Home. Fortress.
The word fortress felt a little generous, considering the current state of things. Still, this place was mine—my sanctum carved into the mountain, my personal stronghold of knowledge, power, and—hopefully—answers.
I stood on the seventh floor, my study and bedroom, now a half-exposed ruin. Once, this was a place of respite, where I could relax on the balcony and gaze out over the kingdom. A kingdom that no longer existed. The experiment had changed everything, and yet, for some reason, I hadn't conducted it in my laboratory on the second floor. No, I had done it here, in my study. The thought sent a dull ache through my skull. Why?
The answer eluded me, lost in fractured memories of arcane symbols and a glowing circle humming with impossible power. The remnants of that mistake were scattered across the broken stonework, silent reminders of whatever foolish reasoning had led me to attempt a reality-altering spell in my personal quarters.
I turned away from the ruined study and descended to the sixth floor—the Astral Nexus. A focal point of energy, this chamber once allowed me to peer into realms beyond mortal comprehension. It was directly beneath the site of my experiment, and I could feel the echoes of its influence. The air was thick with residual magic, heavy with the weight of something vast and unseen. I closed my eyes for a moment. Had I used the Nexus to amplify the spell? Was that why the circle had gone out of control? No clear answer came, only a dull pulse in my head, like a warning best left unheeded.
I had tested a theory—that I could use the Nexus not only to view other dimensions but also to navigate them. A means of understanding the vast, layered realities beyond my own. But something went wrong. Catastrophically wrong. I had reached too far, looked too deep. And now, standing here in the aftermath, I could feel it—a presence lingering in the echoes of my failure. Watching.
At the core of the Fortress stood a two-meter-tall rectangular slab of mithril, positioned just six feet from the Astral Nexus. The two objects faced each other in eerie silence, like ancient adversaries locked in a standoff. I could feel the tension between them, a hum in the air, a resonance that had not been there before. A part of me hesitated. The slab had always been here. It was the central control hub of the Fortress, maintaining its wards, barriers, and core functions. But now, standing before it, I sensed a shift—something imperceptible yet undeniable. The resonance between it and the Astral Nexus was different, as if the two were no longer in balance. Had my failure disrupted its purpose? Or had it merely awakened to a new one?
There was no link, no connection between them—just an undeniable something that hadn't existed before. Perhaps it was nothing. Or perhaps placing two immensely powerful objects in the same room for years had finally led to… consequences. A thought I should have considered earlier. Maybe even labeled it somewhere.
I moved on, descending further.
The fifth floor, the Library & Archive, had always been a place of quiet solace, filled with centuries of knowledge and forbidden texts. But now… something was off. The bookshelves stood tall and orderly, but the air carried a faint wrongness, as if reality itself had rewritten portions of the knowledge stored here. I ran a hand along the spine of a particularly ancient tome. It shuddered—just barely. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe not. A soft, rhythmic sound drifted through the air. Breathing? No, of course not. That would be ridiculous.
…Right?
A low growl rumbled from somewhere between the shelves. Or maybe it was just the wood settling. Yes. That had to be it. Just an old bookshelf… exhaling. I took a deliberate step back, eyes scanning the rows of tomes, some of which looked significantly older—and angrier—than I remembered. One particularly thick volume had a spine lined with something resembling vertebrae. Another seemed to be pulsing, almost like it had a heartbeat.
Shaking off the chill running down my spine, I moved on before any of them decided to start a conversation.
The fourth floor—The War Room. A tactical center with an enchanted table that once connected to a network of observation arrays and surveillance spells. Except now, the satellites were gone. Or, more accurately, left behind. I stared at the inactive displays, their usual projections absent. My resources, my watchful eyes over the world I once knew—vanished with the kingdom itself. I frowned, drumming my fingers against the table. How much had I truly lost?
A question for another time. I descended again.
The third floor, Artifacts & Armory. A personal collection of magical relics, experimental enchantments, and various items of dubious safety—now even more dubious than before. Many had been altered. Some glowed with unfamiliar energy; others felt entirely foreign, as if they belonged to someone else—or something else. One particularly ominous artifact now pulsed like a heartbeat, which was never a reassuring sign. The artifacts here had changed, warped by the shift in reality, their functions uncertain. I didn't trust them. In fact, I trusted them even less than before, which was saying something. I made a mental note not to touch anything unless I really needed to—or unless I suddenly developed a death wish.
Second floor—Laboratory & Brewery. A mix of research and alchemical pursuits. Here, I had crafted spells, developed potions, and built arcane constructs. The automaton I had been assembling remained unfinished, frozen in its last moment of progress. The crafting table showed signs of constant use, tools and materials scattered across it. It was as if I had left mid-thought, mid-creation—only to awaken in a world that had moved on without me.
At least my other creations remained intact. The brewery and winery, a necessary indulgence, stood ready. Shelves lined with bottles, barrels stacked neatly, an ever-present temptation to drown the confusion of my predicament in fine liquor. I spared it only a passing glance. I had one more floor to check.
Finally, the First Floor. Supplies. Everything a growing sorcerer needs—food, water, and a generous stockpile of wine, rum, vodka, gin. Essentials. Because what kind of self-respecting mage doesn't keep an emergency reserve of spirits?
I grabbed a bottle at random, popping the cork free with a flick of my fingers. The scent of aged oak and spice filled the air—rum. Dark, smooth, with an edge of molasses and fire. I took a swig.
Nothing exploded. A small victory.
I sighed, leaning against a crate, staring at the stone ceiling above. Seven floors, still standing. Different, altered, but mine. For now.
The reality had shifted. But I was still here.
And I had a lot of work to do. Taking the bottle with me, I made my way back up to the fifth-floor library and archive. No rest for the weary.