The kitchen wasn't merely a place of food preparation—it was the heart of the effort to sustain the Thornbrick's territory; a settlement beyond the estate.
Every meal served here was destined for the laborers, toiling tirelessly to erect the towering defenses, homes, and structures that would form the backbone of Nuu and Oga's dream.
The air buzzed with urgency, a collective drive to keep the workers nourished and the settlement's dreams alive.
Dahlia inhaled deeply, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. "Ah, nothing like the smell of fresh ingredients," she quipped, nudging Gayle gently.
Faye, a sharp-eyed woman with a commanding presence, paused mid-instruction as her gaze fell on Dahlia, a great figure and beautiful woman.
Though unfamiliar with her, the chef's discerning eyes darted to Gayle, piecing together the situation easily. Rumors from her staff earlier that morning resurfaced—someone had used her kitchen without permission.
The mystery now seemed solved. This woman must be someone connected to the Master, and her demeanor hinted at great importance.
Dahlia stepped forward, breaking the silence, her movements purposeful but unhurried. "You must be Chef Faye," she began, her voice warm yet firm. "I'm Consort Dahlia, Lord Oga's wife!"
Faye inclined her head politely, though her hands remained busy arranging herbs on a chopping board. "Indeed. A pleasure to meet you." Her tone was neutral, but her guarded eyes betrayed curiosity.
"I'll personally oversee Lord Oga's meals for the coming weeks," Dahlia announced with a calm authority as if her decision had already been settled.
Faye's brow furrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face. Still, her voice remained respectful. "As you wish, Consort." She bowed briefly before retreating to her tasks, her movements precise and practiced.
This was no place for prolonged conversation, and she wisely ended the exchange before it could drift into unproductive chatter.
With their business in the kitchen concluded Dahlia turned back to Gayle, whose reverie had finally broken. Together, they exited, their steps echoing faintly against the polished stone floors of the estate.
Their path led them through the estate's sprawling grounds, introducing Dahlia to key figures. First came Potter, the meticulous steward who ensured the estate ran like clockwork, then Commander Brute, a formidable figure with a presence as imposing as his title suggested. Each encounter was brief but carried a quiet air of respect, the weight of Dahlia's authority growing with every interaction.
Finally, their steps brought them to the compound of Sir Zmos.
Gayle had harbored a flicker of concern about this meeting. Zmos, is known for his sharp tongue. Yet, to her surprise, the two found an unexpected rhythm in their conversation.
______________________________________
Deep within the labyrinthine mines, Oga finally set foot into the hidden subspace left behind by his father, Baba. The sight that greeted him was nothing short of breathtaking. This was no ordinary cavern; it was a sanctuary brimming with mana, the air itself tingling with raw energy.
Rare plants sprouted in abundance, their vibrant hues a testament to their potency—perfect ingredients for potion concoction. At the heart of it all stood a towering pagoda, its elegant architecture reminiscent of the Eastern Continent.
Oga couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in quiet admiration. This was so typical of his father. If not for the Thornbrick ancestral home being rooted in the Central Continent, the family would undoubtedly have been raised amidst the traditions of the East.
He approached the pagoda with measured steps, the grandeur of its presence filling him with a mix of anticipation and reverence.
As his hand brushed against the ornate brass doorknob, a sudden pull of energy enveloped him, and in an instant, he found himself no longer outside.
"Welcome to the Tower of the Fallen!"
The words resonated in his mind, spoken by a smooth, mechanical female voice.
"Identity confirmed: 44th Successor of House Thornbrick."
Oga's eyes widened in astonishment. This wasn't merely a building—it was something far more extraordinary.
He turned, taking in his surroundings. The interior was unlike anything he had imagined. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes stretched into the distance, rivaling the famed Starfield Library in sheer scope.
The atmosphere thrummed with an arcane energy that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. And that was only the first floor. His gaze traveled upward to see three more levels spiraling into the heights of the pagoda, each emanating its unique aura of mystery and power.
As if in response to his awe, information began to stream into his mind, unbidden but precise. This was no ordinary structure—it was an Ancient Magus Tower, a highly coveted artifact of immense magical significance.
Its true form was veiled by enchantments, appearing to all but the rightful successor as a dilapidated ruin. Yet, to the rightful heir, the veil was lifted, revealing the Tower's majestic form—a spire of intricate design, pulsating faintly with the hum of ancient power.
Oga's expression shifted, a mix of amazement and amusement flickering across his face. This discovery changed everything. His father's foresight had been staggering—layer upon layer of preparation, hidden so deeply that even those closest to him had been unaware.
"Argina… Argina…" Oga murmured, his voice laced with a twisted grin. "Even if she had found this place, it would have been useless to her. She wouldn't have gained a thing."
For the first time in weeks, Oga felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Losing the first safe space to Argina had been a bitter blow, but this revelation turned the tide in his favor. This tower, this sanctuary, would allow him to carry out his plans with unparalleled secrecy and precision.
And now, standing within the heart of his ancestral legacy, Oga could finally raise his head high.
"Please place the Tome of Nazir upon the Altar!"
The mechanical voice resonated through the chamber, its tone cold and unyielding, yet strangely expectant.
Oga's brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing. A fleeting shadow of uncertainty crossed his face before the voice repeated, more insistent this time:
"Please place the Book of Nazir to access all floors!"
Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, sharp as a blade. The Book of Nephilim! It was the sacred artifact that held the archives, the very book his father had passed down to him.
"Guard this with your life," Baba had said, his voice grave, his eyes blazing with a solemnity Oga had never seen before. "Do not give it to anyone, no matter the cost. Do not trade it, not even for the world."
And now, here he stood, the forbidden book clutched tightly to his chest, the weight of his father's words crashing against the urgency of the voice. But one question gnawed at him: Who was Nazir?
Torn between hesitation and instinct, Oga decided. He placed the Book of Nephilim upon the altar.
The chamber reacted instantly. A beam of blinding light erupted from the book, piercing the heavens, and a searing pain ripped through Oga's mind. He staggered, his senses overwhelmed, his consciousness spiraling into another realm.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the chamber.
He found himself standing amidst a scene so vast and surreal it defied reality—a battlefield in the heavens, brimming with chaos and fire. Above him, a colossal figure stood astride a white flame that burned impossibly bright, its glow both ethereal and consuming.
The figure bore two enormous wings, their edges sharp as razors. In his hand, a world-cleaving sword shimmered, slicing through ranks of seraphim as though they were mere shadows.
This was no ordinary battle. It was rebellion, a war waged against the heavens.
The figure at the forefront of the chaos—Nazir, Oga realized—moved like a storm given human form.
His power erupted in waves, each strike more devastating than the last, his fury an unstoppable force. Nazir wasn't merely leading the charge; he was the charge, a relentless torrent of energy and purpose.
Oga found himself compelled to move closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the scene. But as he approached, a sudden, searing pain tore through his body. It struck like lightning, leaving him paralyzed.
His knees buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, clutching his eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more painful than the last.
It was as though the man seated on the celestial throne—the Almighty Himself—had fixed His gaze directly upon Oga. The weight of it was unbearable, a force far beyond human comprehension. But how could that be? This was only a vision... wasn't it?
And yet, there was something undeniable about the flame that surrounded the Almighty, a brilliant violet blaze that surged and flickered with impossible intensity.
It mirrored Oga's flame. The realization sent a chill coursing through him, even as sweat poured down his brow.
His flame—a shield as much as a part of himself—was the only thing keeping him from being consumed. Without its protection, the overwhelming light would have blinded him, searing away his senses entirely. Even now, as he struggled to rise, the sheer power emanating threatened to crush him.
As the battle raged, Nazir's rebellious strength faltered. No matter how many fell to his blade, the Almighty remained still, unmoving, untouchable. And when the Almighty finally did rise, the outcome was swift and absolute.
Nazir's defeat did not come by blade or power—it was the sheer force of divine will. His left wing was wrenched violently from his back, the sound of tearing flesh and feathers echoing like thunder across the heavens. He fell, cast down into Astral Belt, his body aflame with violet fire.
And thus, the Fallen were born.
The vision faded as suddenly as it came, leaving Oga gasping for breath. Beads of sweat streamed down his face, his hands trembling as though the scene had physically drained him.
Then, a voice rang out, calm yet filled with awe.
"Master Oga of House Thornbrick," it intoned, "the long-cherished dream of crossing the Astral Plane is now bestowed upon you. All access has been granted.
Oga turned toward the sound, his head still spinning. Before him, the shimmering outline of a figure coalesced—an ethereal presence that radiated wisdom and power.
"I am the Tower Spirit," the voice continued, "an entity created by the founder, Nazir. For countless generations, I have waited, but none who came before you possessed a bloodline as pure as yours—one that rivals even the Almighty Himself."
Oga stood frozen, the weight of the revelation crashing over him. His chest heaved, his thoughts racing.
He was the heir of the Fallen.
And within his veins coursed the blood of the Almighty.
The weight of this revelation pressed down on him, as heavy as the ancient tomes stacked high around the library. Shelves stretched endlessly in every direction, a labyrinth of knowledge preserved from ages long forgotten.
The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and ink, a timeless reminder of the countless secrets these books held. Oga paused, running his fingers over the spine of a leather-bound volume. Its title had long since faded, but the texture of the worn material felt familiar, almost comforting.
He exhaled deeply, steadying himself. If time was his ally, then the library would be his domain. There was so much to uncover, and his journey was far from over.
Today, he would begin with the places that had always intrigued him most: the Elemental Pool, the Binding Research Labs, and the Scenic Garden. Each held a piece of the puzzle he was destined to assemble.
___________________________________
2 Years Later
The caravans rumbled steadily along the worn paths, their wheels groaning under the weight of precious cargo. Each wagon was laden with moonforged alloy—a gleaming, steel-like material prized for its durability—alongside bundles of titan hair, renowned for its ability to fortify structures against time and the elements.
Frostban wool, a miraculous insulator capable of resisting even the harshest winters, was stacked carefully beside rolls of starglim veil, its surface shimmering like liquid starlight, destined to replace glass in the city's future windows. Piles of elder wood, abundant in the Thornbrick region, added an earthy scent to the air, its versatility making it a cornerstone of construction.
The workers moved with remarkable coordination, their efforts a living symphony of labor and purpose. Every action was deliberate, every movement seamless. Thornbrick was evolving, its transformation guided by Oga's vision.
Under his leadership, an intricate aqueduct system had been constructed, bringing life-giving water to once-parched soil. Slowly but steadily, the land was reshaping itself, bearing a resemblance to the grandeur of an ancient Roman city.
What had once been a rugged frontier was now becoming a hub of architectural ambition and communal effort.
Felled timber, once scattered haphazardly, was now repurposed with care and precision. The outer sectors of Thornbrick teemed with activity of domus and insula rose from the earth like budding flowers.
Their frames, reinforced with titan-hair strands woven as tightly as steel and insulated with frostban wool, stood as symbols of unmatched craftsmanship—promising both enduring strength and luxurious comfort for their future inhabitants.
Each structure bore the mark of ingenuity, blending functionality with elegance, as if the very essence of the land had been molded into their design.
Amidst the sprawling construction, the centerpiece of the settlement rose to prominence: a colossal circular wall of stone.
Its surface shimmered faintly under the light, coated with mirth cloud—a crystalline mineral known for its iridescent gleam—and fortified with moonforged alloy, a substance imbued with ethereal resilience.
The towering wall exuded both a timeless grace and an aura of invulnerability. Legends murmured that not even a Rank 3 Mystic Knight, with all their devastating power, could carve so much as a scratch into its flawless facade.
This was Thornbrick—a dream realized. After two arduous years of relentless labor, the once-untamed land had been transformed. Terraforming the wild terrain into a thriving metropolis was no small feat, yet the vision of Thornbrick as a City of Commerce had finally come to fruition.
Gone were the aspirations of a solitary Magus Tower piercing the sky—a relic of an older, narrower ambition. In its place stood a city teeming with life, innovation, and boundless potential.
No longer was it a settlement of a few thousand souls eking out a modest existence. Thornbrick had blossomed into the City of Nepha, a bustling hub of trade and culture.
Its rapid growth was nothing short of extraordinary. Streets now thrummed with the vibrant energy of merchants, artisans, and travelers from distant lands. Grand bazaars overflowed with exotic goods, their vivid colors and enticing scents weaving tales of distant realms.
The hum of voices, the clang of hammers on metal, and the melodies of street performers filled the air, creating a symphony of life.
Nepha now stood as an equal to even the Imperial City of the Khan Dynasty, once thought unassailable in its grandeur. Where the Khan's capital boasted ancient splendor, Nepha thrived on innovation, its rise fueled by the ambition and determination of those who called it home.