- Prologue -
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Gentle swaying to and fro, she had been floating down for what felt like an eternity, set adrift among the lost shadows of bygone days. Silence accompanied the ceaseless void, interrupted only by the distant tinny hum of static. Something was here, buried deep within the crumbling labyrinth of the abandoned Plate; something more than a lost civilisation methodically erased from the textbooks; something more than what the myths and legends promised - something that the gods had intended to hide.
Wren’s feet eventually touched the ground. Dust and ash kicked up around her. Two dull thuds resounded either side of her as her two comrades, Darius and Roderick, landed. Darius let out a relieved sigh as he adjusted the breathing apparatus around his face, the machina contraption attached to two cylinders of oxygen on his back. Wren and Roderick had similar equipment.
“I thought we’d never reach the bottom,” Roderick said, his voice muffled by the underlying mechanical buzz of the equipment.
“The question is whether we’re at the lower layer or if there’s another jump to go,” Darius added, tapping at what looked like a watch around his wrist. It made a beeping sound and lit up.
“No, we’re here,” Wren said, taking a few hesitant steps forward, what sounded like gravel beneath her feet. “We’re in the lower depths.”
Darkness stretched all around them, spreading from the epicentre like a heavy fog, light snuffed out along with any sound. Wren lifted her flashlight, but it barely breached the veil of shadow and dust, reflecting the light back into her face.
“So, what’re you thinking? Magicka or–” Darius asked, lifting his flashlight up; he winced as the reflected light hit his eyes. “–a relic of old tech?”
“I doubt this plate has the means to power such tech. Not now, anyway. It’s been abandoned for so long, Magicka is probably all that remains,” Wren said, a slight quiver to her voice. “Although, I can’t even fathom who or what would have created it. To weave a spell of such sheer size and longevity… it’s unheard of.”
“Are we sure this is The Lost Plate? It could just be another fragment floating in the Relay Stream,” Darius said. “We’ve crashed into a few of them more times than I care to remember.”
“Especially when you’re driving,” Roderick said, the smile in his voice evident. Darius punched his arm, and the two men laughed.
Wren’s eyes narrowed. “I have a feeling we’re in the right place.” She scrunched her nose and straightened her back. “I scanned the surrounding area before descending from The Edgebreaker.” She pulled out a small device from her coat pocket and chucked it to Darius. “And we’re talking about a big plate, too. We’re looking at a little over 230 mile radius. Nothing to scoff at.”
“Mother’s arse crack,” Roderick said with a whistle. “It’s bigger than The Fifth.”
Darius fiddled with the device, its buttons yielding to his touch as he punched in coordinates and took atmospheric readings. Once satisfied by the results, he handed the device to Roderick.
“Well, if it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck…” Darius said as he pulled ahead of his two colleagues, feeling his way through the thick shadows, his hands out at either side as if to wade through water, each stride met with some resistance.
“I’m betting it’s a cow,” Roderick cackled, walking along behind him, and tugged at the rope they had tied to their belts.
Wren rolled her eyes as they dragged her along.
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The now dead philosopher, Evaristus Asphodel, once said that should a man stand at the highest peak of the First Plate and drop an anvil, it would take nine days to reach the lowest parts of the Thirteenth Plate, and a further nine days to reach whatever plate roamed the darkest depths. Of course, they could never truly conduct such a test, as each plate was their own self-contained ecosystem, accessible only by the not fully understood Relay Gates. However, it was the first time anyone had posed the theory that all the plates were contained within the same structure.
Beforehand, people had varying theories as to the state of the outside world: - bunkers scattered across the earth, tucked away after an apocalyptic event; space stations abandoned by an ancient race no longer present; even that we were all that remained in the vastness of space, fragments of broken worlds interconnected in an attempt to survive whatever came next - but none became so widely adopted as Evaristus’ theory. And thus, what remained of the world became known as The Tower of Asphodel.
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Wren craned her neck, her gaze fixated on the inky expanse above, trying to conjure images of what once was. She imagined a time when the simulated stars of the biosphere had painted the sky with their brilliance. But now, with the main infrastructure bereft of power for untold years, everything had crumbled into disuse. The sky had become a void, the sun a distant memory, and the very concept of light had faded away. Even the air felt thin, like the exhalation of a long-forgotten dream. The Plate lay in utter abandonment, a silent echo of its former existence.
Roderick bounced high into the air and steadily floated down; clearly the gravitational field had been damaged after millennia of neglect. With a twist and a backflip here and there, Roderick felt quite at ease, his own Magicka - Aerokinesis - allowing him to perform these stunts almost anywhere. Only now, he didn’t need to expect his own Aether.
“We really don’t want to call attention to ourselves,” Darius chastised. He led the trio, forging their course.
Roderick did another flip, landing on the rusted husk of what looked to be an automobile. “From what?” he called out, jumping and balancing precariously on the tip of a stop sign, which bent under his weight. “We’re alone here.”
“The Despair,” Darius and Wren said in unison.
The mere mention of that word - The Despair - sent a shiver down Roderick's spine, halting his mid-air flip in its tracks. He descended with an almost hushed thud, retreating behind Wren’s protective figure, suddenly aware of the ominous silence that engulfed them.
As they ventured deeper into the Plate, faint silhouettes materialised around them. Hulking structures rose from the depths of oblivion, their looming presence casting long shadows. The gravel underfoot gradually gave way to cracked asphalt, and variegated brown and red brick walls flanked them on both sides of the crumbling road. The world, once a featureless void, was slowly reassembling itself, revealing a landscape that seemed to have been left to decay in perpetual solitude.
“Are we done yet?” a voice thrust itself into their minds, unexpected and uninvited. “There’s just a whole lot of nothing here. Are you sure we’re even in the right place?”
Wren flinched at the voice. Wielders was the name given to her people, their Magicka allowing them to communicate via telepathy. It had its uses, but Wren detested the invasion of privacy it brought; once connected, almost anyone could peer into her mind and riffle through her memories.
She inhaled sharply. “Victor. He’s probably bored. Again,” she said through clenched teeth. “Remind me, just why did we bring him along?”
Darius elbowed her playfully. “Hush, you. We needed the manpower. We couldn’t exactly advertise this expedition, so beggars can’t be choosers.” His sclera dulled to black and the subtle glow of his blue eyes now flared, two incandescent orbs peering into the void; Magicka. “We’re pretty sure, Your Highness. And it will take us longer than a few hours to scour the plate,” his voice caressed Wren’s mind, warm and soft like a gentle flame. “We said it might be a month or two before we head back home.”
“But there’s nothing here. It’s a dead plate,” there was a pause, “and what if we run into the Despair? Or a whole horde of Hallions? This could be their nest! Isn’t this supposed to be the Last Plate? The bottom of the depths? Dare I say,The Bowels of the Abyss? I’m sure it’s teeming with nasty things down here.”
“So, is it empty down here or teeming with the Despair and Hallions?” Wren mocked quietly, causing Roderick to snicker.
Darius smacked both of their arms and ordered them to shush. He then resumed, “That’s why we are monitoring the Aether levels. If there’s any significant drop, we will alert all scouting teams to retrace their steps back to The Edgebreaker, understood?”
“But there’s literally nothing but darkness and old buildings,” Victor argued.
“Pretty tame for The Bowels of the Abyss, if you ask me,” Roderick mumbled.
“His definition of nothing and ours is very different,” Wren whispered to him.
“So you feel it too, huh?” he asked.
Wren took a deep breath, the air in her apparatus warm and dry in her throat. “The darkness… it’s… breathing,” she said, her brown eyes burning gold.
This made Roderick grin. Faint golden swirls of light danced beneath his dark umber skin, the Magicka flowing through his veins, conscious and alive.
Darius sighed, exasperated. “Your Highness, you asked to accompany us on this mission. We said it may be a little… uneventful. Uneventful is good. We want uneventful.”
“Well, when you mentioned Plate Spelunking, I thought it would be fun, or at the very least, interesting. This is just a whole lot of darkness, darkness, and more darkness. Oh, and dust. So much dust.”
An audible groan from Darius followed.
“Don’t forget the bone dust,” Wren had to chime in, causing Victor to lose his mind and go on a tirade about the dangers of breathing in such filth. Even Darius, reminding him he was wearing safety equipment for that very reason, didn’t seem to calm him down.
Roderick pinched the bridge of his nose, his head shaking. He and Wren continued onwards, severing the telepathic connection between them. There was only so much complaining from the crowned prince of the Thirteenth that they could take before their nerves began to fray. For Wren, it was merely knowing that the man existed.
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Uneventful was how the subsequent weeks followed, and each day fell into a comfortable routine: - several hours of wandering the darkness, mapping out what remained of the central city, collecting data and samples, followed by a few hours listening to the prince bellyache about almost everything one could humanly bellyache about. From the blandness of the food and the lumpiness of the bed, all the way to the unjust amount of hours he was forced to work. Wren couldn’t wait for the ‘I told you so’ she was going to smack in Darius’ face when they finally returned home.
“Wren?” Roderick called to her, his voice an echo in the back of her mind. She looked up from her paperwork, shadows twisting wildly as she looked from side to side, her blond hair having turned to the flames of her Magicka. “Wren, you awake?” he asked again.
Wren patted her hair, the flames dwindling to a faint ember. “I’m awake,” she replied. “Is everything okay?”
There was a slight pause before she heard the reply. “Do you hear it? Do you hear the singing?”
A frown settled over her brows as she slowly rose from her chair, eyes darting from side to side.
“Singing?” she asked herself in a whisper.
She had been so engrossed in her paperwork that no, she had heard no singing. In fact, thanks to spending a prolonged period around the prince, Wren had become quite proficient at blocking everything out but her work. But now, with her mind cleared of all the clutter, yes - there it was.
She didn’t so much hear the words, but felt them written into the back of her mind, scrawled into the walls of her memories, tucked away and lost to the flow of time. Every word was like a memory relived; a moment once forgotten now remembered. She knew this melody, her whole body shuddering as a wave of cold recognition overcame her. And yet, she knew in her heart of hearts that she had never heard this melody before. How could she have? What a strange sensation, to feel such comforting nostalgia in a moment she had vividly never experienced.
“Please tell me I’m not going insane,” Roderick said, bringing her back to the here and now.
“No. I can hear it too.” She wiped away a tear.
“Oh, thank Mother. I’ve asked a few others if they could hear the singing, but so far you’re the only one.”
Deep within the hidden recesses of Wren’s soul, an ancient presence stirred, awakened by some inscrutable force. It emerged from the depths of stygian shadows, unravelling into ethereal tendrils that defied the laws of nature. With a grace born of aeons, they snaked around her bones, coiling and looping like serpents seeking their prey. They bore an eerie duality; their touch was both searing and numbing, inflicting a paradoxical sensation that left Wren’s essence tingling with an alien energy. As they coiled around her bones, an unsettling equilibrium settled in, a blend of discomfort and strange, disconcerting tranquillity.
Fully awakened, the enigmatic entity, now one with Wren, turned its focus to the world beyond. It peered through her eyes, its gaze piercing the veil between realms. Through this otherworldly lens, reality warped into a surreal tapestry, a distorted reflection of the ordinary world. A sense of ancient knowledge emanated from the depths of her being. It was a presence that had lain dormant, yearning to explore a world that had long piqued its curiosity.
WORDS AND WHISPERS CALL TO ME… the Eternal carved its words into Wren’s mind, its will clawed into her consciousness, appearing as if always having been there. No sound uttered, just its icy breath on the back of her neck.
“It’s like ingrained in you, isn’t it?”
“Like it’s something… primal,” she said, another shudder washing over her.
“Did your Eternal awaken too?” he asked.
Wren paused to catch her breath. “Yes. HE’S–” she briefly peered at her reflection, her sclera black and irises golden, the sensation of HIS eyes behind her own searching for the source of the singing, “–watching. Any idea where the singing is coming from?”
“Somewhere in the central district of the ruins. I’m going to investigate.”
“Now? Does Darius know?”
“No.”
“Do you plan to tell him?”
“Oh, come now. Where’s your sense of adventure gone? Or are you too buried under bureaucratic nonsense to remember how we used to do things?” a husky chuckle followed, and Wren held her jaw, feeling Roderick squish her cheeks together playfully as he usually did.
Wren hesitated a little, the knot in her throat sliding down and into the pit of her stomach.
FIND IT. BEAUTIFUL, HAUNTING, SORROWFUL MELODY. FIND IT NOW.
Taking a deep breath, Wren pulled her coat on. “Take pod four down and wait for me at Outpost 32. I’ll be there soon.”
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A scowl settled over Wren’s brow as she saw two figures standing at Outpost 32. From afar, she may have easily mistaken the glow of their equipment for one person, but as she got closer, she realised the glowing lights were independent of one another, the second figure unable to stand still.
Pacing back and forth, Roderick looked up and caught sight of Wren. He gave her a timid wave. Wren’s brows clashed as she realised who the second figure was - Victor Thorn. She bit her lower lip and fiddled with the cuff of her suit.
“Rory, I—” she began.
“—His Highness ran into me as I was leaving The Edgebreaker,” Roderick interjected. “I thought it better to, eh, bring him along, you know—” he approached Wren and whispered, “—so he doesn’t run and tell Darius.”
Wren stared at him, the tips of her hair combusting into flames. The lack of oxygen in the air meant that the flames died out, and Roderick patted away the last remaining embers. The death stare remained fixated on Roderick for a few seconds, the poor man mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly.
Her gaze shifted to Victor. She mustered a strained smile, her lips a hard line. “Your Highness.”
With a crooked smile, Victor greeted Wren with a deep bow. “Lady Fairchild.”
“Eh, just Wren is fine,” she said, gesturing to him to stand upright.
Victor did as she asked. “Then Victor should also suffice, yes?” the smile turned into a grin. A streak of white in his otherwise dark brown hair gave him a distinguished look his youthful appearance belied. Then again, all those present on the expedition were the same - Wielders - and age meant very little to their kind. One-hundred or five-hundred years held no difference to them.
“So you wish to join us? I thought you were tired from today’s sweep in the southern quadrant?” Wren asked, walking into the outpost tent to grab some supplies.
Victor followed close behind. “Oh, I very much was. But, eh, you see, I heard the singing, and it wouldn’t let me sleep.”
Wren stopped in her tracks, and Victor walked into her. He apologised under his breath and shimmied around until they were once again face to face.
“You heard the singing too?” Wren asked, a brow raised.
Victor nodded. “I thought I was going mad at first, as none of the others could hear it. So I went to clear my head and, lo-and-behold, I run into good ol’ Roderick here,” he tried to laugh and sound chipper, but there was a slight quiver to his voice and slack to his shoulders.
Folding her arms, Wren pondered for a moment, wondering why only the three of them could hear the singing. She gave Victor the once over. Had his voice not faltered, she may have accused him of saying he heard the singing just to fit in. But no; she could tell he heard it, the flicker of his Eternal behind his eyes, the parasites within the two of them staring at the other.
“Very well. We’re heading into the central quadrant. It’s quite a hike. You sure you’re ready for this?” Wren asked, loading him up with a rucksack of bottled water and food.
Victor gave her a tiny nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
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Before them stood another nondescript building, an architectural relic forged from bricks and mortar, indistinguishable from the countless others that had succumbed to the ravages of time. It bore the scars of neglect, its windows shattered and door sealed shut by unyielding metal. The Aether levels in the vicinity exhibited remarkable anomalies, a sudden spike every time the song started anew, played on repeat, each rendition an echo of the last.
The trio ventured forth, their determination leading them to a break in through a decaying wall, a portal into what had once been a kitchen. Within, the remnants of a bygone era lay shrouded in a thick layer of undisturbed dust. It was a grim testament to the building’s sorry state, untouched by previous expedition teams, overlooked, or perhaps dismissed as unworthy of exploration.
Rotted furniture lay hidden beneath sheets, a poignant reminder of promises unfulfilled; of lives left behind with the hope of one day returning home. Patterns, sun-bleached and eternally imprinted on the brown rugs beneath their feet, told a silent tale of decay. It was a testament to the slow and agonising death that had claimed this place, a gradual descent into darkness as the life-sustaining programs powered down, one by one. The city’s demise had been a protracted affair, its suffering drawn out over years. Were there children born amidst the chaos of a world already ablaze, or had life been extinguished long before the grip of decay took hold? Did the plate die because its inhabitants had forsaken it, or were the people forced to flee because the plate was rotting at its core?
In her heart, Wren could only think of this forsaken realm as The Lost Plate, a domain ensnared by the grip of death and eternal darkness. Obscure symbols adorned every door, cryptic markings from a forgotten era. They might have once held significance or marked room numbers, but now they served as an inscrutable enigma. The dead language etched upon them taunted her, a puzzle that would require a lifetime to decipher.
“What exactly was the cause of it all?” she asked as they waded further into the building. They reached an elevator shaft and looked down; there was quite a drop, but the melody called to them from down below. “Just what in the Abyss really happened here?”
“What do you mean?” Roderick asked.
Wren looked at him. “At a cursory glance, everything still looks functional, as if we could pick right back up where they left off. We haven’t come across a reason as to why the biosphere began to degrade other than perhaps neglect.” There was a brief pause. “It looks like they all just… ceased to be.”
“So, you think the people, just, what? Poofed away?” Victor asked, concern in his voice.
“I… I don’t know,” Wren sighed.
“Who knows,” Roderick said. “Whatever happened here happened like a bajillion years ago. If something did cause them all to vanish, it’s long gone by now. Hopefully.” He walked off the ledge, floating down and taking the torch with him, leaving Wren and Victor in darkness.
“You know that’s really unsettling, right?” Victor shouted down the shaft, but there came no reply. “Like, you’re just asking for trouble saying that!”
“He’s teasing you,” Wren said. “And if he’s not, at least whatever might be down there will eat him first, giving us ample time to flee.”
Victor let out a low whine.
Wren’s hair burned a bright orange, her Magicka awakening, scaring away the darkness that tried to capture them. The colour of flames oscillated, illuminating the room.
“Hopefully,” she added with a smirk.
A frown settled over Victor’s brow. He looked around the empty room; what would’ve once been a reception hall, perhaps? Now it greeted no one but ghosts.
There was a thud down below, more muffled than Wren had expected.
“You alive?” she asked over the radio, and peeked over the edge, seeing his little torch zip back and forth.
“Course I am, darling,” he answered. A pause followed. “Dropped about 10 floors I think. Odd.”
“Odd?” Victor asked.
Wren nodded. “Yeah. One or two floors underground, sure, there’s quite a few buildings with structures like that around here; many people used to park their automobiles underneath the buildings for safe keeping. But 10?”
“I guess it seems a lot,” Victor said.
Wren lent further into the elevator shaft. “Do you still hear the singing?”
“Yeah. It’s louder down here,” Roderick said, static on his radio.
“Can you see anything?”
There was a pause, the little light moving rapidly from side to side. “Maybe. It’s just more… darkness, I guess. Lots of hallways. Definitely not where you’d park a car.”
Wren sighed, took a deep breath, and walked off the ledge. Slowly she descended the levels, counting what she assumed were the numbers painted on the side of the concrete. None bore any similarity to the numerical system of the other thirteen plates.
“And ten,” Roderick said as he caught her in his arms, a stupid smile on his face.
“Congratulations, you can count,” she said, wriggling out of his arms and standing on her own two feet. A few seconds later, Victor joined them.
They ventured further into the heart of solitude, their steps echoing eerily down dim passageways as they blindly followed the haunting melody that beckoned them. Doors that had once been sealed tight, guarded by passcodes and layers of security, yielded easily to the forceful nudge of a well-aimed kick. The map they stumbled upon, though cryptic at best, served as their only semblance of guidance, leading them to a narrow, seemingly endless corridor with a solitary door awaiting them at its far end.
“A vault?” Victor asked as they stopped outside the gigantic doors, a purple light faintly emanating from the other side, the rim of the door illuminated. “We have one like this in the throne room. It leads to the undercroft. It looks the same, only just not… glowing.”
The light behind the vault door pulsated, a wave of energy unfurling across the three of them. Wren struggled to catch her breath, her throat growing dry and tight. A tingling sensation crawled across her skin, causing her to shudder and roll her shoulders.
“Well, what great story doesn’t begin with finding a glowing radioactive door in The Bowels of the Abyss?” Roderick said with a grin. “Now all we need is the do not open sign painted in bloody handprints and we’re all good to go.”
Wren, however, responded with a raised eyebrow and a playful slap to Roderick's arm. “You jest at a time like this?”
“Would I?”
The three stood side by side, peering at the gentle glow shimmer around the edges of the vault door, the silent voice still calling to them, just out of their reach. Wren took Roderick’s hand and clasped it, a slight shudder to her stance, apprehension settling over the excitement of the chase. What ifs crowded her mind, wondering if they should’ve called for backup, or maybe not even ventured this far alone. And yet, side by side, this was where she wanted to be, uncovering the mysteries of the forgotten plates, unencumbered by the red tape that always nipped at her heels.
“Ready?” Roderick asked, tightening his hold on her hand.
Victor gulped, gripping Wren’s other hand, his eyes wide and a tremble to his lips.
Wren offered a slow nod in return, her resolve steeling itself against the mounting apprehension. “Ready as I'll ever be,” she said softly, and with a shared glance, the three of them pushed open the vault door, their fate unfolding into the chilling unknown.
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