Days passed, as days tended to.
It had been easier to go back than Miri had expected. That was a relief, and also terrifying. She had been able to pick things up with her thesis advisor after a meeting that she only rescheduled a few times, for once. It was as if she had never left.
Life went back to normal.
She was a good student, if not the most consistently good. She met all her deadlines, or at least all the important ones. She showed up on time to lectures, or at least before the professor had really started talking. And when that happened, she showed the proper contrition, bowing her head rapidly like a bird performing a mating dance for the first time. She worked as hard as she could on her assignments; as hard as she could on something she could no longer bring herself to care about, at least. Her love of archaeology persisted -- that feeling of saving something that was on the verge of being swallowed up by Time -- but with each passing lecture and assigned reading, she found herself less able to hold onto that feeling.
She ate. Her appetite wasn't what it used to be, but she ate. She ate when she knew she needed to, even when she didn't feel hungry. She ate to satisfy the dull ache that replaced what used to feel like hunger. She ate, even when the food managed to be less appealing than soggy bread, shared under an open sky.
Sleep was the hard part.
Of course she wondered what had happened to him. She was sure he could figure out how to contact her. "Maybe today," she'd find herself thinking as she woke up too early again, bitterly trying to force the thought from her mind as the last of her sleep eluded her.
"Maybe today."
All she could do was watch as the thought felt less real, day after day. It was a comfort, seeing it fade. It was a disappointment, watching it slip through her fingers.
--
It was two months later when it happened.
She remembered the moment perfectly. She had been walking through the market plaza near her dorm when she happened to lock eyes with the messenger on the other side. He was carrying in his hand an envelope, presenting its runic-inscribed edges to the world. He held it before him, as if being pulled along by its gravity, drawn forever towards its destination. That image -- the messenger in his regal red uniform, holding forth the crisp, blindingly white letter -- that was the moment.
She'd always remember it.
Because that was the moment the sky imploded.
--
There was no air for a few seconds. A few seconds longer, Miri thought afterwards, and she was pretty sure her skull would have exploded. She was on her hands and knees, the ground convulsing too erratically for her to keep her balance. There was something wrong above her, and only pure instinct spared her the hideous consequences of looking straight up. Instead, she looked towards the center of town where there was...
It was energy. A column of raw, unbound energy, stretching from the earth to the sky. It twisted and burned the air surrounding it, painful to look at. The sizzle where the energy came in contact with reality was like a dagger tickling the inside of her ears -- dangerous but not damaging, yet. The energy surged, screaming.
And then it started lashing out.
A strand, unseen but present, ripped through the air near Miri and snagged a chunk of the plaza's stonework. Without effort, the energy carried the slab away, back to its origin. As she watched, more and more of the town was seized by the tempest and hauled away. The tempest was building something -- it was surrounding itself, creating a shell to seal itself away.
The castle suffered the worst. Entire towers and parapets were ripped from their places, torn into pieces during the journey and reassembled at the heart of the town. The shell formed in areas of patchwork material, interweaving layers like carapace and stitching themselves together wherever two growing tracts met.
Another chunk of the market's stonework came free, hurtling so close to Miri that she only just managed to throw herself to one side fast enough to avoid being swept away with it. Random chunks of the ground were coming free now, some as small as her fist. One managed to swoop by just fast enough to slam against the side of her knee, leaving an angry bruise and a nasty throbbing.
She looked at the injury, biting her lip in concern. But when she turned back to the armored column of energy...
She felt her heart drop, and a chill overtake her body.
Because she recognized it now.
She stared helplessly as the horror unfolded in front of her eyes.
It took only a few more minutes for the energy to complete its work. To finish the shell. To recreate it, in all its terrible glory.
Miri staggered to her feet. Without knowing why, she started to walk. She tried to ignore the ache in her gut as she made her way through the stunned crowd, towards the center of town.
The center of town, where the Dark Lord's tower stood.
--
The town guard had arrived first -- but now they stood around in a daze, apparently untrained for any such Invading Tower scenario. The looks on their faces told Miri all she needed to know. These were guardsmen without orders, awaiting a higher-up who could tell them what their jobs actually were. For now, they had defaulted to doing what their training had best prepared them for: yelling at citizens while staying as far away from any actual danger as possible.
Unfortunately for Miri, two of these guardsmen stood between her and the tower. She had no time to argue; but for the guards, arguing meant Looking Busy, the perfect aegis against potentially being called over to knock on the doors of the Ancient Sorcerer's Lair that didn't exist thirty minutes ago.
"Can't let anyone near the tower, ma'am," the taller one on the left repeated. "Please stand clear until the threat has been assessed."
Miri scowled. What was she supposed to say? That she was friends with the one who had built it? That he was a really nice guy? Only she had this sense that he might be setting off an apocalypse, so could she please go and have a nice little chat with him about that?
If she insisted, or threatened, or even just made a big enough nuisance of herself... well, the city jail was a few miles in the other direction. Dragging her off would be exactly the excuse these two needed to get as far away from the tower as possible.
"Please," she tried again. "I need to."
"Can't let anyone near the tower, ma'am," the smaller one said, taking his turn. "Please evacuate to one of the designated safety zones."
Miri squinted her eyes shut. The world was going to end while she stood around arguing with a single sentence. She had always known she might die in a magical apocalypse; she had just never suspected it would be so annoying.
She sighed, trying to get her thoughts flowing from under the oppressive, projected ignorance of the armored guards. This would be easy, she knew, if only she hadn't given Ilim back his...
At that moment, she felt the weight in her pocket. It was as if something had fallen into at that moment, tugging the fabric down and catching her attention. Curious, she stuck her hand inside and felt the smooth, impossibly polished surface of the coin, marked only by a tiny scar which pricked at her thumb.
She rubbed the coin three times, trying to make up her mind. On the one hand, she had no idea what effect it might have on the city watch. She hadn't even thought about it since The Breaker had pitched it to her. On the other... what was there left to lose, at this point?
She pulled the coin from her pocket, holding it before her. "Uh, I don't suppose this would change your mind...?"
"Can't let anyone near the tower, ma'am," started the first guard, not even looking at her. But the change in the second guard was immediate. There was a panic that shook his whole body, his gaze pinned to the coin like he was afraid it could attack him at any moment.
"Th-that's--!" he started. His mouth continued moving even as his voice went silent, his impulses a few steps ahead of his brain. Miri was almost afraid the first guard might manage to get through another round of "can't let anyone" before the second finally managed, "Y-you're the expert, right? The one..." Again, a few moments of silence as his brain rushed to actually construct the sentence his mouth had started. "The one, who... yes, come with me, come with me."
The first guard gave him a suspicious glance... but it only lasted a few seconds. Then, his token effort at due diligence complete, he shrugged, and went back to the arduous task of defending the tower against any other civilians who might try to sneak in. Perhaps someone else would take issue with this phrasing of his duties; but for now, he was getting away with defending something from something else, and that was good enough for him.
The second guard waved her in, escorting her to the tower doors. As they walked, she tried to hand over the coin to him, and she had never seen anyone go pale so fast. "N-n-no, no, no," he insisted, twisting his body away from her in case she tried to force it into his hands. "Y-you keep it. It's got nothing to do with me."
Before she could ask anything further, they arrived at the doors. The guard turned on his heels and rushed off, leaving her alone. She took a quick look around, to see if anyone might investigate her now that she was by herself, but no one seemed interested in approaching.
She turned to the doors. Right. It was time to do this.
She pushed on the doors.
They stayed closed.
She gave the doors another firm push, pressing her hands into the unyielding material. Locked. Uh. Right. The doors were locked. She hadn't been expecting that, somehow. What now?
She took a step back, and thought.
After a minute, she stepped forward and gave the doors a harder push. The doors didn't budge. She stepped back again. Think, she thought. I am thinking, she thought. Well, think harder, she thought.
Okay. Not useful. Another angle, then. This was Ilim's work. She knew him. What would he be looking for?
An idea came to mind. Miri gave a quick look around, just in case any of the guardsmen had started to pay attention to her, but all of them seemed perfectly content to look in every other direction except at the tower itself.
She turned back to the doors. Feeling exceptionally silly, she took a deep breath, stepped forward, and knocked upon the unrelenting material.
Three short, sharp knocks, just like she had used to enter the hotel room where they had stayed.
A moment passed.
And then nothing happened.
Miri could only fume to herself. She tried to count how many days Ilim had spent explaining (or not explaining, as he decreed was sometimes necessary to truly grasp a full understanding) the subtle patterns of magic. The delicate curves, the little whorls, the miniature spirals.
They were lovely days. Enough time had passed that they didn't feel real anymore. But now, she found herself wishing that just one of them had been dedicated to learning the kind of magic that could blow a door off its hinges. An appreciation of the aesthetics of magic? Sure, that was invaluable. The ability to listen for that golden spark of intuition that told her there was some thought to unravel? Priceless. But right now, she could really do with a spell for burning straight through the impermeable material of the doors.
Maybe it was hopeless. She felt tempted to join the ranks of the guardsmen milling about, trying their best not to look at the tower. She watched as they swung their heads this way and that, as if they were trying to see the tower, but were unable to actually focus their attention...
Wait.
There was something to unravel.
Her mind plucked at the idea of "things that didn't feel real".
The guards all looking away... that didn't feel real.
She placed her hand on the door again. Then, carefully, she withdrew it and closed her eyes.
Okay, she challenged herself. What are the doors made of?
An unyielding material. An unrelenting material. An impermeable material. But what material?
Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her finger against her thumb, as if feeling a piece of fine cloth. And remembered.
The cloak had a weight, a texture. There was a feeling of luxurious, inviting smoothness. But a second after you stopped touching it, the experience of the cloak faded away, leaving behind only an impression of having touched something. The emotions lingered, even as the memory evaporated like smoke.
Without opening her eyes, Miri took a step forward. Then another one.
There was a familiar feeling here...
Miri brought her hands up in front of herself. There was... something in front of her... here was the periphery of the "door"... but now, she felt through the guise of firm resistance. Behind that, there was a feeling of... emptiness.
The feeling of the dream...
Ilim had never explained the secret behind walking through walls. But this wasn't even a wall, right? This was the idea of a wall, put there by someone else.
She pressed, and the boundary budged, before pressing back. Again, though, the sense of emptiness.
She tried to focus on how it felt to wear the dreamcloak. She remembered the cold feeling, when she pulled it tighter to fade from perception.
She pressed, and again the material budged, relenting a little further.
It resisted her still, though. She tried to work through the feelings in her head, to find the thoughts she once had about the dream.
It couldn't be about pressing through. The dreamstuff of the cloak deflected that kind of directness by its very nature. She had to find the thread, the one that would lead her back to when she had wrapped herself in it.
The feeling of fading... from eyes turning away from her... withdrawing from the world, becoming a shadow upon it... in those moments... inside...
...inside... she felt empty too.
Emptiness met emptiness. Her fingers began to slip through, their void gliding through the void of the doors. There was a moment where neither existed, and in that moment, she found a path of no resistance.
There was an instant where the tower wrapped itself around her, and once again, invited her into its dream.
And then she was through.
She opened her eyes.
The music hit her at the same moment as the vision -- a grand gala, the entire foyer decorated in extravagant gilt. It was nothing like the somber, ruined place she had visited so long ago. This place was alive. The rhythm of the music pulsed up through her feet, and the air sung with harp-plucked harmonies and the fragrant smells of exotic comestibles.
Everywhere she turned, finely-dressed nobles and guild leaders conversed in enthusiastic tones, or twirled and spun across the open dance floor in the middle.
Miri touched her head, a feeling of fog clouding out her ability to enjoy the scene. A party... how could there be a party? Why would Ilim...
She spotted him in that instant. He was standing on a raised platform, a sort of mini-stage, surveying the festive crowd with his wide smile on his face.
Ilim. She started to press her way through the crowd. This could all be sorted out, if only she could reach him.
The crowd didn't seem to notice her. It swayed and moved with the music, forcing Miri to step lightly to weave around them as they crossed her path. Her steps fell in time with theirs, the music swelling as she approached Ilim's platform.
He was right there, watching over everyone. He raised his cup, and the party raised their cups to him as one, grateful for his consideration.
She wanted to call out to him. She wanted to raise her cup too, to show him that she--
--the burning on the side of her leg made her cry out. Her hand (the one that she somehow thought held a cup a second ago?) plunged into her pocket to find the source. It was burning hot, and glued to the side of her leg through the material of her pocket. She scrabbled at it, trying to get her nails between the metal and the fabric. Her nails skipped off the side once, twice, before managing to pry it from her flesh.
She pulled the coin from her pocket. Suddenly exposed, it flared, the heat drilling down into her palm. She yelled, violently flinging the molten coin away by reflex.
She stared at it where it came to rest, half a dozen feet away. Her eyes widened as the coin melted, sizzling against the floor. It hissed and spat, until the liquid metal oozed into the cracks between the tiles and disappeared altogether.
Miri blinked.
She looked around. No one had noticed anything. They hadn't heard her scream, hadn't seen her dramatically throw the coin away, hadn't noticed the acidic smell of its fumes rising into the air.
She looked at her hand. The damage didn't look as bad as it felt. A deep, darkening redness suggested the burns would take a few days to heal, but the pain had been the important part. As she let herself really feel the sting, The Breaker's words went through her head. In them, she found the question she was looking for.
Whose dream is this? she asked herself.
She turned to Ilim.
No. Not Ilim. A shadow of Ilim, she saw now. There was no light illuminating his face. A pall hung over him... over this memory of him. She could still hear him, beckoning her to join the eternal party, but she no longer felt the invitation. He no longer held any sway over her.
The roof, she knew, as she had always known. He'll be on the roof. Turning, she rushed for the stairs, no longer holding back as she shoved away the phantasmal guests that stood between her and her destination.
She took the spiral stairs two at a time, planting her hands against the patchwork stones to press herself up against the pull of gravity. Her boots pounded against the floor as she rose, thumping out a desperate rhythm.
The stairs concluded at a simple arched doorway. She stepped through, to discover herself in--
...a lecture hall? The student in her recognized it immediately, and she had to quickly quiet a rising dread that she was behind on her homework. The massive auditorium, holding hundreds of attentive pupils, spread before her. All eyes stared in rapture at the professor's lectern...
And there Ilim stood, talking in magnificent tones. Above him whorled a intricate pattern in verdant greens and cerulean blues, interlocking loops and spirals all turning in harmony. With each passionate word, hundreds of quills scritched their way across parchment, the fervor of the strokes matching the fervor of Ilim's voice.
Miri's eyes stared at him, commanding the room's devotion. There was something on his face... something she had glimpsed many times before. A hint of pure, deeply-rooted joy. A feeling of... completeness.
Her eyes wandered on their own. Right there, on the edge of the seats nearest her, was an empty space. Waiting.
She could feel her gaze grow lidded as the seat called to her. It was tempting... she could join the class... she could be among them, and hear Ilim speaking to her...
There was something off about this.
Something she could think about later... after class, maybe.
Ilim's pitch was rising. This was the exciting part. The part she had been waiting for.
It wasn't too late, was it?
The notebook was in her hand... all she had to do was sit, and... and... go back--
--that was what made her muscles lock up.
She focused on the knot in her stomach. Go back, she thought again, a shudder freeing her muscles from the trance. She had crossed the distance to the empty seat without even realizing it, one hand resting on the back of the chair.
There's no going back! she thought urgently, letting the thought drive her away. There's no going back. Something in her heart cried out, then went quiet.
Again she turned to Ilim, and again she saw it -- the shadow hanging over him, revealing the lack of substance underneath. His voice was clear, illuminating... but now she heard the words themselves. Utter nonsense, masquerading as truth.
She forced the disgust in her gut down into her legs, forcing them to move. She cut, with as much speed as she could manage, between the lecture podium and the enraptured students, headed for a stairwell on the other side.
Another flight of steps. Her heart still pounding from the narrow escape, she took these one at a time, trying to recover what she could of herself while staying on the move. Her hand burned, and her knee throbbed, but still she fought her way upwards.
The roof, she told herself. The tower was waking up -- she could feel it as her fingers grazed the walls of the stairwell. He'll be on the roof.
The stairs widened here, and opened on--
...someplace terrible. She felt it instantly, even though her view was obscured by the armored figures which ringed the entire circular chamber, with its arched ceiling and twisted pillars. She craned to look around, staring into the stern faces of the assembled legion. It was the same expression on every face, from the footsoldiers she was squeezed between to the generals and captains who made up the inner circle.
And in the middle, knife raised above his head -- Ilim. The words he screamed were unknown to her, but she could feel the blasphemy in them, clearly enough. She began to make her way around the border of the circle, pushing her way past the soldiers in a near panic.
She didn't need to look. There was nothing alluring about this dream. She just needed to be away from this shade of Ilim as quickly as possible. Her ears picked out a few familiar syllables, and felt the feeling again -- like a pouch of disease was sliding down her throat. She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes, as she bodily shoved a particularly poorly-placed soldier out of the way.
When she reached the door, she threw herself into the stairwell, slamming into the outer wall in her haste. She struggled up the stairs, trying to put as much distance between her and the scene as she could. Ilim's ragged words chased her up the stairs, mocking her efforts. She forced herself to press upward, ever upward, ignoring the burning in her lungs.
It was only a minor relief when she reached the top, arriving at--
...the heart of the tower.
She looked towards the dias at the center.
A shade of Ilim, conversing in calm but eager tones with another shadowy figure.
The room was no more decorated than when she had seen it last. No ornamentation adorned its walls, nothing aside from the dias spoke to the purpose of the room. There was no sign of how it had been used -- of the people who had used it, and the moments they had shared together.
Yet... just seeing those two figures talking... this time, the room didn't feel barren at all.
The roof, Miri told herself, tearing herself away. He'll be on the roof.
She trudged up the stairs. The climb, the visions... they were wearing on her. Her legs ached, and trying to ignore that just encouraged them to complain even more loudly. Her lungs struggled, and--
She should be feeling triumphant, she knew. This was her day of glory. The Aether Siphon was complete, at last, and all that was left was to attune herself to it.
She took one step, and then another. It was all she could manage, to focus on one step at a time. The endless procession, mocking her.
One more flight of stairs, and victory would be hers. She could reign, forever, as the Lord of the Aether. There was no one left who could stop her, she realized. She knew she was right. What she didn't know, not exactly, is why the thought weighed on her.
There was another dull thud, some byproduct of the war raging outside the tower impacting against its side. She was safe in here. It wouldn't reach her. Nothing that could happen outside would affect her any more deeply than that same dull thud. Never again.
She was tired. She reached out for her staff, and by her will, it was there. She took a firm grip on its handle, and pressed it into the floor. It clicked against each step, a tiny metallic noise, as she continued her climb.
The roof.
She shuddered, a wave of agony suddenly racking her body. She turned to look behind her -- the tower had been hurt. Someone had breached the entryway. And that someone was...
...Valq. Of course.
She turned back to her ascent, climbing with renewed purpose. He'd be here soon, but not soon enough. Him and his gleaming sword...
...no. He was too late.
The mouth of the roof exit loomed before her. She pressed through, and found--
...Ilim.
His back was turned to her. But there he was, both hands upon the Aether Siphon. The sky was red directly above the tower, angry, hissing. The wind whipped at her face, the terrible storm now out in full force. The flow of energy was so thick, she could feel the strands reaching out, grasping in the direction of...
...all the other Aether Siphons... he was tapping into them... in order to...
"So," Ilim said, his voice weary. She had expected something resounding. That was how he spoke, always, except in those least guarded of moments. But now, there was nothing in his voice but exhaustion. "You came," he added after a substantial pause.
Miri had no words. She simply stood, waiting at the threshold, heart pounding in her chest.
"If you want to stop me," Ilim explained, as if exhausted by boredom, "you'll have to kill me. It's too late to stop it otherwise."
Miri's hands tightened into fists, but she said nothing.
"We knew it would come to this, didn't we," Ilim said, not a question. "It was always going to end this way."
Miri felt the urge to take a step forward.
"Finish it, child," he urged. "It can all be over."
Miri rocked on her heels. Her head was filling with fog, a thousand thoughts and no words for any of them.
"We knew it would end this way," he repeated. "Me, you... and your gleaming sword."
And now the fog descended. With heavy eyes, she turned to look at what she had been leaning on.
It wasn't a staff in her hand. She had been holding a sword. She must have found it on the stairwell. It must have been waiting for her. The metallic click, she realized, was the point of the sword, chipping the stonework of each step.
The sword spoke to her.
Clouded and weak, she took a step forward.
Ilim said nothing, did nothing. He simply stood there, hands upon the device. His back, broad and exposed, awaited.
She took another step forward. She was too tired to raise the sword -- she dragged it along the ground instead, its tip kicking up sparks as it wove a trail towards The Dark Lord's waiting form.
One step. Another.
The wind was howling now, circling the tower as the maelstrom continued to build.
Another step. Not many left now.
The sword grew heavier with every step. She took the hilt in both hands, putting her whole body into hefting it above her head.
She was behind him.
The cataclysm was imminent now. She could feel the sky creak, the column of energy pressing upward against it, threatening to break it in half. She didn't dare look up.
She raised the sword. She aligned it directly over his back, describing a straight line between the heavens and The Dark Lord's heart. There was no other way. There was...
...
...nothing, but...
...
...but... there was... something... wrong.
She let the sword fall.
It clattered as it hit the ground to Ilim's side.
Miri grabbed his shoulder and tugged on it, forcing him to turn in place. She noticed immediately how soft and pliable the form under his cloak was, like a figure made of warm wax...
She spun him around, and stared into a shadow's face. Dark, shallow, indistinct.
She had been wrong. Not the roof. Of course not...
Miri turned and sprinted for the stairwell. Every muscle screamed for the air and rest it needed, but she pushed through it. Tomorrow, she'd feel miserable -- but first, she had to make sure there was a tomorrow to feel miserable in.
Down the stairwell. Down to the heart of the tower.
She rushed over to the dias, swatting at the two waxen figures there. They resisted her for only for a moment, before dissolving into a thin, clinging smoke.
The tower was alive. And that meant he was in there.
Miri stared at the dias, a perfect simulacrum of the one where she had witnessed his rebirth, so very long ago now. This was where he had infused the tower with his life, and where he had reclaimed that life when the tower was no longer needed. He'd be in the tower, or the dream of the tower now, holding it together.
She just needed to draw him out.
She had no idea how to draw him out.
She circled the dias anxiously, as if she might discover a latch or lever to simply pry the tower open. The dias sat inert, offering her no hint as to how she might approach it.
There was a shudder that shook the tower in its place. Miri felt the room strain, warping itself. She could feel the sensation coming up through her feet, the essence of tower seeping out, threatening to overwhelm her--
--she saw it, in her mind... the strands of energy now reaching out across the land, each one stretching closer and closer to the other Aether Siphons... and as they stretched, they bent the land, and above it all, the sky screamed--
She fell forward, just barely catching herself on the dias before collapsing. She echoed the scream she had heard in her head, unable to not spread its hurt.
And the dias responded.
Ilim.
There he was.
She could feel him, feel his mind. It was something about the way he thought about things, the shape his personality took. He was right in front of her, he was right there. She could feel his spirit, called to this room, this place. She had called him back, as surely as his Oath had the last time.
He hung there, on the precipice of reality.
There was no time for subtlety. In her mind's eye, she reached across that ethereal chasm, grabbed his wrists, and pulled.
He didn't budge. Instead, he took her wrists in his hands, and pulled back.
"Come on!" she screamed.
Come on! she thought.
Miri blinked. That was weird. The thought had come after the spoken words.
"...Ilim?" she asked.
Ilim, came the thought in her head.
He was in her head now. Fine. She gave another yank, trying to extract him, but he remained firmly lodged in that subtle mental realm.
"Please listen to me!" she shouted.
Please, listen to me, came the echo.
The tower groaned, and the room warped a little bit more. The outer walls took on a nauseating twist, sending cracks through the columns that supported its ceiling.
She gritted her teeth, and pulled. Again and again she pulled, struggling with all her will to extract him. But no matter what new inner strength she found, he managed to pull back just as forcefully.
"Stop fighting!" she yelled in frustration. "Come to me!!"
Stop fighting! she thought. Come to me!
"Stop repeating me! Let me pull you out!"
Let me pull you! was the response.
"Stop..." she stopped mid-sentence to catch her breath. He hadn't repeated her this time. Was he repeating her?
He was... in her head. He was using her words. That's all he had left.
But that was okay. She could give him the words he needed.
She didn't hesitate. "You or me?" she demanded.
You, she heard him say.
She nodded. She felt his grip tighten, and he yanked her across the divide--
--the tower. Every room. Every stone. One thousand stories. A history that reverberated through its bones. A legacy, swallowed up by time. A lost place. So many memories, forgotten by all but one...
Miri focused on Ilim, and pushed herself into the tower's heart--
...infinite, dazzling, endless. In every direction, forever in every direction, she saw the loops. They blended together as they turned, shifting in shape. Before her, a curl in verdant greens stretched and wove its way through a spiral of cerulean blues. The shape itself was infinitely complex, infinitely ornate -- but as her eyes studied it, she realized that each atom of the shape was just as rich in detail. Every arc, every notch, every etching was a memory. And this was merely one shape in a galaxy of shapes, orbiting each other serenely. It all fit together, as one united mechanism beyond all possible comprehension.
Miri floated in the space between that infinite dance.
Miri's first thought was that every aspect of it, from the grandest design to the most minute detail, was entirely unlike anything she had ever seen before. Nothing, no possible experience could have possibly prepared her for this.
Her second thought was that it was familiar. She recognized it, almost immediately.
Her third was that she couldn't breathe.
She scrabbled at her throat. There was simply no air for her. She hadn't realized it at first, and that had cost her most of the contents of her lungs already. She fought the yearning to inhale, knowing nothing would come of it. There was no air for her here; this wasn't her space, weren't her thoughts, wasn't her universe. There was nothing in this realm to sustain her.
The mechanism continued to turn, and Miri could swear she felt it watching her, seeing what she would do.
Think quickly, urged her brain. Better make this time count. This wasn't her head. Right. There was nothing here for her. Correct. She needed to find something for her. Good. She needed to be surrounded by... she needed to wrap herself in...
She had seen him do it. There was nothing left but to try it herself.
She reached out to the side...
...and by her will, her own dreamcloak was there. Richer and thicker than Ilim's, her hand gripped the plush inner lining, scattering the cosmic halo of stars that dotted its interior.
She pulled it around herself as quickly as she could, and took a deep gulp of air.
One matter settled, at least.
She turned, eyes hunting, looking for the out of place element she knew she'd find. Because she had seen this before, or something very much like it. Not in the lecture hall; no, that one was a ruse, and she ignored it. That one, the cloak had meant for her to see. This one... Ilim's dreamcloak had shown it to her, quite accidentally.
The arch-magister's display. This was the same pattern -- or rather, the true pattern, underneath the shallow rendition she had managed. Which meant that...
...there. In the distance. A tiny loop, disconnected from everything else, forged in cast-iron black. A tiny loop that the entire mechanism bent and twisted around, warping its perfect form to make space for the nasty little scar. It was twisted around itself, an immobile knot, locked in place forever.
She flung herself towards it, jetting through the void. That was where he'd be. She pulled the cloak tight, and let herself fall.
But it was never going to be that easy.
She felt it before she saw it. As she approached, the iron knot shuddered. The spikes that dotted the loop's surface sharpened, and the structure pulsed. It struck her like a bitter wave of cold, chilling her to the bone instantly. By instinct, she glanced down at the hem of her cloak, and saw the edge beginning to unravel.
A time limit, she thought, too weary to truly care about her lifeline dissolving before her eyes. What's one more, in the face of the apocalypse?
She turned back to the knot, and pressed ahead. Another wave hit her, but this time she was ready, twisting to avoid hitting it head-on. The frigid wall ate at her insides, and she could feel the cloak lose another inch of material against the onslaught.
Down she dove, again and again. She wasn't sure how many times the nasty iron loop pulsed, or how many sheets of ice she plunged into, until the bitter cold worked its way into her teeth.
She let herself fall, heedless of it all -- until she landed.
She stood on the loop, the cold burning her feet through her boots.
And on the other side, he stood.
The Dark Lord. Ringed in armor of iron. Massive, imposing. Silent.
She stared at him. And with her stare, she defied him.
The two stood there, locked in battle. Miri could hear the hiss of her cloak as it sizzled away. She gave no thought to it, though. She simply continued to stare, drilling down into the form before her.
There was a sigh, as the armor unwound itself from around his body. There, inside, the Lord of the Aether. And as it continued to slip away from him -- there was Ilim, at last.
He looked at her, his eyes begging for the chance to explain.
She nodded, not breaking eye contact for an instant.
He took a deep breath. And in his quiet, humble voice, he told her: "I want the sky."
She opened her own mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. They caught in her throat, choking her. She closed her mouth and delicately touched her neck. Her words were trapped.
Ilim continued to stare at her, pleadingly. "I want the sky," he told her again.
She so desperately wanted to speak to him, to talk like they had once talked. But her words failed her, and she didn't know how else to reach across the gap.
He was waiting for her. He breathed out, a tightness to his breath speaking of a barely-contained pain. When he spoke again, it was a single word: "You..."
Her own words were locked away... because... this was his world, wasn't it?
All she had here... was his words.
"You want the sky," she repeated back.
He nodded back. He sagged, a wan smile on his face speaking of relief and sadness both. "I want the sky," he admitted.
"You want the sky," she told him again, trying to understand. There was something about how the words were echoing back-and-forth; each repetition increasing their power as they reflected off each other.
"I want the sky," he said again, starting to fill those words with confidence.
"You want the sky." The words were taking on a life of their own now. She could feel the cosmic mechanism above them drawing in closer, as if all the universe were focusing on this scene.
"I want the sky," he told her at last, in the voice she knew.
"You want the sky?" she asked. Their words were building something. Each line was building on the previous, carrying that energy and letting it grow.
"I want... I want the..." Ilim faltered.
Miri tried to save him. "...the sky," she offered. She had to save it, the connection they were building. She had to stave off the cold. An icy mist was rising off the iron beneath them, and only their words could hold it at bay.
Ilim open his mouth to speak. He hesitated. Then, lip trembling, he admitted, "I want... to see the sky."
"You want to see the sky," she responded. She was here for him. They could do this.
"To see the sky..." he said, his awe and wonder emerging.
"To see the sky..." she said, their words reverberating off each other.
He nodded. The heart was emerging, the very core. This was what they were building towards, the structure their words were creating.
"To see the sky..." Ilim's marvel.
"To see the sky..." Miri's curiosity.
"Everyone..." Ilim's voice slipped, and Miri rushed into to complete the thought.
"Everyone wants to see the sky," she concluded.
There was a pause, as her words hung in the air.
And then the loop pulsed, an immediate, hideous pulse that tore its way up through Miri's legs, shaking her to her core. She fell to her knees in shock. Her hands caught herself as she fell, a second shockwave shaking her as her palms struck the arctic metal beneath her. The cold bit into her, sapping her strength.
She looked up. The Dark Lord, wrapped in menacing loops of iron, loomed over her once more.
"No one," he declared.
Miri swallowed, trying to hold the nausea at bay. "No one?" she asked, fear choking the words.
The Dark Lord grew. The sky darkened, the mechanism shuddered. "No one."
Miri's head pounded. His words were suffocating. "...no one wants to see the sky?" she tried.
"No one wants to see the sky!" he shouted. She was losing him. The knot beneath them tilted, starting to bend under his weight. He was building something by himself now, and all she could was watch.
"No one..." she tried, her voice cracking.
"No one wants to see the sky!!"
The anger, the rage, the brutal frustration... it all bore down on her. She felt the iron beneath her beckon to her, inviting her in, where she could be safe from it all. Its cold offered her comfort. Its cold was an escape.
"No wants to see the sky," intoned the Dark Lord, and the heavens shuddered at his decree.
The darkness inside Miri's head swept over her thoughts. She clutched the remnants of her dreamcloak around her, huddling herself inside of it. There was nothing left. This was where things fell apart.
The mechanism creaked, and groaned. Its hues faded, and its gentle celestial motion began to ground to a halt.
Miri gazed into her own, quiet darkness.
And found a pinprick of light.
It was a memory. A simple one.
They had been in the forest for a few days, long enough for the initial thrill of adventure to fade. And without that initial surge, her bravado had given way to doubt.
The day had been rainy and exhausting. Damp clothing and mud sucking at their boots had quickly stolen what energy they had. When they had found a relatively dry bit of hill to sleep on, they took it as a sign to turn in early. Ilim had agreed to take the first shift while the last of the sun's light was still fading, and Miri had curled up on her side in her sleeping bag, facing him.
She wasn't sure if she had slept or not by the time she had opened her eyes next.
The sun had set. It was dark, save for the meager glow of what remained of their campfire. That small bundle of warmth and light still shed its glow, pushing back the chill of the night. And next to it, Ilim sat, staring upwards.
Miri watched him curiously.
It had been so hard to dispel that early, frantic impression of him. His sneer, his cold visage, his blind race away from her. She looked at him, and she saw the Dark Lord. There was no escaping it; no relief from the feeling of dread that accompanied being around him.
But looking at him now, she saw something else. He wasn't lecturing her, or explaining what magical implement he was preparing, or talking about himself at her. Instead there was simply him, sitting alone.
Looking up, and admiring the stars. Taking in their imperceptible celestial motion.
It was the first time she had really seen him, she realized.
The memory faded. She looked up at the Dark Lord again. He was in there, she told himself. And if he was in there, there was hope.
"No one wants to see the sky." His voice rang in her ears, deafening her. The words took on a dull echo. She craned her neck up to look, and saw where the echo came from: the nearest surfaces of the celestial mechanism were beginning to harden, taking on the same dull, lifeless appearance as the iron knot. The same inert corruption.
Memories, moments, feelings. Gone.
That was enough.
"No." She defied him.
He didn't respond. She could feel him shaking in rage, the barely-restrained emotion causing the whole iron knot to vibrate.
But his anger meant nothing to her. He had given this to her. He must have known that, in how he chose his words. He wanted her to say it. Because here was the truth:
"No. One wants to see the sky."
There was stillness.
"One wants to see the sky," she urged again. It had to still be true. It just had to be.
The Dark Lord said nothing. He simply stared down at her.
"One wants to see the sky," she said, and in her own words, she heard the invitation. She found her voice -- the call to join her in building something once again.
"One wants to see the sky," he repeated back to her. The armor began to slip from him once again.
"One wants to see the sky," she told him, and again their words interwove, building towards something greater.
"...I want to see the sky," he told her. The last of the Dark Lord melted away, leaving only Ilim.
"You want to see the sky!" she responded. It was coming together, whatever it was. There was something being built here, and the pieces were falling into place.
"I want to see the sky!" he told her, and in his voice was everything he felt: the joy, the anger, the disappointment, the sorrow, the hope. He was Ilim, and his voice was a chorus.
"You want to see the sky!" And her voice could join his.
He paused, just for a moment, for as long as the crescendo would survive without him. "Everyone..." he tried again. This was her last chance to get it right.
But this was the easy part. She had the answer this time. All she had to do was think of Ilim, and see him, and the answer was obvious. "You want everyone to see the sky."
There it was.
He nodded, tears forming in his eyes. "I wanted everyone to see the sky," he said, his voice cracking with pain and relief at once.
"You want everyone to see the sky," she corrected him. The words were important.
"I... want everyone to see the sky." These were the final moments. Their words, the entire conversation, came together. She could feel it stretching away above them, inscribed upon reality itself.
"You want everyone to see the sky." Their words formed a tower, stretching into the heavens, around which the whole mechanism might turn.
"I want everyone to see the sky." Their words formed a tower, stretching deep into the core of the iron knot, pressing it apart, opening it up to the realm of life and motion once more.
"You just want everyone to see the sky," Their words formed a tower -- a core, a living core, to form a grounding for the magnificent Self that expanded in every direction.
"I want everyone to see the sky," Ilim concluded. That was it. Their words settled into place, and their energy burst through the celestial device. It flared, all at once, and that surge flooded the knot. Piece by piece, it began to evaporate.
Miri sighed, a frame-shaking sigh of release.
At that same moment, the last of her cloak dissolved.
Oh well, thought Miri as her body collapsed, grateful for the ending. One out of two ain't bad.
Ilim blinked. And woke up.
He only had a moment to take in Miri's collapsed form. Swiftly, he gestured at a nearby arc, an arc which was shedding scales of iron as it rotated across the expanse. A strand wrenched itself free, and descended. Ilim pointed at Miri's fallen form.
What now, she thought, as the strand bore down upon her and flattened her beneath an ornate whorl of--
--they were in the forest, sitting back-to-back on a grassy hill. Above them, the sun burned a path across the sky. Clouds flitted across the heavens like nervous birds. Around them, a day was playing out in what looked like it would be a matter of minutes. Miri took a deep breath, and found the air rich and soothing. This was a space for her, she realized.
"This isn't a memory," she said. Her lungs were working hard, fighting to make up for lost time, but otherwise she felt tranquil. She was at peace.
"It is a feeling, Miri," Ilim explained from behind her. "It is a feeling I have for you, and that is why you can exist here."
She watched the sun continue to sear its way from the horizon to the apex above their heads. She had an intuition, and followed it. "For now," she added, sensing the swift approach of nightfall.
"Indeed," Ilim confirmed. "Not for long. But for now." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, child, you've come this far... what now?"
Miri simply stared outward. She hadn't exactly had a plan, at any point in this. She merely had... a thing in front of her, something that needed doing. That kind of question felt unfair. "I don't know," she admitted.
Ilim scoffed, the way he used to when she tried to turn away one of his lessons. "You've come this far, child. What's the ending?"
Miri turned her eyes downward. She watched as her shadow disappeared. Noon already; so little time left. "...how can you ask me that?"
"Hm." Ilim pondered this. His voice took on its deep, resounding tone. "I could give you my knowledge. In this place, it'd be a trivial matter." Miri felt herself sit up slightly straighter. There was excitement, but also the dread of an excitement that felt unearned.
Ilim didn't seem to notice. He went on, "I could give you everything. You'd have all my secrets, all my tools. Aether knows you'd do a better job with it than I ever did."
Miri pressed her hands together. Focus, she told herself. "You'd do that for me, huh?"
Ilim nodded. "Yes. Gladly," he said. There was something being left unsaid. There was a relief in the "gladly" that picked at her. "It would be a blessing to see you wield what I never could properly."
The sun was approaching its destination. It was behind her now, but the shadows told the tale. Miri watched as Ilim's shadow grew to eclipse her own. She understood, in that moment.
"No," she defied him again.
"No? Hm." Ilim turned her answer over in his head. "I should be surprised, but I'm not," he admitted. "Perhaps you have become predictably surprising to me." He sighed, and with his sigh came a breeze, and the scent of foliage after a rainfall. "Well then, explain."
Miri gestured wide. He couldn't see her, but she knew he'd feel the gesture all the same. "Look around you," she said. She could feel him freeze up a bit, but she pressed on regardless. "What am I? A feeling inside a thought inside a dream?"
Ilim said nothing. The sun was approaching the crest of the canopy now, its light starting to recede from the world.
Miri asked him, plainly and simply: "This is where your knowledge got us, isn't it?"
"...I see your point," Ilim responded, weakly.
But she wasn't done. "Your hurt... your hurt is spread through all of this," she insisted.
Ilim was silent, and still.
She sighed, and as one with Ilim, they both slumped. "I can't take this from you," she told him. "Not like this."
"...I see," he said, sadly. "I see." He tried to put a bit of gruffiness in his voice, to find some resolve. "Perhaps it's for the best," he told her, as the sunlight began to fade from the world around him. "My tainted knowledge... it can die with me."
She would have slapped him, if she could. Instead, she settled for, "Oh my god, when will you learn to listen?" She could feel the sun stalling at the last moments of twilight, the anger inside her keeping it burning on the rim of the world. "Who said you should give up?" she demanded. "Why would you say that?"
"What exactly are you proposing?" Ilim asked in awe, caught up in her moment.
Miri snorted. "What if we at least try to fix all your stupid knowledge instead, idiot?" That was the thought, but having said it, she found the feeling behind it. And what a feeling it was: "How about you let me teach you something for once?"
She could imagine his mouth hanging open. It was a satisfying image. "Do you really think--" he started, but there was no time for his meandering, not now.
"Shut up and listen," she commanded. "I'm asking you..." It was time to start over. His question about an ending was all wrong, and that's why she hadn't been able to answer it. It was time for a new beginning. "...are you ready to run with me, Ilim?" she asked.
"Ahahaha!" Ilim laughed, and it was good to hear him laugh again. "Yes... when you put it that way, I suppose I am. I am ready to run." He reached towards the sky, and snapped his fingers. As the universe collapsed down around them, he snuck in, "Very fast."
There was a rushing sound, as that miniscule pocket of reality folded inwards, and then--
--and then they were in the tower, solid stone beneath their feet. As one, they made for the exit, only for the stonework below them to collapse, and as they tumbled downwards amidst the debris, the fall stole the air from their lungs, until the darkness at the corners of their vision--
--
--
--
--
--
--days passed, as days tended to.
The Aether Siphons across the countryside had been damaged, but the tempest had stopped moments before overloading them. Most of them remained partially operational, keeping a thin trickle of Aether flowing to the city to supplement its reserves. It meant adjustments would have to be made, given how long it would take to bring them back to full power; but people would manage, as people tended to.
The hospice bed was comfortable, Miri had to admit. It wasn't clear to the city how an archaeology student and an old traveler had gotten pulled into the mysterious tower, but they were willing to cover the medical expenses just to sweep the whole thing under the rug.
They hadn't been buried in the rubble, at least. At the moment the tower started to collapse, the dream had ended, and the stonework had returned to where it belonged, mostly. Each piece had returned as a jumble, a blend of materials from the dreamtower's construction. The towers of the castle were the most impressive: each was now a unique piece of art, a fantastical blend of roofing tiles, cobblestones and painted mortar.
Miri gazed at the towers now, through the window of her room. Their surreal composition gave the world the feeling of being brand new.
She had been gazing at those towers when her thesis advisor had called. The thoughtpact had opened with, "Given your history with extended absences, if you want to continue your studies with me..." Miri was thankful, because it was exactly the phrasing she needed. The answer to "if" had come immediately, and she ended the thoughtpact there without a moment of regret.
She knew what she wanted to study now. It was that simple.
There was just one unresolved detail. They weren't sure how they had survived the fall. They had blacked out, and woken up in their beds, bandaged and bruised. There was a memory, in-between, but Miri wasn't sure how much to trust it. It could have been a dream.
She had heard the tower itself say goodbye.
Ilim had assured her the tower had no will of its own, but that wasn't how the dream went. In the dream, she felt the tower cradle them in its strands of energy -- powerful enough to rip stone from the earth, charged enough to detonate an Aether Siphon -- but it held them tenderly, and as it held them, it made an Oath. One forged on a dying heartbeat.
An Oath that promised the past could be put to rest.
Miri smiled when she thought of it. Because that only left the future.
She watched the sun rise over the tops of those wonderful towers. It was a new world, and a new day.