"Your Highness can see," began Chief Tula, gesturing across the ancient settlement, "since antiquity, our village has maintained the layout of eastern marketplace, western farmlands, southern council halls, and northern academies, with residential areas at the center. While illogical to outsiders, the network of teleportation arrays makes daily life remarkably efficient."
The old chief's fingers traced invisible patterns in the air. "Alchemical constructs require regular maintenance - replacing worn components, lubricating joints, structural realignment. The teleportation arrays, being non-mechanical, only suffer dimensional warping over time. For true masters of alchemy, such repairs were child's play."
His weathered face clouded. "But we Buer villagers turned inward, severed from outside knowledge. Those who left... never returned." The admission hung heavy. "Our alchemical prowess dwindled to crafting household trinkets. The arrays' intricate designs became indecipherable hieroglyphs. We relied on wandering masters drawn by our ancestral legacy to maintain them."
"Seventy years past," his voice softened with reverence, "we hosted an extraordinary alchemist. A genius who improved our arrays beyond recognition - stabilizing their function, fortifying against external interference. Since his passing..." Tula's hands trembled, "no true masters came. The smaller arrays now fail catastrophically - limbs separated from bodies, travelers lost between dimensions. We've sealed all portals, but without restoration..."
The unspoken conclusion echoed through the council hall. Frelia's brow furrowed at this portrait of willful dependence. A civilization content to outsource its lifeblood for centuries deserved its stagnation, she thought bitterly.
——————————————————————————————————
The fabled Alchemy Tower revealed its secrets only to Frelia's enhanced vision. Others saw merely distorted air shimmering under Bajan Dilofa's relentless assault. The warrior's muscles coiled like steel springs, each strike sending concentric ripples across the invisible barrier.
When Reiminith joined the assault, the rhythm shifted - a silent competition of brute strength versus arcane precision. Hours crawled by until Lord Ancah's amused chuckle broke the stalemate.
With an elegant gesture, the elf prince whispered forgotten words. The barrier materialized briefly as an iridescent soap bubble... then popped with comic abruptness.
Frelia's awestruck "Oooh!" drew protective glares from her brother. Before tensions could rise, Bajan Dilofa shouldered past them, ripping the massive door from its hinges. The thunderous crash of decorative hardware against stone made Frelia subconsciously protect her neck.
"Lofi! Lofi!" A mechanical chirp startled everyone. A yellow metal chick swung from the broken doorframe, voicebox crackling: "Stranger alert! Papa's fighting bad men! Hide quick or the scary man will—"
The warrior's roar of anguish silenced the automaton mid-sentence. Crushing the device in his fist, he froze at its pitiful dent before gently tucking the damaged creation into his pouch.
——————————————————————————————————
The tower's interior defied all expectations. A hollow cylinder housing a miniature Eden - trickling fountains surrounded by spiral staircases that defied Euclidean logic. Every surface bore evidence of whimsical genius: potion vials transformed into wind chimes, alchemy circles repurposed as paint palettes, a lopsided pink rabbit doll watching from a windowsill.
Frelia paused before a self-washing apron embroidered with crude stick figures. Her moment of contemplation shattered as her brother yelped - the stair rail had bitten him. The subsequent demolition of the offending architecture left wood splinters and wounded pride.
Their ascent revealed increasingly personal spaces until they breached the celestial observatory. There, beneath a star-map dome, lay the final mystery.
The alchemist's body rested serene on an intricate glyph array, surrounded by dozens of dolls - each meticulously crafted with fiery red hair. Bajan Dilofa's trembling hands hovered over the corpse, desperate denial etched in every muscle.
"Wake... please wake," the warrior begged, voice fracturing. Frelia's sharp eyes caught glint of yellow among the dolls. Extracting a twin to the doorframe automaton, she activated its message:
"Lofi." The recorded voice echoed through the silent observatory, carrying seventy years of unanswered longing.