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The plan now concrete in my mind, I retrieve the staff from my armchair.
“Wait here,” I say to Zephyr. “I’ll be back soon.”
He lifts his head, his azure scales glinting in the morning sunlight pouring in through my window. His tail flicks out, making his disconcertion apparent.
“I won’t be long.”
His sharp gaze doesn’t relent.
“We can’t leave Nolderan to looters,” I explain. “I’m going to see if I can activate the Aether Tower.”
Zephyr drifts up from my bed and over to me, perching on my shoulder.
Since he’s still annoyed at me for summoning the Void Prince, I don’t shoo him away. Besides, there’s a part of me which can’t bear to be without him for even a few moments. As I told him, he’s all I have.
“All right then,” I say with a shake of my head. “I guess you’re coming with me.” Zephyr nestles on my shoulders, curling around them.
I clutch Father’s staff. Magic buzzes beneath my fingers.
Closing my eyes, I draw aether from the surrounding air. My power needs recharging after all I’ve endured these past few days, but Father’s staff acts as an amplifier, and my body is brimming with magic sooner than I can draw my next breath.
My thoughts turn to the Aether Tower, where so many awful things happened, and I begin painting the most detailed image as I can in my mind. Brushstroke by brushstroke, the tower becomes more real until I can feel the sting of its winds whipping across my cheeks.
When the image is alive in my mind, I release my magic.
“Laxus.”
A cloud of pale light washes over Zephyr and me. The spell seizes us, and my room vanishes. Then we’re slipping through a void where neither time nor space exists, where we’re as light as air. I wonder whether it’s how Zephyr feels while flying.
Then the emptiness is gone. Magic pierces the darkness and sketches the Aether Tower in increasing detail until I once more feel the weight of gravity.
Winds howl and slam into me, threatening to shove me over the edge and into the dizzying wave of cobalt roofs below. On Monday, I threw myself from the tower to complete my first Mage Trial—the Trial of Heart—which required a demonstration of the faith and courage necessary to become a mage. Now it’s Sunday. Not even a week has passed, and yet my entire world has changed.
I banish my thoughts, cleaving through the fog descending on my mind, and focus on what I came here to do. Cool stone kisses the soles of my feet as I pace across the platform. My toes feel like ice, but I push aside the feeling. It’s not worth using my magic to ignite an inner flame and warm myself. Besides, I already feel numb all over, so the chill is easy to ignore.
I reach the center of the platform and stop where the enormous orb of aether should be thundering overhead. Despite the howling wind, it’s too silent—too still—up here. Like the city below.
I don’t stay much longer before heading down the winding staircase.
With the tower turned off, the crystalline sconces lining the stone walls are useless. The light filtering in through the narrow opening dims, shrouding my path in shadows.
A few steps later, I almost slip and grab the metallic handrail to steady myself. When I climbed these stairs for the Trial of Heart, I could see all the way down to the bottom, thanks to the violet light radiating from the sconces. The glittering floor at the base of the tower was so distant it appeared nothing more than a speck of magenta.
Deciding not to take my chances, I hold out my hand. “Iluminos.”I’d say avoiding falling to my death is reason enough to use my magic.
The conjured orb is bright enough to illuminate the first few steps beneath me. We continue down the tower’s spiraling staircase, spinning faster and faster until we reach the top floor.
I step through the arched entrance. The corridor curves around the staircase, forming a perfect loop. Every floor is like this, aside from the lowest. That one is an empty crystalline floor with the staircase beginning at its center.
Father’s office sits halfway around the looping corridor. The doors stand as tall and proud as Grandmage Telric Ashbourne did. They’re crafted from aether crystals and shine with violet light. Like the Vault’s innermost chambers, their magic is contained in their crystalline body, and they remain warded despite the Aether Tower being turned off.
“Aseros,” I say, resting Father’s staff against the crystalline doors.
At my command, their surface ripples and they swing open. I stride through and Zephyr swoops down from my shoulder and perches on Father’s desk. It’s made from mahogany with curved legs which look too thin to hold the weight of all the books scattered across the top. The desk is as Father left it, books wide open and arranged haphazardly.
I glance at the nearest book. Father’s handwriting is scrawled across the pages. I can’t tell what it says since his writing is intelligible—and that’s being generous—but it appears to be some sort of log. My chest tightens. Unable to look at his handwriting for a moment longer, I hurriedly close the book.
But it does little to free my chest from the chains of grief. Wherever I look inside this room, I can’t escape his presence.
