After Era's first meeting with the Chairman, she was directed to a suite and allowed to rest—something that was hard to do, considering all that weighed on her mind. If Era were a god, she wouldn't have let herself sleep or would have thrust her into the first trial the moment she closed her eyes. It was such wicked thoughts that kept her awake for much of the night until the exhaustion of the day finally claimed her.
When Era awoke in warm, comfortable sheets in a familiar-looking room, she felt slightly eased. She supposed she should be thankful the gods weren't as cruel as her—or perhaps what they had planned was infinitely worse.
Determined to make use of the Chairman's resources, she leapt from the bed. After meeting Danny and Glasses, Era had doubts about the usefulness of the archangels. She didn't have time to stroke egos. Geoffrey would be a better place to start—the keeper of the books. The concept of trials seemed ancient and archaic; perhaps there were books that could help her. Besides, she needed assistance deciphering Beira's riddle, and who better to ask than a librarian?
Geoffrey of Manmouth was a man who awoke each morning at dawn, drank a double shot of espresso from a machine recently gifted to him by H.V.N (the only piece of technology he preferred over the old methods), and spent his day in the same armchair, surrounded by what he loved most: scrolls, dusty books, and parchment. He cared not for the present or future; it was the past that consumed him. So when a young woman entered his library brimming with questions about legends, records, and myths, he didn't recognise her as the Curse Bringer and was eager to share all he knew.
Era spent the better part of the morning drowning in records, with no luck. Geoffrey was not to blame—Era had quickly grown attached to the white-haired man. There was simply nothing on trials or information about Zyra and the unnamed god. She was close to tears, ready to give it all up. All morning, she had been mumbling Beira's riddle. The first two verses seemed pointless enough, talking about blessings and the gods' temperaments. It was the third that confused her.
Grabbing a scrap of parchment, Era scribbled down the words:
"A jester's crown, a warrior's sword,
A king's command, a beggar's word."
What could that mean? Era considered herself comedic at times, but a crown? She was as far from nobility as one could get. And "warrior" or "beggar"? Those weren't words she'd use to describe herself either.
Geoffrey appeared behind her, holding plates of brunch for them both.
"Ah, a great story, that. One of my favourites," he exclaimed, clearing clutter for their cutlery.
"What?"
He pointed to her parchment. "The Jester's Crown. It's a fable. Don't you know it? Well, I suppose not many do—it's an old one."
"Tell me," Era urged, a spark of hope igniting within her.
"Well, let me see, how does it go? Ah, yes…
Once upon a time, in an ancient kingdom built on stilts above a sparkling turquoise ocean, there lived a jester named Marlo. The kingdom's wooden streets echoed with the sound of his fiddle, his tunes as lively as the waves beneath. Marlo's music often brought smiles to the faces of the court, but none brighter than Princess Lysara, the eldest daughter of the king. Her golden laugh was his favourite melody, and soon, his heart danced only for her.
Knowing that his station as a jester would forever separate him from Lysara, Marlo appealed to the gods. Under a moonlit sky, he prayed fervently atop a cliff where the waves roared like a divine chorus.
"Oh, mighty gods, grant me the power to be worthy of Lysara. Make me a king, so that I may ask for her hand and give her the life she deserves."
To his surprise, his prayer was answered. A figure emerged from the shadows of the waves, draped in crystalised coral.
"Marlo," the god said, his voice as deep as the ocean depths, "you desire a crown, but greatness demands sacrifice. Will you accept this? Will you sit upon the throne for all of eternity?"
Blinded by love, Marlo agreed without hesitation. The god touched his forehead, and a flood of power surged through him. That night, he found himself overcome by a strange fury. Unbeknownst to him, the gods' price for his ascension was steep: he was driven to kill the reigning king in a frenzied rage.
When the red dawn rose, Marlo stood in the throne room, the king's lifeless body at his feet, and a bloodied crown in his hand. The court, shocked and terrified, proclaimed him king to avoid his wrath. But Lysara, witnessing the horror, recoiled from Marlo. Disgusted and distraught she flung herself from the window of the tallest tower and took her life.
Marlo's heart shattered into countless pieces. He sought out the god again, this time cursing him for his cruel gift.
"You have made me a king, but I have lost everything I held dear. I will not rule over this throne of sorrow. Take back your bargain!"
But the god refused. "You accepted the price, Marlo. Now you must bear it."
Marlo complied, but as the God had tricked him, he also outwitted the God. By sitting upon the throne, Marlo followed the God's command but he refused to rule. Under his silence the kingdom quickly began to fall into ruin. The ocean, her temper angered by Lysara's anguish, rose up and destroyed the stilited structure which held the kingdom afloat, until it was swallowed by the ocean. Marlo was never seen again. It is said that the ruins of the stilted kingdom lie beneath the waves, and the ghost of Marlo wanders there, his songs a warning to those who seek power at the cost of their soul, his fiddle's mournful tunes faintly heard by sailors on stormy nights. And so, the tale of Marlo and Lysara lives on, a fable of ambition, sacrifice, and greed. "
"And the God? What do we know of him?"
"Nothing. His identity is never mentioned." Geoffrey said, before settling down for his meal. Era set back on her chair. Could this be the first challenger? The God in the story. He was male, so at least that excluded Zyra.
"What did the god gain in return for granting Marlo the crown?" she asked.
Geoffrey took a large bite of bread and cheese, brushing crumbs from his long beard, but Era didn't catch his next words. Her vision blurred. It felt as though someone had plucked her from her seat. The library vanished as if she had never been there.
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Era's body was dumped onto the floor. She clattered onto the stone tiles, groaning, before reality sunk in and she immediately looked to her surroundings. She was in some sort of cavernous chamber with walls encrusted in coral and pearls. The floor was carpeted in coins of every denomination, piled so high they formed dunes of glinting metal. Gemstones of every colour—sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and opals—were scattered like pebbles, their brilliance magnified by onto the walls in vibrant hues of red, green and blue. It wasn't just jewels which found their home here: chalices, thick carpets, marble statues draped in strings of black pearls, gilded mirrors among other trinkets all lay half-buried in the opulence.
Era scrambled to her feet, her eyes scanning over the mountains of wealth for signs of her first challenger. She need not look further then the largest pile, a stark contrast to the shimmering mounds peppered around the room. The largest mountain was not made from gold, no. It's looming structure was sculpted entirely of bone. Skeletons upon skeleton, piled so high, Era had to crane her neck to observe the top, where a lonely figure sat. The man's corpulent figure, his body round and heavy with indulgence, sat comfortably. His skin gleamed as though dusted with golden dust, his fingers, thick and stubby, adorned with countless rings, each bearing a jewel of unearthly beauty. In his grasp, a scepter of bone. Era recognised this man. He was the nameless, slumbering God from the first meeting. This time he was wide awake. His molten gaze lazily regarding her as if she were an insect before his notice.
Era had to hold back the flurry of emotions- shock that he had volunteered and terror, for even as he watched her now with not an ounce of real interest, Era's soul shook like prey trembling before predator.
"Mortal, welcome to your first trial." he introduced, yawning widely in a way that flashed his glittering gold teeth.
So bright, Era thought, he must have awful eyesight, how else could he bear to look at his gleaming treasure? The attempt to brighten her mood helped calm her nerves slightly.
"I am Phoros, God of Ambition and Greed. Pass, and deem yourself worthy and I will grant you the power to achieve your dreams." With each word, every corner of the treasury began to whisper and the air moaned as if crying from the weight of Phoros's insidious presence.
Her dreams?
Era, in this moment, couldn't conjure an image of that. Perhaps she was simply too preoccupied by the divinity before her, but her heart did not quicken with the excitement of that prospect. Pushing her thoughts aside she focused back on Phoros's figure.
"The task is simple. Help me retrieve an item that was taken from me and return it to my treasury. Complete this and you shall succeed."
That was simple.
Had he just used this as an excuse to fetch something for him he couldn't be bothered to collect himself?
Era had never thought ambition or greed went well with laziness. Whatever, it mattered not, if he was proposing it to her she had no doubt it would be a challenge and that he was willing to bestow his blessing if she succeeded.
"Very well, what shall I retrieve?" she asked. Phoros grinned at that. His lips curling up in a sly grin.
"That is for you to decide dear mortal."
Of course it wouldn't be straight forward.
" I suppose you won't be providing any aid then?" she mumbled.
He shifted in his seat, the sound of cracking echoing through the chamber, as he got comfortable. " I will awake in three days, you have until then to return. Once you have the item, any door will bring you back here. "
Era was given no time to ask more, for the moment the last words left his lips, the God's deep snores filled the room.
Great.
Era knew it wouldn't be as simple as collecting an item, even if she had to decipher what it was he wanted, there would be dangers beyond comprehension and she was defenceless.
She was also in a room as filled as Ali Baba's cave.
She was sure Phoros wouldn't miss a trinket or too. She'd return them within three days, or she face much greater consequences then stealing. After a while of scavenging, digging through the mounds of coins, gems and jewellery as if it were dirt she'd finally retrieved some items of use. A small curved ivory dagger decorated with threads of silver, a golden oil lamp which miraculously worked, and a woven silk sac which despite only appearing the size of her palm could fit triple the amount it should.
She had considered talking some of the infinite wealth in case she needed to barter or bribe, but the treasure wasn't hers and she wouldn't be able to return it. Besides, one look at the mound of human remains and Era was reminded where or more precisely whom Phoros had collected his wealth from. There was something eerie about it which she didn't trust. Confident she was now as prepared as she could be, Era reached for the only door and stepped out.
The salty wind struck her first, wrapping around her muscles in a deathly grip. Era didn't have time to focus on the cold, or the small boat she was rocking to and fro in. Not when, with a tremendous rumble, a kingdom began to rise from the waves, its stilted foundations straining under the weight of centuries of decay and rebirth. It emerged as a haunted vision of grandeur and ruin its wooden platforms and towering structures encrusted with salt, coral, and barnacles. The stilted streets, which once teemed with life, now glisten with a slick sheen of seawater, their planks warped and cracked from prolonged submersion. Between them, arches and bridges connecting the various layers and levels were worn smooth. Demanding the most attention, the central grand palace, perched atop the highest stilts. Though tarnished and dulled by the ocean's embrace, it retained an aura of majesty. Cascading streams of water poured from broken windows and crumbled balconies, displaying a fountain of waterworks. Ivy and seaweed entwined the columns and railings, nature having claimed its place among the remnants of human ambition.
Bless you Geoffery of Manmouth, bless your wry old soul Era wanted to scream.
There was no doubt, this was the ancient kingdom from the fable. The kingdom of Marlo and Lysara, and that meant Era knew what to retrieve.
The Jester's Crown.