Tower on the Mount

[Noth]

The idea of struggle could be displayed in many different ways. Of course, there were the definitional and denotative phrases that could be ascribed to the concept, could identify what made it what it was, and what that entailed for any person interacting with the idea itself, but there were also far more artistic perceptions. One such perception was that of a mountain, of a great and vast hillock rising hundreds of meters into the air, its peak drenched in frosty snow, its stones as old as time, and yet showing none of the decrepit effects that age inflicted upon the mortal form.

The mountain always worked so well for defining what it meant to struggle, what the very concept itself represented, because a mountain was something easy to envision. A soul need only shutter their eyes from the world for a fraction of a trill, and they could accurately recreate some manifestation of a mountain in their imagination. Stories were often told of adventurous heroes gallivanting upwards unto the mountainous regions, striking picks into stone, lifting themselves upward with resilience and hooks contrived of metal, biting into the flesh of the earth without remorse.

And when finally the hero reached the summit? When finally they had matched strength with the forces of nature, had fought off whatever dangers could be sent their way by the natural elements; the bitter cold, the ravenous wolves, the hungry stone, then they could finally reveal to the world that they had achieved victory, that they had struggled, and attained victory.

Yes. Mountains were a decent way to imagine the concept of struggle.

The twilight hybrid considered this as he slammed the chain wrapped around his throat against the nearest stone wall, eliciting a sound of scratching not dissimilar from that of a rodent burrowing through the floors of a thatch construct. He thrashed it against the wall like a predator to its prey, wringing at the neck of the chain so that he might choke the resistance out of it, beat it until it would have bled should it have been a living being, but his efforts were to no avail, no mercy nor respite granted by the clutching chain.

He leaned into the nearest wall, feeling the chain tug against his feathers and flesh, holding him in place, expertly measured so that he could go no farther than the four walls of the room before it began to yank upon him. Even if the strange trapdoor above him had been unlatched and suddenly thrust open by some supernatural force, he would be entirely unable to leave the room until someone or something had removed the burden from him.

Briefly he considered whether or not this was how slaves felt when they were stripped of their possessions and sent to rot in cells, starved of food, drained of drink until they were barely even husks, emaciated and dying, their moans a silent cry to an unseen god or a sacrificial king. He had considered the plight of slaves in the past, and whilst they had held his compassion, he had also grown to recognize the necessity of them. At times, economic or logistical projects could only be completed with additional manpower, and it grew troublesome to find only those who were willing to work for the completion of something as opposed to those who could simply be forced into it. In a way, had he himself not enslaved several criminals so that they might serve under him? Had he not mauled their leaders, threatened them with death and torture to the point that they had seen no better alternative than to bend the knee to their cruel master?

Strange, he had always despised the Avriel purebloods for their racist superiority complex, and yet it seemed as though he emulated them in regards to that particular aspect of slavery… perhaps the ferocity of race ran in blood more than people considered at times. Had he been born to that fate, condemned to become a monster as a blood right of unjust genesis?

Perhaps.

He surrendered himself to thoughts such as these, crimson eyes opened, gazing directly upwards at the sole entrance into the room, the trapdoor which hung overhead nearly ten feet above him. He thought that he might be in some sort of tower, and he might have left it at that were it not for the slightest indentation in the furthest wall, the tiny breaks in wall where he could gaze outward upon the land, where he could see the snowy peak, the blatant declaration of an unkind world of where he had ended.

In a tower, atop a mountain. What struggle was grander?

[Zane]

"I'll bet fifty gold nel that you can't climb it."

"I'll bet you I can, only for a hundred."

"Hundred and fifty that you can't do it and come back in one piece."

"Two hundred."

"Two hundred."

It was just an ordinary trial for Zane, seeing how he had just made a bet with a couple idiots at the local tavern that he couldn't climb the local mountain. It had, of course, been about twenty breaks since then, and he'd slept and bought some equipment, and started his journey on a horse. The horse, however, was not one made for the icy conditions further up the road, and thus he had to leave it there, tied to a tree, and continue on foot,
beneath a nice fat cloak with a pack on his back that contained a thousand and more climbing supplies. Hooks, rope, picks, everything, he even had a pair of spikes he could attach to his shoes, which he swiftly did once he reached the natural end of the path. Much to nobody's surprise, the snow had broken through onto the road, and it was impossible to continue onwards. The young skyrider would, now, have to move straight up, and thus he released some of his equipment from its prison inside the backpack, and began his journey. The stones were hard, but his head was harder, and he would win this bet even if it cost him his life. He moved his hands swiftly, in the beginning, not caring about the cold, only about victory, and he moved with as much speed as possible. Soon, though, it became apparent that he would have to slow down, considering the wind whipped his cheeks more and more by the bit, and he couldn't press on with such energy. Everyone got tired, and it was completely normal, but perhaps the young man of messy hair should've saved some of his energy for later when the night fell.

It was a fool's errand, what he was doing, and the reason for which he was going through the impossible struggle. Who would ever think that a bet of two hundred gold coins was worth dying over? Of course, Zane's mind worked differently than most, and where all of the drunken lunatics he had talked with the night prior to these events saw death and pain, he saw excitement and adventure. He lived for adventure, and he'd have no problem with dying for it. But of course, he knew he wouldn't die, much like each time he did something as stupid as this. And each time a rock fell from the top of the giant monster next to his face, or each time his pick would get stuck in the mountain, he would loudly chuckle and smile, seeing the challenge the lord of death had given him, and realising it was only another one of the obstacles on his road to greatness. There wasn't even the slightest doubt in his mind, and he moved with the ease of a professional climber, with the smile of the most confident man in the world. If one wasn't confident in oneself, one couldn't succeed, and Zane knew it. In fact, he knew it so well that all thoughts of death or pain had gone away from his mind, leaving it open for ideas on how to combat each and every problem on his way to the top. Literal top. The young man laughed out loud once more, as he finally reached a place where he could sit, and observe the village in the shadow of the mount, watching it happily, and obliviously.

Finally, after about half a break, he moved once more, as the sun began setting on the horizon, and he reached the top within in a break, just as night came down and the stars began showing in the sky. Many would look at the bet he was doing this for with doubt in their eyes, and ask themselves why struggle so much for such a small amount of money. The struggle clearly wasn't worth the reward, but there was something glowing within the eyes of the boy that had said there was not a single drop of doubt in his brain. He didn't struggle for the reward, at least not the physical one the villager offered. He struggled for the journey, for the danger, for the adventure. The adventure. Most people could enjoy the adventure of someone else by reading a book, but not him. Zane was special in that way, that he needed to live through an experience to really just enjoy it. Maybe it was because of the philosophy he was taught as a child, maybe it was because of his crazy fearlessness that he couldn't settle down and listen to a story instead of trying to live it. It was a blessing and a curse.

After a couple bits of enjoying the stars, the boy moved from his spot on top of the world, and turned around in order to see if there was an easier way down on the other side of the mountain. What he hadn't expected was a tower, sitting there, almost right next to him, waiting to be explored. There was no bet placed relating to any tower, but it was too great of a call to miss out on, so the boy dropped a couple feet from the snowy seat on the top of the mountain, getting closer to the stone structure. He couldn't see a door though. Was there really no door, or was it on the opposite side of it? And who would even build a tower there, on ground as unstable as this? One thing was for sure, whoever built the tower, did not want the villagers looking at it constantly, considering it was on the exact opposite side of the mountain, facing away from the village.

"Is anyone in there?" The young skyrider shouted, bringing his cloak closer to his skin to protect himself from the cold night air. Clearly, he hadn't been on many mountains, seeing how he could've just caused an avalanche with his words, but luckily didn't. Still, the question was there, who would even be in a tower so high above the ground?

[Noth]

If he listened closely enough, he thought that he was able to hear something of the outside world, though, it became increasingly difficult to determine the origin of such sounds. There was the rough whistle of the wind as it raked its airy claws over the snow, picking up the biting cold of the snow underfoot as it flew directly over it, carrying the chill to distant lands. There was the occasional crackle of ice as it was broken away by some unseen disturbance, though the hybrid could not tell from his position whether or not it was simply the natural erosion that inevitably tore away at such remnants or whether it had been a sapient presence which had intentionally caused the breakage. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear noises inside of the tower, the gentle pitter-patter of steps without visual form, the scratching of rodents burrowing into walls; an illogical sound given the position of the grand construction.

Had he begun to hallucinate? He was certainly no medical expert by any means, though he had at least some semblance of anatomy from his many killings. Could it be that he was gradually beginning to go mad in the absence of sensation, the deprivation gradually cutting away at his sensibilities and sending him into a delirium of sorts? Was he generating the noises to combat that delirium, attempting to hear sounds that did not exist for the sole sake of calming his ailing mind? It seemed frightening possible, and he listened intently, attempting to listen once more for the scraping of rodents with the thesis still in his mind, and yet, there were no sounds. Of course there weren’t, he considered, because now that he realized the sound was fake, he could not convince himself that it was true, and so it was not.

The realization of absence was enough to provoke further thought from the hybrid on his status as a whole. He could not actually recall having been placed into the tower, nor having been chained. He could not even truly remember having been within the tower before he had awoken, but he had an instinctive understanding that he had been trapped within for far longer than he could remember. He did not feel hungry, but he knew he must not have eaten for many trials, nor did thirst parch his throat, but he realized it had long since become dry; not quite painfully so, but certainly without liquid.

He yanked briefly upon the chain at his neck once more, hoping that it would somehow have weakened since last he had tried, but nothing occurred which had not occurred before; the chain rattled, but then fell still once more. He stretched out his feet, feeling the bones pop slightly as they extended outwards before arising once more to a standing stance and meandering towards the breaks in the wall so that he could gaze pointlessly out into the night sky. He could see the stars, but they were unfamiliar to him; he had never had reason to memorize the position of the cosmic bodies, though he did enjoy their beauty at times.

There was the briefest flicker of movement as something strode along the edge of the crack in the wall, and crimson eyes immediately shot towards it with curiosity, and perhaps even a flicker of hope. He scoured the wall, searching for a better break in the wall, one which would allow him better view of the moving object, but the best he could get was an angle wherein he could only see about half of… was it a person? He recognized the tell-tale signs of a human arm, saw the cloth upon his form, and immediately came to a conclusion that there was someone outside. Just then, the voice of the man; he was young, but quite clearly male, spoke, questioning as to whether there was anyone within the tower.

“Yes!” He shouted excitedly, his talons eagerly raking against the stone floor as he pressed fervently against the crack in the wall. “Can you hear me? Follow my voice. Come to the breaks in the wall.” He spoke, continuing to make noise even after he had desisted so that the man could follow him into viewing range.

Perhaps rescue had come for him?

Or perhaps he really had given into delirium.

[Zane]

The wind blew as hard and fast as ever, and if ships could fly, they would've surely moved at speeds beyond natural under it. The chilly air crept through the holes for the boy's neck, and beneath his cloak, moving swiftly and effectively to make him freeze as fast and as much as possible. The young man's cloak was big, and warm, but he was, after all, on top of a mountain, and thus there would be no clothing in Idalos that could make him actually warm. It was a combination of the wind, ice and air that made such deadly cold, and if he had come just slightly less prepared, he would've suffered from frostbite quite badly. And even now, with all of the clothing he had on top of him, he wasn't entirely safe from losing a finger or two, if he only removed his hands from his cloak. The struggle didn't stop once he reached the top, in fact, it wouldn't stop until he was off the mountain. Which was true for life as well, for one struggles constantly, unless one actively runs away. And Zane wasn't the type to run away. In fact, he was the type to do anything but run away, so he was simply stuck with the struggle.

But as the voice of someone, or something answered him, and he moved his body closer to the wall so he could hear it better, it became clear his struggle wasn't nearly the worst one. If there was someone inside this door-less tower, and if they were trapped inside for as long as there was no one on top of the mountain, his struggle seemed like a small child's in comparison. He had heard it quite clearly, last night, that nobody had climbed to the top and back down alive in over an arc. Could someone, or something, survive an arc in these conditions, inside the tower? Well, there was only one way to find out, the young skyrider thought as he moved to reach the crack in the wall. He would have to ask whatever was inside once either he got in, or it got out. But how would he go about that? He could try to pick his way through the stones that made up the walls of the tower, and hope it didn't collapse if he made a hole big enough for whatever being that was inside to pass through. But then a thought hit him; if there was something inside the seemingly doorless tower, and if someone had put it there, maybe it would be better not to mess with it. He had, after all, heard stories of monsters trapped in the most dangerous of places, inside buildings with no openings, so that they could never see the light of day. Was that the case here?

"I can hear you." He yelled out, still thinking about whether or not he should actually help release this creature. Oh, who was he kidding, he would've helped release it even if he knew for sure it was a monster, considering it would've been a new and exciting experience. Zane observed the stones carefully as he moved from one side of the tower to the other, making sure that there were no doors anywhere. Even during night, the tower cast a shadow on the side of the mountain, leaving Zane in complete darkness for a couple moments, before he moved back to his original position next to one of the cracks in the wall. There were no doors, suggesting the tower was probably built around the monster. Which would mean it was there for a long time. But then again, his homeland was made of a giant dragon-like creature turned to stone, why couldn't have this creature been transported through solid walls? He'd have to inquire about it after it was out, and after it decided not to eat him alive. "You have any ideas as to how I can get you out of there?" He yelled out once again, careless as to whether or not an avalanche was created from his voice. The struggle, seemingly, had only just begun, but he'd surely have an adventure and a half on his hands if he were to release this man(?). Yeah, he would guess it was a man, by the voice. Not human, but male.

"I'm Zane by the way." He finished, letting the ice-like air move into his mouth for a moment before he closed it again. It was refreshing, being on top of a mountain like that, but if he had to guess, he'd say he wouldn't be able to survive a couple breaks longer in this air. From the cold and the lack of oxigen both. Of course, introducing himself to whatever he was trying to rescue seemed like a good way to spend air and energy.

[Noth]

The hybrid felt immensely thankful for the coat of feathers that had naturally wrapped around his flesh, protecting him to an extent from the frigid winds outside of the tower. True, the walls of the building itself were doing most of the work of keeping him warm, resisting the wind-chill that otherwise would likely have already slain him, but there was also a constant stream of cold air blowing in through the holes in the walls, and those would not be deterred so readily by the stone construct. Curiously, he was not dressed in clothing that was at all protected against the harsh weather outside, and whilst he could feel cold, could feel the bitter sting of icy frost begin to lap away at his extremities, he instinctively knew that it would not kill him, that it was simply a feeling just like hunger or thirst, a subdued physical notion.

He had felt imprisoned when he had awoken, had taken a look at the surrounding walls and their inescapable features, had known a sense of terror as it became evident to him that he could not be the architect of his own escape, and worse yet that he hadn’t a clue where he had been taken, nor how long he had been kept in captivity. Now, however, as he considered the strange series of events, the fascinating occurrences as they related to his physiology, the state of his corporeal form even as his incorporeal mind ran amok with fright, he began to recognize a possibility that had escaped previous consideration.

What if it wasn’t a prison, but instead, a chamber meant to preserve his life?

After all, he had not felt hungry, nor thirsty, and the cold whilst present did not feel life-threatening in the slightest. Could it be that the tower itself had been constructed so that he would be provided for as long as he was present? What if some unseen specter of fate had not been the being to inflict such a demise unto him, but rather he had requested it himself so as to avoid the vicious hand of Vri? The tower was isolated atop a mountain, was it not? What better place to hide away from prying eyes, from beings that were your enemies then in a remote establishment in a hostile place?

The thought disturbed him greatly, because he recognized that the facts may have pointed to two differing ideas. On the one hand, if he was in fact a captive against his will, then it would be to his benefit to escape from the mountainous facility as quickly as possible before his captors became aware of his consciousness and returned to exact whatever vengeance they had planned against him. If, however, he was prisoner only in word and not in deed then it would be to his utmost detriment to abandon the sanctum and set off upon a dangerous path.

Whatever the reality of his imprisonment, he became readily aware of the necessity to leave should circumstances warrant it, and that would mean receiving assistance from the… young man outside of the tower walls. The boy; he did not sound old by any means, though they were perhaps quite similar in age, called out, alerting the hybrid that he could in fact hear his message, and then further questioning how he would be able to release him from his bound captivity. The implications of danger ever-present in his act of yelling were lost on the Avriel who had never ventured far enough into a mountainous range to become familiar with the effects of spontaneous volume on the snowy peaks.

“I am Noth. I believe there may be a hatch at the top of the tower to enter. You’ll need a rope to rappel down, however, because I’m also chained up inside here and unable to break my bonds.”

[Zane]

However heroic the adventure seemed, Zane knew better than to claim he was one of the life-saving, evil-fighting men of myths and legends. The young mixed breed, for all his stupidity, and carelessness, knew far better than to call himself a hero. A hero was someone who did things other people couldn't. A hero was also someone who cared about the well-being of others, and would not allow for a creature to be trapped and left for dead without justice. And both of those things, he did, and he was. And yet he wasn't a hero. A hero, first and foremost, was one that was good in nature, and one that was fueled by justice and with a destiny of peace. A peace-bringer, if you will. But that was all rather similar to what Zane desired and what he did with his life. Where did one, then, draw the line between a hero and a man? A hero was, to the surprise of most around them, one that was arrogant. Because for a hero to be what he is, he must admit to himself that he can do what others can not. Only when one realises their power and decides to call oneself a hero, did one become a hero. And Zane, however proud and foolhardy, was not ready to call himself a powerful man, nor a man that had extraordinary capabilities. He wasn't a hero because he didn't admit to himself that he was a hero. It was rather philosophical, if he was being honest with himself, but such was the nature of things like heroism. A hero braved an eternal struggle, and Zane had no desire to do that. It was also a hero's duty to desire nothing, while Zane desired a lot. A hero was humble, and Zane wasn't. But why was he so opposed to being a hero? Was the real question one needed to ask themselves, to get to the root of the problem. A hero's life ended swiftly, and thus many were afraid of being called one, for it could bring bad luck. But the young man of messy hair had already demonstrated that he cared not for his life, several times. A hero had enemies, ones that could hurt his loved ones, if he wasn't completely and utterly devoted to a careful lifestyle. But the mountain-climbing boy had no real loved ones among the living, thus he had no reason to fear whatever vengeance a villain may have upon him. And finally, a hero received attention. Good attention, bad attention, it didn't really matter, not to Zane at least. Zane, unlike many others, didn't want to be in the spotlight. He was a servant, not a master. He was a follower, not a leader. He feared that he couldn't live up to the expectations the masses would have of a hero. It wasn't anything more than that. Truly.

But what use was there of thinking of things like that, when he had a person to save. Yes, he would act heroically, and save the life of whatever man was trapped inside the tower, but he wouldn't be a hero. Acting like one, does not make you one. At least that was what the boy's father had taught him. It was strange, this arc had been the one during which he remembered the most of his father, out of all the twelve arcs since his passing. Zane nodded as the being, called Noth, gave him instructions. It seemed more and more like Noth was a monster bound to live on eternally in chains, instead of a man with an unfortunate destiny to die on top of a mountain. He hadn't realised that the creature, which he determined wasn't human, couldn't see him nod, so he hadn't said a word as he buried his pick into the wall of the tower, and began his climb. The more he climbed, the higher he got, the more the thoughts itched him. He was being a hero right now, so what if he didn't have a choice. What if actions made people, instead of words, and his actions made him a hero, while his words rejected the idea. His excuse for not being a hero waned in strength the more times his pick cracked the stones, and he finally got to the top, where indeed a wooden hatch stood, locked to never be unlocked. It was rather easy, crushing it and making the splintering wood fall down onto the stone floor, where the strangest creature he'd seen in a long time stood waiting for his rescue. He knew that all manners of species existed outside Rynmere, but he'd never seen a bird so large, and so human-like. And yet it wasn't a bird, for there stood only one wing on its back, and every man knew that birds sprouted two of them.

He hesitated, and there was no shame in admitting it, seeing how the birdman was horrifying-looking, glowing with an aura of fierceness around him, like none the young man had ever seen before. It was a sight to behold, such a fearsome creature of a bold stature locked and chained inside a tower on top of a mountain, never to be seen again. And yet, it would be seen again, thanks to the young hero's actions. The skyrider finally, after several bits had passed, attached a grapple to the stone wall and let the rope from it fall down into the sole and isolated room inside the tower. He would then, if Noth had no objections, lower himself on the rope, with his pack on his back and a pick in hand, and attempt to pick away at the birdman's chains. He didn't really have any better way of freeing him, besides just slamming metal into metal until one of the pieces cracked. Hopefully it would be the chain before the pick. He would say no words, seeing how the first ones that came to mind were rather offensive and would warrant an attack from the winged halfblood. Each time the loud clanking noise echoed throughout the room, and each time it pierced his earlobes, he would think that he was making a mistake, freeing someone who had been imprisoned for a reason, but each time that wouldn't stop him. Innocent until proven guilty, he thought as he opened his mouth to speak, once and if the bonds had been broken.

"Who are you, Noth?" He would ask, meaning a lot with the four simple words. There was nothing to be misunderstood in the question, and yet he feared the winged hybrid wouldn't give an answer he was looking for. In reality, the question was philosophical, exhausting and all in all simply deep. Who was he to be chained on top of a mountain? Who was he to have one wing but not the other? Who was he to be found by a lucky traveller? All of those were valid interpretations.

[Noth]

The twilight hybrid found himself staring at the wall, listening intently to the noise of the pick striking against it for leverage as the fellow outside began his ascent. It seemed likely that he had used the tool to scale the mountain upon which they now stood, and so he was probably quite proficient in its use. That was good, considered the hybrid, because if he were an amateur or someone who had very little experience using the equipment, then he might have fallen off of the tower and broken his bones, or perhaps simply have died from the shock. Either way, the hybrid would have found himself trapped once again, unable to do anything except to scream for assistance to come save him, and everyone knew that people seldom traversed the mountains.

Eventually, the noise in the walls ceased, and he listened to the gentle pitter-patter of steps above him before a portion of the ceiling; the hatch that he had spied earlier, suddenly burst inwards and slammed harshly into the floor, detonating with a visceral spray of wood and nails. Crimson eyes gazed up from their imprisoned room, observing the boy, and beyond him, the freedom of the sky, the place that had forever been denied to him once again in view. The boy seemed far younger than even he had assumed, and he began to wonder whether or not the boy had come alone, or whether he was a part of a caravan of some sort that was camped outside of the tower. Could it be that he had been sent by someone to retrieve him, and this was all a ruse? Potentially, but such issues could be faced whenever he had finally been freed from the prison tower.

There were several long moments where the twilight hybrid worried that the boy might simply abandon him now that he had seen the abomination he was meant to be freeing, but gradually it seemed that his doubts must have acquiesced, because he lowered a rope into the room. The boy promptly went to work slamming the pick against the accursed chain which held him, and the Avriel did his part by holding the metal binding taut so that it would receive the full force of the blows with a greater ease. Eventually, the chain let out a final shriek, and fell silent upon the ground, the collar still hooked about his neck with a slight tail, but otherwise he was freed of its grasp.

He gazed longingly at the rope, intent on scrambling out of the pit, but was stopped in his movements by the boy who asked him a question with no simple answer. He had considered the question himself many times in the past, and whilst it seemed that he often found answers that were suitable, he would be remiss to believe that the question was not a constant one flittering into his thoughts. On the one hand, there was the formal: He was the Prince of Eternal Mercies, but the nature of that very title held more meanings than one. It could be considered to be ironic in the sense that he seldom displayed any genuinely merciful tendencies towards his enemies, indeed, he was a savage foe. It could be taken as legitimate, a promise to those who assisted him that he would work towards a grand goal, a desire to engulf the world in a peace that it had not known for several hundred Arcs; not since the war with the Immortals had begun in earnest.

There was a moral definition that could be considered as well. He identified himself willfully as a villain and a monster, because it seemed far more fitting to his actions than any of the heroic escapades he had encountered in his lifetime. Yet, simultaneously, his goals were not altogether ignoble nor wicked, and whilst he was a cruel individual, it could not be said that he was entirely evil. He recognized that about himself, and the frustration and tension between the two ideologies threatened to tear him apart at times, confounded his ability to concentrate on a singular path to take to accomplish his goal.

“I am a person, just as any other. I am a monster, but I want to save the world from itself. I want to save it from the Immortals, the beings that plunge it into war and sacrifice so many to suit their needs.”

[Zane]

In reality, Zane was as fresh as they come at climbing. He had never tried it, beyond climbing on a chair to reach the top shelf. There really weren't many things one could climb when one lived only in Andaris City their entire life. And yet here he was, scaling this tower like it was second nature. It was just a strange thought that occurred to him as he did so, that maybe the limitations placed upon one in the physical world were just mental in nature, and anyone could truly do anything if they put their mind to it. It was his idealistic way of thinking, nothing more and nothing less, but it was something to consider. What if every man, woman and child had the powers of Immortals hidden deep within them, and all they needed to do to unlock them, was be willing to dream. He, as clueless as ever, had no idea that it was only because of Emean laws that he could climb the stone structure, and would probably attempt to do so in the actual world once he had woken up and realized it was all a dream, but until then, he could think whatever philosophy he wanted. It was the boy's free spirit that drove him to these wild thoughts that had no connection to anything prior in the world, and it was his curiosity that drove him to discover whether or not these thoughts were true. More often than not, his wild thoughts proved to be nothing more than that exactly, thoughts, but sometimes, in the strangest of circumstances, they proved to be true, and he could claim victory over the cruel rules of truth and rationality, and celebrate with an expensive drink in a tavern.

As Noth answered the deep-seated question Zane truly wanted to ask himself instead, the thought bubble popped and everything from a couple moments ago disappeared into the endless void of Emea, having never been more than a poor kid's imagination. And everyone knows the poorer one is, the grander one's imagination is. So he was a person. And he was also a monster. Zane didn't believe him. He certainly looked like a monster, but the boy also looked like a rugged farmer, and that didn't make him one. He spoke of saving the world from itself, from the Immortals, and yet Zane could only hear a cry for help from a man who needed to be saved. All so-called monsters really only needed someone to save them. It was because of the lack of a saviour that men took to magic, and it was because of that magic that they were labelled monsters, at least in Rynmere. Mages weren't monsters, not any more than this trapped soul. Monsters were fueled by evil, by hatred and by desire. Those that were fueled by two of those but not the third, they were baddies at best. Monsters were beings that shattered the hopes and dreams of honour-abiding men, that left death and destruction in their wake and desired to do nothing else. Noth, he desired peace, it was written all over him, and his words. He himself admitted that he wanted to end the people who caused war. The only reason why he might've been called a monster was because his views on what causes the evil of the world was different than another man's. Sure Zane didn't view the Immortals as the main antagonists of every mortal's life, and sure he didn't believe ending them would end all suffering of the world, but he did believe that all suffering should be ended, and that every mortal did have an antagonist. Was it truly wrong, or even monstrous, to blame your antagonist for your suffering? Doesn't every creature of the world do that? Don't rabbits blame the wolves for their misfortune? Don't scholars blame soldiers for wars? Don't soldiers blame kings? And kings blame other kings?

Life truly was a circle of guilt, and blame, and there was nothing Zane could do about it. He knew this, from a young age at that, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was blame his own antagonist, and keep living. So he would offer Noth the chance to do the same. He wasn't about to hate on the poor soul for doing the same thing everyone else did. All he desired in the world was freedom, freedom to think and say what he wanted to, without being called a monster, and he was certain that Noth was the same. If not, he would've been killed by the twilight hybrid already. But perhaps he could test it once more, Zane thought as he looked up towards the bright, cloudless sky. Mountaintops really did have the best views.

"I do not believe you. But I will agree to hear you out, once we are out of this prison and in the warm embrace of a tavern's walls with drinks moving down our throats." Zane said with as big of a smile as he could manage in the freezing weather, offering the rope to the halfvriel, in hopes of letting him climb up first. It was well placed at the top of the tower, and it could handle the weight of one adult at a time, and the young man of messy hair had decided, the first one to move up would be the self-proclaimed monster. It was as much of a gesture of good faith as a test, and he sincerely hoped Noth passed it, for he risked his own life on his belief that the winged creature wasn't as bad as he claimed.

[Noth]

In reality, Noth didn’t believe that he had ever attempted to scale a mountain before. In fact, most of his time was spent honing either his deceptive abilities, or else his talents as leader or warrior. He had grown extremely proficient in the gory art of warfare, to the point where he was just as capable of beating someone to death with his own hands as he was of standing fifty yards away and piercing them with a longbow’s missile. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t at all talentless in other factors, but much of his talents had been devoted towards excelling at accelerating the growth of his growing organization, or else the tyrannical talents necessary to ensure that his rule was neither challenged nor entirely irresponsible.

The twilight hybrid had admitted to being a monster, but the boy before him stated that he did not believe him. That was strange, because he would have expected an admission of that caliber to have conjoined nicely with his savage appearance. In fact, he wouldn’t have been entirely remiss to believe that the boy might suddenly attack him for the admission on the basis of his being some unnatural being capable of causing only pain and death… and perhaps he would be correct. It was a strange understanding that the twilight hybrid held of himself, that he was simultaneously striving to be a hero of the world, and yet also the most vicious and cruel being that he had ever known. Even the storybook characters that people spoke of when they considered the implications of true evil had not committed quite so many atrocities as he felt he had in his altogether short life time.

In the end, it didn’t matter what the boy thought, he considered, and Noth quickly maneuvered himself past the young man in an attempt at getting towards the rope. The man offered the rope to him, and the hybrid accepted, beginning to scale up the rope with a nod of appreciation to the fellow. He would continue upwards until he had reached the top of the rope, and the boundary of the tower. A feathered hand would pass beyond the threshold, and a sudden sensation of coldness would ache through his bones, forcing him to glance at the offending appendage.

There was the briefest moment when he thought he might shriek in sudden terror at the appearance of a skeletal appendage where he felt certain his own limb must certainly have been placed. There was a sudden thrust of pain deep within his stomach as his mortal being was awakened from the sleepy stasis that had been placed upon it. He hungered in a way that he thought unimaginable, as if though his gut had begun to eat away at itself in frustrated vengeance for the lack of food, and his throat felt as though it had split several times throughout its length at the intense dryness that had suddenly enveloped it.

Noth released the rope immediately, and fell back downwards to the chamber, crashing with a harsh thud, but the pain that had wracked around his gut had vanished, and a quick glance revealed that his appendage had returned to its normal state. He did not suffer whilst he remained within the tower, but attempting to leave it had caused him an immeasurable amount of suffering. He didn’t understand… he refused to understand it. Had things grown so different outside? Was the difference between there and here so great that he was unable to go out without suffering? Was it the Immortals to blame? Who was to blame for the suffering that he had discovered?

“Friend. I thank you for your assistance… but I cannot leave. I believe I have been cursed in some measure…” He sighed disappointedly, sliding back to the ground near the chain. It could not have been his fault… there was simply no chance of it. No, it was someone else, someone unseen, someone who had done these things just as they had done all else that was wrong in his life. Just as someone else had forced him to murder his father, just as someone else unseen from his avian eyes had convinced him to slay and maim.

It was not his fault.

“Go. This is not a place for you.”

[Zane]

Monsters lurk everywhere, among the men and women of the world, from the darkness of caves and caverns to the broad daylight of a city's streets. Monsters walk next to people, unseen, ever-changing and shifting their true nature away from view. They, however, avoid one place, and one place alone. No other place, no other thing in the vast world of plentiful colours can make them go away, but one. No magical ward, no gauntlet of alchemical power, no Immortal's divine essence can assure that there are no monsters around. For the person placing the ward, and the alchemist making the gauntlet, and the very Immortal worshipped by thousands, may, in fact, be the monsters. The only place where monsters cannot be found, though, is behind the eyes of an honest man. It is honesty that is the strongest shield against the powers of monsters, and it is acceptance and understanding of oneself and others that is the fire that melts the hardest steels. One can have every virtue of this world, all the power that the Originals wielded, and the greatest weapons ever created, but if one is not honest, with himself, with others, with everything and anything, one can be turned into a monster. That is why Zane stood in disbelief as Noth grabbed a hold of the rope. Noth and him were perhaps very different people, having done very different things in their lives, but they shared the trait of self-acceptance. Noth knew what he had done in his puny lifetime was evil, and perhaps he even was an evil man, but he was no monster. Monsters and evil men were different, after all, for an evil man can be redeemed, but a monster is what it is forever. It was perhaps an absolutistic way of looking at reality, but it was the one that Zane knew and trusted, the one he was taught by his philosophical, truth-seeking father, and it was the one he followed. If Noth introduced himself as an evil man, the boy could've agreed, and offered him a hand into the light, but Noth introduced himself as a monster, meaning that his opinion of himself was worse than those of others around him. He viewed himself as the worst of the worst, for some, unknown reason, but that was better than if he believed himself a saint, and wanted others to do the same.

"Very well then." The young man of messy hair said, a slight smile finding the light of day that came from the broken hatch. Every curse can be lifted, every bad deed redeemed, and he was certain that one trial, perhaps far away in the future, but one trial, Noth would find the light, and he would find the true good path. "Until we meet again, then, Noth." He said, confident that they shall, in fact, meet again. He hadn't intended for his thoughts to go the route they had, and he hadn't intended to place such weight on a random mountain loner's words, but it seemed to be what Vri willed, and thus he would do so. And thus, he climbed, and he was out, in the chilly air of Zi'da, once again.