The Dark Tower

II

I bid farewell to my companions, for today I will set forth to the tower. However, now that the time is here, I can feel my resolve crumbling like the bricks of Sungaze Keep as it fell to the Bloodmage's assault. 'Tis the burden of the mighty. But I will not fail. I shall never give up hope.

It's the only thing I have left.

The first thing I noticed as I climbed up was the repulsive, dank odour. I retched reflexively and started breathing heavily through my mouth. I sheathed Rift, which rasped comfortingly. My tongue had acquired a rather foul flavour, so I stopped breathing through my mouth and raised my tunic front over my nose and mout, forming a bandana like mask. I closed the trapdoor of which I emerged, careful to make minimal noise.

Now moderately protected from the smell, I advanced into the long corridor. The entire length was paved with smooth, slate-gray stones. Rusted iron torch brackets lay empty on the walls, contributing to the unsettling atmosthphere.

Well, I didn't expect being in the Dark Tower to be very relaxing, but the entire place just seemed... Wrong. It was almost as if the very tower was from another, darker dimension just beyond our view. No, it was like the very ground didn't belong beneath the spire shouldn't be there, and nothing inside was meant for this world. And of course, even I didn't belong here. Not that the savoir, the Hero, didn't belong in the very place he was supposed to save the universe, but it was something else.

I wasn't the prophesied champion.

I was just a replacement, a mere shadow of what the Hero should have been. True, the Hero had foiled the Bloodmage, but only temporarily. It had been nine years since, and the Bloodmage was set to return on the eighth. He would supposedly spend an entire year in a deep state of meditation, and awaken on the solstice to call forth the great Wyvern. However, the Hero had not returned from his quest. And so they chose me. I was only the 'second choice', a last-ditch effort to preserve us all. To boot, I was only chosen because I was the Hero's brother. There must've been someone more worthy for the burden, but none had the courage to step forward. Actually, I wasn't the second choice. Just the only choice.

And now, here I was, in the Dark Tower, exactly where I didn't belong.

I dispelled all the thoughts of self doubt-I couldn't afford to have my mind clouded. I marched onwards in the half light, grimly treading upwards. I could not fail, not when I still hoped.

I noticed the change immediately-The temperature and moisture of the air, the drop in air pressure. The deeper shadows and the smoother stones. The lit torches and cell doors. I was in a dungeon. The Bloodmage's dungeon.

I peeked through the lichen ridden steel bars of a cell curiously, and immediately regretted it. A pile of bleached, pale bones the color of moonlight sat in a corner, slightly marred by the brown grime of rat excrement. A bucket sat in the corner, presumably a latrine and the source of the dank scent, and scratch marks covered the far wall. A record of the days the prisoner had been incarcerated in the niche. By the looks of it, they'd spend more that four decades in the vile tower, surviving on who-knows-what. I shuddered, revolted at the mere idea.

I continued on, feeling pity for all the prisoners. I guess that's where the bones come from, I thought morbidly. Did the Bloodmage take them out himself, or did he have servants and minions to do such menial tasks? Or maybe he used his arcane powers, transporting the remnants through unknown means.

'Hey! You there!" A voice from my left called out, snapping me out of my reverie. I whirled abruptly, whipping Rift out of its sheath. The sword pulsed strangely once more, lighting up the cell where the voice had come from. I peered into the cage and its occupant, curious yet cautious. A girl stood at the bars, gripping them tightly with pale knuckles. She wore light armor, and an empty scabbard rested in the corner.