The Tower King

The minutes were ticking. Each step of the creature echoed like a thinly veiled threat, a rhythmic warning in the clearness of the clearing. Sora, for his part, progressed carefully through the thickets, making sure to avoid treacherous twigs and too dry leaves. He followed the silhouette at a good distance, blending into the background, the senses on high alert.

The path wound through a denser portion of the forest, where the trunks began to rise around it like plant columns. The light from the sky, already filtered by the canopy, became scarce. Sora felt the air change again: cooler, heavier, almost charged with electricity.

He cast a quick glance at the silhouette. She was always moving forward, unperturbed, her regular mechanical steps. At no point did she turn around, as if she knew that no one would dare to follow her... or as if it were completely unimportant to her.

And then, suddenly, she stopped.

Sora froze immediately, his breath taken away, his heart racing. He hid behind a tree with a split trunk, holding back his eye movements. The thing was motionless in the middle of the path, its head still slightly tilted to the side. It didn't move anymore. The stick had stopped hitting the ground.

The seconds stretched. Then, without warning, the silhouette slowly turned on itself.

And Sora found himself face to face with her.

He was only about ten meters away. The mask, half broken, allowed a glimpse of part of the face or what was left of it. The white eye seemed to stare at him, shining with a dull light, almost hypnotic.

Sora felt an icy shiver run through him. He hadn't moved. He hadn't made any noise. Yet, she was looking at him.

Or at least... she seemed to be watching him.

The creature remained thus for a few moments. Without a word. Without a gesture. Then, as suddenly as she had turned towards him, she slowly set off again in the direction from which she had come. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't seen anything. Or worse... as if she had chosen to ignore it.

Sora remained paralyzed for a moment, his mind caught in a tumult of hypotheses. Was it a conscious creature? An automaton? A messenger? Or a guardian? His reaction, or lack thereof, made it even more difficult to pin down.

He slowly straightened up, his muscles tense, his hands clammy.

"Why... did she leave now?"

He cast a final glance at the figure who was slowly disappearing in the mist of the path, then looked forward. The trail continued, bordered by these blackened and silent stones, towards an unknown destination.

Sora remained like that for a few moments, he hesitated... Should he continue to follow the path, when the silhouette had chosen to turn back, or should he do the same and forget to follow this unknown path?

He had already started to deviate from this path and thanks to this silhouette or thanks to a stroke of luck, no monster had attacked him during this period of time. He took a few more seconds to think, but his curiosity had taken precedence over reason and he chose to follow this path to see what it was leading to.

He returned to the path and quickly observed behind him to verify that the creature had indeed continued its way without worrying about its presence.

The silence was always there. Thick. Heavy.

Sora started walking again, redoubling his caution. The forest seemed to have closed around him, the trees twisting their branches as if to observe him in turn. Despite the discomfort, he continued. The trail became clearer, the stones more numerous, the symbols on the ground a little less erased. There was something deeply ancient in this path, as if it were walking on a vein of the world, forgotten for centuries.

Then, after several minutes of walking, the landscape changed.

The vegetation cover suddenly opened, giving way to a vast clearing surrounded by immense rocks covered with ivy. Walls roughly built with dark stones, reinforced with wood and vines, stood before him. A palisade, several meters high, surrounded a set of rudimentary but solid structures.

A camp.

No, not a simple camp: a fortified hamlet, discreet and protected.

A wooden sign sat above the front door, engraved with a name half erased by time, but still readable.

"Kael'Oran"

Sora approached carefully. No trace of guards at first glance, but a small lookout on the height suggested that he had been seen for a long time. He raised his hands, gently.

"I am not a threat. I travel alone."

A grinding of wood was heard at the top of the lookout post, then a husky, tired voice rose:

"Approach. Slowly."

Sora complied. The hamlet gate opened just enough to let a stocky figure pass, crossbow in hand. An old man with a salt-and-pepper beard and piercing eyes watched her with suspicion.

"You're not from here, you. You don't even smell of the woods. You fell on the road, huh?"

Sora nodded.

"I followed her. By chance... Well, not really. There was this thing, a masked creature, it walked on it."

The old man grimaced and spat on the ground.

"A Watchman. You were lucky he ignored you. Those things have an eye, but not always memory."

Sora frowned.

"A Watchman? What is it?"

The old man did not respond at once. He stepped aside slightly to invite him in, while keeping an eye on him.

"You're not safe here, but you are less in danger than outside. Come in. I don't want monsters to come because of your smell."

Sora crosses the entrance.

Inside, Kael'Oran was an assembly of reinforced tents, huts and structures made of stone and bones. Bluish torches burned without a real flame, illuminating tired faces, suspicious but curious glances. Children, hunters, scouts... A small surviving world in the shadow of a forgotten forest.

The old man handed him a leather gourd.

"Drink. You must have walked a long time. I'm Varlen. Guardian of the threshold, as they say here."

Sora was cautious. The water had a strange mineral taste, but it was fresh.

"And I'm Sora."

Varlen nodded slowly.

"Welcome to Kael'Oran, Sora. Last lair before the Nether Forest. If you followed the Watcher back home... then you have the right to know what awaits you.

Sora followed Varlen through the beaten dirt paths of the hamlet. Everywhere, looks followed him. Some curious, others frankly suspicious. The children, the first to approach, were immediately called to order by their parents. Varlen said nothing, but his pace was firm, his gaze straight.

"Yours, they don't come here often." He finally declared. "Almost never. And those who come... rarely leave."

"Mine? asked Sora."

"People outside. Those in the city. You are recognized by your lost air and your questions. And above all, by your silences. The elders say you have emptiness in your eyes. That may be true."

Sora did not answer. He contented himself with walking, Varlen's words hanging in the air like a thinly disguised threat. But he did not feel hostility. Only... fatigue. As if the inhabitants of Kael'Oran had been carrying a burden for too long.

They stopped in front of a large structure with a roof covered with leaves sewn together. A kind of common hall. Varlen moved the curtain of canvas at the entrance.

"Come in. We have someone who can explain things to you better than I can. And if she wants to talk to you... listen to her until the end."

The interior was warm, lit by several braziers where smelling herbs were burning. Forms rested against the walls: covers, tools, rudimentary weapons. A figure sat in the center, surrounded by symbols carved into the ground. A woman with brown skin, straight hair on the sides, a long stick placed next to her.

His eyes, white as milk, turned towards them even before they spoke.

"I felt him approaching." She said in a calm, husky and deep voice. "He followed the wrong guide, but found the right threshold."

Varlen bowed slightly.

"He says he saw the Watchman, Inaya."

She slowly nodded.

"He saw. And he was seen. But not marked. It's a fine nuance. A rare chance."

Sora took a step forward.

"What was that thing? Why did it let me go?"

Inaya reached out and drew a circle in the dust. Inside, she drew three small crosses.

"The Watchmans are neither alive nor dead. They are vestiges, fragments of an ancient will. They watch the lost roads, the places where the Tower has bled the world. When a Watchman looks at a being, he seeks a trace. A pact. A loophole."

"And if we don't have any?" Sora asked, gasping for air.

"So he goes his way. Like the wind passes over a smooth stone. But if you had followed it too long... or too close... he would have ended up seeing beyond your skin.

She stared at him with her eyes without a pupil.

"What you did was not prudent. But sometimes curiosity opens doors that no Ushi could force."

Sora felt a shiver running down his back.

"You know that I don't have an Ushi?"

Inaya smiled, without joy.

"Here, we feel what is missing much more than what is visible. Moreover, the Watchman left you alone."

A long silence settled in. Then, Varlen placed a hand on Sora's shoulder.

"You can stay here tonight. Kael'Oran does not refuse shelter to those who arrive by the black path. But tomorrow, it will be necessary to choose. Either you go back. Or you pass the border of black trees, where even the Watchman no longer goes."

Sora clenched his fists, his mind still numbed by the revelations. One thing was certain: this path had led him to something. To a buried truth. And perhaps... to a new hope.

"I will stay. One night. And tomorrow... I will see."

Inaya nodded, her gaze turned towards the invisible.

"So sleep quickly, Sora. Because tomorrow, the questions will become heavier than the answers."

...

The night descended on Kael'Oran without warning, like a cloak of darkness flowing in one single block. The village, silent during the day, seemed to fade even more into darkness. No singing, no laughter, not even the sound of footsteps. Only the distant crackling of a wood fire broke, at irregular intervals, the heavy silence.

Sora had been led into a small hut a little away. A layer of straw, a rough blanket, a pot of water. Nothing else. The wooden door was left ajar, but no one prowled in the vicinity. He had not been locked up, nor had he been told that he was free to leave.

Lying down, Sora stared at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come. His mind went round in circles, fueled by Inaya's words, the heavy looks, and this masked figure that he couldn't erase from his memory.

He ends up getting up.

The night air was icy, charged with a strange scent of wet earth and burnt bark. He walked aimlessly, following instinct more than reasoning, and sank into the quietest parts of the village.

That's where he saw her.

A light, bluish, faint, like an inverted ember, emanated from a small space between two houses covered with black ivy. Intrigued, Sora approached slowly, making sure not to make a noise.

Behind the two buildings, hidden in a stone alcove, was a tree. Dead. Or almost. Its trunk, immense, cracked, seemed carved into a petrified bone. No leaf. No bud. But in the center of this tree... a pulsation.

Blue. Weak. Rhythmically lively.

Sora approached.

"He never sleeps." A voice said to his right.

He jumped. A young girl, perhaps barely older than him, was sitting on a stump. She wore a dark linen dress, her hair braided in crowns around her skull.

"It is he who dreams for all of us." She added.

"Are you talking... about the tree?"

She nodded.

"His name is Narun-Vael. The ancient heart. As long as he breathes, Kael'Oran holds up. It is through him that monsters avoid us. It is he who erases our traces of the maps of the Tower.

Sora approached again. The blue light seemed to beat at the same rate as his own heart. "And this light... what is it?"

The young girl stared at him for a long time. "It's not a light. It's a memory."

Sora frowned. "A memory... of whom?"

"From you."

She stood up, approached him, and placed two fingers on his forehead. "Close your eyes."

He hesitated, then obeyed.

The world vanished. A strange heat spread in his skull. And suddenly... he saw himself.

But not like he was now. Younger. Child. Standing in the rain, outside his bedroom window, watching a thunderstorm. His hand placed on the glass. A tear on the cheek. And, behind him, a woman's voice calling his name... a voice he had not heard for a long time.

He opened his eyes all at once, the breath short. "What was that?" he whispered.

"The ancient heart always shows you the memory that you wanted to forget the most." she murmured. "It's his way of reminding you that nothing disappears, even when we want to erase it."

Sora stepped back slightly, confused. "Why show me this now?"

"Because the ancient heart has decided it."

She stared at him one last time.

"Tomorrow, you will have to cross a threshold. And only you can decide the direction your mind will take..."

Then, without a word more, she turned away and disappeared into the night.

Sora remained alone in front of the petrified tree, his heart beating to the slow rhythm of this blue light.

Tomorrow... he would cross this threshold.