The Arkanist

Anor the Great

         The Thousand Stairs, scarcely traveled, led to the consecrated home of the wizards, the ancient Mieeyar, who had been condemned by the kings of Men, calling them freaks, monsters, and even demons of the gods. With Falienn, practically exile from the Atarrian Empire, the wizards took root in their city, living among the people, and becoming a mysterious and arcane force, as they dwelled high above the city, watching over them from their Temple of Auna. Many of the people told stories about them to their children about their power and magic, and their also their much disputed past. Anor had heard the stories when he was a child, and since that tender of age of five, he wanted to climb those steps and meet them. However, they were said to be hidden and never permitted anyone through their gates.

         Anor looked back on the cluttered city below him as he scaled the Thousand Stairs, its usual garish colors, shrouded under the long mantle of shadow of the lonely rock peak of the mountain. He had watched men climb the steps everyday from his balcony in the South end of the city, and had dreamed of the day he would get the opportunity. Then, one day, his parents had both gone off to the coalmines for work, and Anor saw fit to see to his dreams. As he climbed, he tried to look back and see his home, cradled beside the wending river Endoen, that flowed from the Mountains of Eayenril, down through the valley where Falienn was situated and off south, meeting the Bay of Aerae further off into the hidden horizon. The water glimmered like a ribbon of silver as it reflected off the sundering sunlight, dazzling red as flame as Anor shifted his gaze.

         The crumbling sandstone stairs were dappled with a fair pink hue, like a noblewomen’s cheeks, and Anor’s eyes flashed with their allure. Small floating orbs of opalescent light danced by his feet as he made his way up the stairs, his legs beginning to ache and fill with lead. After what felt like three hours, he had reached the peak of the mountain, and stood on the shoulder of rock, laden with age, the wind whipping his dark brown hair across his facre. The city looked small from such a height, hidden under the thin veil of clouds as they drifted around the peak of the mountains, ripping in two like a knife through cloth. Anor clapped his hands with a plume of dust, and turned to the gates of the temple.

         In the lurid, orange light that spilled over the sea of frothy clouds like liquid gold and flushed over the face of stone like glistering hot amber, the doors were sealed shut. Two great pillars, shaped with magic, stood like soldiers beside the doors of stone. Two green flames flanked the doors, burning with an arcane glow that never waned. As Anor approached, he saw the characters etched into the stone, burning with a pale, beating light. He did not know which language they were from, nor which world, for they looked ancient, and complicated. Walking closer, the doors seemed to alter, and in a blur of distortion, materialized into a great door of shadow, free for Anor to enter.

         He felt a force from inside the shadows, and saw a light, feeble and faint, like a lonely star in a black sky. It was calling for him. He reached towards the light, and closed his hand around it, so that his flesh was rimmed with a mysterious glow of an uncanny power. When he brought it down, the light looked at him like a fierce eye would, studying him. Anor took a step, and then another, slow and calculated, until he was beneath the ancient threshold, tears of dust cascading like thin flows of water, and was engulfed with the thick darkness.

         A deep, rumbling pervaded the blackness, as if the hall was a drum, and Anor was inside it. Anor continued through, venturing towards the queer light. As he neared, the darkness waned and ebbed like the sea with the beam of light as it sliced like a sword would flesh through the barren space. Up close, the light permeated from a strange crystal, shaped like an eye, teeming with knowledge, and magic. Anor felt its intense heat warm his palm as he closed his fist around it, until, emerald veins of light crawled up his arm and his flesh burned.