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Chapter 26 - Within The Black Tower

Like the castle Cira, the black tower had stood since time immemorial, defying the cruel hand of time that erased its name from mortal memory. There was no record of the black spike in the annals of Minaak. Even the magsmen, known for their penchant for spinning tales, had left this enigma untouched, as if its existence was beyond the reach of their craft.

Shrouded by the towering Eroswood trees, the tower remained an impenetrable mystery until Bhadra arrived in Minaak. Long before the enigmatic fowler came, many had tried their hand at opening the serpent-guarded door, only to fail. But when Bhadra, the man who had brought Oman's dead brother Ayan back to life, made his request to stay in the dark tower for a fortnight, Oman was too grateful to deny him.

He had assumed it a harmless wish, for the serpent door had resisted even the best blacksmiths of their age. Yet, on that fateful night, Oman witnessed a flickering torch battling the darkness that had claimed the tower for ages. Bhadra had opened the serpent door, a feat that cemented his place as a figure of awe and mystery in the castle. How he achieved it became one of the many secrets of Minaak.

Idle tongues wove stories, some dark and some fantastical, but the truth remained shrouded. Oman, recognizing Bhadra's unparalleled prowess, made him the sole occupant and custodian of the black tower. Yet, the opening of the tower unveiled no answers. The ancient runes on its walls were indecipherable, and the rusted doors within seemed to heed only Bhadra's arcane spells. If they whispered their secrets, only Bhadra and his peculiar glass minion, Virtu, knew.

Unaware of these mysteries, Onish followed Virtu up the spiraling staircase, his mind grappling with the eerie presence of a rusted copper gate deep inside the tower. Something about that gate stirred a buried anguish within him, an unnamed loss that grew heavier with each step. The musty air seemed to hum forgotten songs, a dirge only death-fairies might rival.

Was it some lingering magic or the echo of a personal tragedy? Onish wondered, chanting a protective mantra to ward off the oppressive gloom. The carvings on the walls bore the marks of time's relentless erosion, mocking mankind's futile attempts to immortalize its works. The tower's architecture diverged sharply from Minaak's castle—it seemed less built than grown, like a colossal tree rising from the earth.

Each story of the tower was a world unto itself, with unique designs and distinct auras. As Onish ascended, his curiosity about Bhadra, the elusive mentor who never revealed his face, deepened.

On the sixth floor, the glass boy finally broke his silence. "Boy, what was your name again?"

"Ishit," Onish replied, his eyes absorbing the intricate details of his surroundings.

Virtu's babyish voice carried a gravity far beyond his appearance. "Do you know, human brat? Lies eat away at the soul, like weevils in grain, until there's nothing left but an empty husk." The toddler's translucent face twisted into an expression of solemn wisdom. "So one should never lie."

Onish nodded, more out of habit than conviction. What race did this childlike creature belong to, or was he a manifestation of the tower's uncanny magic? Virtu's insight rivaled that of any human philosopher.

"So tell me your real name," Virtu pressed.

Onish smirked inwardly. Was this why the boy had been so quiet? "I'm not lying. My name really is Ishit," he said, though a twinge of unease prickled his heart.

"No, it isn't," Virtu declared, stopping abruptly on the seventh floor. The space was bathed in the flickering glow of beeswax candles as thick as a calf. "It doesn't fit you."

Onish's pulse quickened. Had his secret been uncovered?

Before he could respond, Bhadra's commanding voice cut through the tension. "Virtu, stop your nonsense! Bring him in. I need him to drink this potion."

The toddler bolted toward the door with startling speed, chirping, "Virtu is coming, Master!" With a kick, he flung the heavy black door open and vanished inside. Moments later, he reappeared, his glassy face contorted with impatience. "Hurry up, boy! Don't just stand there like a fool."

Onish hesitated, then crossed the threshold into a spacious hall teeming with the arcane. Rows of shelves groaned under the weight of ancient tomes and scrolls. Cupboards brimmed with jars, tables were cluttered with mysterious instruments, and the walls were adorned with intricate diagrams and maps. Five carved doors lined the room, all closed save one, shaped like a saucer.

Bhadra stood beside a massive cauldron as black as a moonless night, its surface etched with glowing golden runes. Thick curls of smoke spiraled from the shimmering green liquid within. Virtu was already by his side, his transparent mouth watering as he watched the potion being ladled into a wooden bowl.

To Onish's astonishment, Virtu drank the potion eagerly. The liquid coursed through his translucent body, illuminating his internal structure in a dazzling display. His entire form soon glowed like a radiant emerald, a spectacle both mesmerizing and surreal.

Bhadra observed intently. "How does it taste?" he asked.

"Yummy! Can I have more, Master?" Virtu's eyes sparkled with greed as he stared longingly at the cauldron.

"No. That's all you can handle," Bhadra replied firmly.

Virtu's face fell, his glistening cheeks puffing out in childish indignation. "You're lying, just like the human boy!" he huffed before stomping off toward the saucer-shaped door. At the threshold, he turned, casting a suspicious glance at Onish. "Keep an eye on him, Master. He's hiding something." With that, he disappeared.

Bhadra waved dismissively. "Don't mind him. Virtu has a temper, but it's not his fault. The world has been unkind to him."

As he spoke, a jade jar floated from a shelf to the table beside the cauldron. Bhadra gestured, and the green liquid rose like a sinuous rope, pouring itself into the jar with fluid precision.

Onish listened intently as Bhadra explained Virtu's origins. The boy was no ordinary creature but a rare Kanchi, a nearly extinct race from the distant land of Glassia, beyond the Living Sea. Bhadra had rescued him from his ruined homeland, a story tinged with tragedy and secrecy.

The potion, Igbo's elixir, was essential for Onish's body forging. Unlike those who awakened naturally, Onish's age required drastic measures. His bones and muscles needed to shatter and rebuild anew. Only then could he channel the spirit energy as outlined in the diagrams he had memorized.

Bhadra's praise for Onish's rapid progress was tempered by the daunting task ahead. Though the process sounded simple—drink the potion, endure the transformation, and circulate the spirit—Onish knew better. This was no ordinary trial. It was a crucible, one that would shape his destiny.