sun in silence but the symphony of the soft rolling waves.

The secret of these Black Towers meant nothing to me, and doesn’t still even in my young adulthood, if only I could have the memories of these sunsets till the day I draw my last breath then nothing of value would be lost (for me at least).

Sigh.

If only the cruel serendipity of world had remained that way.

Little did I know that years later, after arriving at Lonethorn University, that I would be among the handful few of uncovering the secret of their history.

I’d wish I’d never known.