chapter 27
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"Nightmare?" asked Cantrip, puzzled. "I thought the Gifts were supposed to make them more powerful?"
The old man stared at Cantrip sadly. "The Gifts were never completed by Arathea, you see. The Ancients assumed that he merely did not have time to combine them into a single rune. They assumed that claiming each fragment would boost a single part of their being, each one of them becoming more powerful in a certain way. But that was not to be, because they did not realise each rune was flawed. Arathea had not combined the runes for a simple reason: they were too unstable to be combined in their current state."
"The Ancients knew none of this, of course, and they doomed themselves to a cursed existence..."
* * * * *
Ancient One screamed as the rune buried itself into his skull. Great knowledge flowed in his head, a sea of information stretching as far as the mind's eye could see. He knew everything now, everything there was to know, everything that happened, could have happened, did not happen... and then his mind broke under the onslaught of Knowledge, the sheer amount of information driving him into madness.
And right at the forefront of his newfound knowledge, was a single thought: "The Gifts shall be our downfall". It roared like a lion, and then he realised the magnitude of their folly: he saw Arathea's last moments, cut down by Septaphim, and he understood why Septaphim had sacrificed everything to ensure that the Ancients did not return to their former glory. He knew right then, with total clarity, that the Gifts were flawed, and would destroy them.
He saw the future too, but it shifted with every passing second. It was like a pattern that was forever changing everytime you glanced at it, but to his mind, it was maddening. Every small change in the world changed the future that he was certain of, and he remembered every single one even as they vanished, he could trace the probabilities, he could see what would happen if only someone did something differently. It drove him mad, and he shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge these thoughts as they tormented him.
He knew the past, he knew everything, and in his mind there was nothing but absolute truth, he knew who was guilty and who was not, he knew everyone's story, and he saw right through the deepest secrets and most elaborate lies. But he could not focus on any single thought, and his mind raged like a whirling storm of thoughts, all fighting to be heard, while new thoughts continued streaming in, and he lost his last remaining vestiges of sanity.
Ancient One began to scrawl madly on the floor, trying to jot down his thoughts even as they fled before him like frightened fish, desperately scribbling as he attempted to write down everything he knows. For hours he scribbled, then days, and the days turned to months, and the months to years, as his hair grew long and white, his eyes grew sunken, and he sank deep into the depths of insanity.
And then, one day, the door had reopened. He had always known it would.
* * * * *
The room grew silent.
"I always knew you were coming, of course, and I know many things, oh yes, many many things," muttered the insane husk that used to be the noble Ancient One. "But time grows short for stories, yes, the stories, I must tell you the stories, and you must correct the mistakes we have made." He stared again at Cantrip, and his lips quivered. "Much has been forgotten, I know, I know, but now is the time to tell you of the stories, and you must end this, yes, bring everything to an end, and complete the unhappy tale of the Ancients, cursed to the very end, the very end. There is much you must know, and quickly, before all is lost!" And he wailed loudly, beating his fists against his frail chest. "You must know! I know, I know, and I must tell you the rest of the stories... so many stories..."
Seraph gazed at the pitiful, wailing figure, and grabbed his shoulders. "Then tell us! Come, finish your story! The remaining four Ancients.. what became of them?"
Ancient One sobbed uncontrollably, and then continued the story.
* * * * *
Septaphim fled through the tunnels, his broken body a fraction of his former self. Evangelion had not killed himself in vain: Septaphim had been robbed of most of his powers, as the flames had burned away most of his physical shell. He was little more than a shadow now, with the merest of whispers binding him to the world.
He needed time to heal in solitude, and even then he feared that the damage from the fire had dealt a fatal blow to his power. The Demonic magic was faltering now, and he could feel his powers slip away. The shadows that had bent their will to his were now burned into the walls of the tunnel, and Septaphim knew that he was dying.
No matter.. there were other ways to prolong his existence. He was too weak to regain the Key now, and the Gifts were most certainly lost by now. He had to recover, and then he will return. Septaphim swore that, even if it would consume every last drop of his remaining energies, he would undo the damage wrought by Arathea's Gifts: his soul would not rest in peace until this was done.
* * * * *
"The other Ancients abandoned the Vault once they discovered the abominations that they had become. I stayed, of course, because I was too mad to leave, and they abandoned me here, sealed inside this tomb. The Key was hidden in a ledge above the door, and then each one of them fled, horrified by the true nature of their Gifts."
"Ancient Three's Invincibility rune had turned him into a monstrous, steel skinned monster, and he went mad with rage, trapped within an unbreakable shell. He escaped into the dark catacombs beneath the City, where he festered in his own hatred. He clawed at his skin, but it was too strong to be broken, and he grew hungry, unable to eat anything. And yet he stayed alive, fueled by his hatred, his hunger, and his rage, and in time, he grew obsessed with hunting and destroying Septaphim, for to his twisted mind, he blamed Septaphim for murdering Arathea before the runes could be completed, which Ancient Three saw as the only reason he was encassed in an inescapable prison that was his own skin."
"Deep under the City, Septaphim created a complex magical circle, capable of moving a person ahead in time. In his weakened state, direct sunlight was enough to kill him outright, and he had precious little time to waste hiding in the darkness while waiting for daylight to pass. He entered the circle every time the sun rose, and reappeared with the sunset, and became a true creature of the night, vanishing from existence until night fell. He protected his lair with myths and stories, convincing the locals that a great monster guarded the circle."
"You..." Ancient One pointed a wrinkled finger at Penelope. "You found the lair as well, but in the darkness, Septaphim had just enough of his powers remaining to take you prisoner, and hoped that it would discourage any further exploration into his lair. Ancient Three heard the rumours of this great monster, who defeated even a skilled bounty hunter, and in his desperation to find Septaphim for revenge, he suspected, correctly, that the 'great monster' was none other than Septaphim himself."
"Ancient Three broke into the chamber just as your friends arrived, and would have killed them both if not for Septaphim's timely intervention. Once Ancient Three stepped inside the circle, Septaphim sent him forward in time, and allowed the two of you to escape. Of course, you repayed this little debt by returning later to kill Ancient Three, ending his tortured existence."
"But... why?" asked Seraph, puzzled. "Why did this Septaphim rescue us?"
Ancient One smiled. "Oh yes... there is another part to the story you are unaware of: no doubt you remember that the Power rune was taken by Ancient Five. It was effective beyond Arathea's wildest dreams... Ancient Five was filled with so much power, he leaked pure magic. But the magic became unstable, and uncontrollable, discharging itself randomly into the environment, and it was growing stronger all the time."
"Ancient Five became a walking bomb: each discharge became more violent than the last, and soon white flames burst into existence randomly all around Ancient Five, and his body became nothing more than a vessel for an unstable buildup of raw magic. He retreated to the Fortress, at the peak of the Spire, exiled from the rest of existence, to which he had become a real danger to. He was Septaphim's greatest fear come true: what if Ancient Five could no longer contain the magic? If every last drop of magic within him was released upon his death, then it would blow us all to kingdom come, destroying the island, and possibly everything else as well."
"Ancient Five eventually reached a point where his control over the magic slowly slipped away, and in a desperate move to prevent utter annihilation of the entire world, he used the magic to seal himself for eternity inside a block of solid rock, hoping that the stone would hold the magic while preventing more magic from leaking in."
A memory tugged at Seraph's brain. A man, sealed in a rock: somehow, it all seemed familiar...
"Unfortunately, he was only partially correct. The stone did hold the magic, but more magic leaked in slowly, soaking through the solid rock. Ancient Five had only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. Septaphim could not reach the top of the Spire, where the sunlight would have killed him. He realised that he needed the help of the other Ancients to resolve this threat, and ultimately, undo once and for all the many mistakes of the Ancients."
"Unfortunately, I was mad, and sealed within the Vault, while Ancient Three was unlikely to offer any help to the person he hated so much. But there were two more Ancients remaining, and Septaphim turned to them for help."
The memory made the right connections, and Seraph's mind leapt. "The rich old man," said Seraph excitedly. "When he died, he wrote something cryptic on the parchment: "FIND OTHERS", and a drawing of a man, framed by a square. That's it, isn't it? A man framed by a square: that was Ancient Five, trapped in a rock. Which would mean that..."
Ancient One nodded. "Cain Fortune was no man: he was the Ancient who held the rune of Wealth. I'm surprised that you didn't realise it earlier, of course... after all, his name betrayed his true identity: 'CAIN FORTUNE' is nothing more than a rearrangement of his true name, 'ANCIENT FOUR'."
next chapter
"Nightmare?" asked Cantrip, puzzled. "I thought the Gifts were supposed to make them more powerful?"
The old man stared at Cantrip sadly. "The Gifts were never completed by Arathea, you see. The Ancients assumed that he merely did not have time to combine them into a single rune. They assumed that claiming each fragment would boost a single part of their being, each one of them becoming more powerful in a certain way. But that was not to be, because they did not realise each rune was flawed. Arathea had not combined the runes for a simple reason: they were too unstable to be combined in their current state."
"The Ancients knew none of this, of course, and they doomed themselves to a cursed existence..."
* * * * *
Ancient One screamed as the rune buried itself into his skull. Great knowledge flowed in his head, a sea of information stretching as far as the mind's eye could see. He knew everything now, everything there was to know, everything that happened, could have happened, did not happen... and then his mind broke under the onslaught of Knowledge, the sheer amount of information driving him into madness.
And right at the forefront of his newfound knowledge, was a single thought: "The Gifts shall be our downfall". It roared like a lion, and then he realised the magnitude of their folly: he saw Arathea's last moments, cut down by Septaphim, and he understood why Septaphim had sacrificed everything to ensure that the Ancients did not return to their former glory. He knew right then, with total clarity, that the Gifts were flawed, and would destroy them.
He saw the future too, but it shifted with every passing second. It was like a pattern that was forever changing everytime you glanced at it, but to his mind, it was maddening. Every small change in the world changed the future that he was certain of, and he remembered every single one even as they vanished, he could trace the probabilities, he could see what would happen if only someone did something differently. It drove him mad, and he shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge these thoughts as they tormented him.
He knew the past, he knew everything, and in his mind there was nothing but absolute truth, he knew who was guilty and who was not, he knew everyone's story, and he saw right through the deepest secrets and most elaborate lies. But he could not focus on any single thought, and his mind raged like a whirling storm of thoughts, all fighting to be heard, while new thoughts continued streaming in, and he lost his last remaining vestiges of sanity.
Ancient One began to scrawl madly on the floor, trying to jot down his thoughts even as they fled before him like frightened fish, desperately scribbling as he attempted to write down everything he knows. For hours he scribbled, then days, and the days turned to months, and the months to years, as his hair grew long and white, his eyes grew sunken, and he sank deep into the depths of insanity.
And then, one day, the door had reopened. He had always known it would.
* * * * *
The room grew silent.
"I always knew you were coming, of course, and I know many things, oh yes, many many things," muttered the insane husk that used to be the noble Ancient One. "But time grows short for stories, yes, the stories, I must tell you the stories, and you must correct the mistakes we have made." He stared again at Cantrip, and his lips quivered. "Much has been forgotten, I know, I know, but now is the time to tell you of the stories, and you must end this, yes, bring everything to an end, and complete the unhappy tale of the Ancients, cursed to the very end, the very end. There is much you must know, and quickly, before all is lost!" And he wailed loudly, beating his fists against his frail chest. "You must know! I know, I know, and I must tell you the rest of the stories... so many stories..."
Seraph gazed at the pitiful, wailing figure, and grabbed his shoulders. "Then tell us! Come, finish your story! The remaining four Ancients.. what became of them?"
Ancient One sobbed uncontrollably, and then continued the story.
* * * * *
Septaphim fled through the tunnels, his broken body a fraction of his former self. Evangelion had not killed himself in vain: Septaphim had been robbed of most of his powers, as the flames had burned away most of his physical shell. He was little more than a shadow now, with the merest of whispers binding him to the world.
He needed time to heal in solitude, and even then he feared that the damage from the fire had dealt a fatal blow to his power. The Demonic magic was faltering now, and he could feel his powers slip away. The shadows that had bent their will to his were now burned into the walls of the tunnel, and Septaphim knew that he was dying.
No matter.. there were other ways to prolong his existence. He was too weak to regain the Key now, and the Gifts were most certainly lost by now. He had to recover, and then he will return. Septaphim swore that, even if it would consume every last drop of his remaining energies, he would undo the damage wrought by Arathea's Gifts: his soul would not rest in peace until this was done.
* * * * *
"The other Ancients abandoned the Vault once they discovered the abominations that they had become. I stayed, of course, because I was too mad to leave, and they abandoned me here, sealed inside this tomb. The Key was hidden in a ledge above the door, and then each one of them fled, horrified by the true nature of their Gifts."
"Ancient Three's Invincibility rune had turned him into a monstrous, steel skinned monster, and he went mad with rage, trapped within an unbreakable shell. He escaped into the dark catacombs beneath the City, where he festered in his own hatred. He clawed at his skin, but it was too strong to be broken, and he grew hungry, unable to eat anything. And yet he stayed alive, fueled by his hatred, his hunger, and his rage, and in time, he grew obsessed with hunting and destroying Septaphim, for to his twisted mind, he blamed Septaphim for murdering Arathea before the runes could be completed, which Ancient Three saw as the only reason he was encassed in an inescapable prison that was his own skin."
"Deep under the City, Septaphim created a complex magical circle, capable of moving a person ahead in time. In his weakened state, direct sunlight was enough to kill him outright, and he had precious little time to waste hiding in the darkness while waiting for daylight to pass. He entered the circle every time the sun rose, and reappeared with the sunset, and became a true creature of the night, vanishing from existence until night fell. He protected his lair with myths and stories, convincing the locals that a great monster guarded the circle."
"You..." Ancient One pointed a wrinkled finger at Penelope. "You found the lair as well, but in the darkness, Septaphim had just enough of his powers remaining to take you prisoner, and hoped that it would discourage any further exploration into his lair. Ancient Three heard the rumours of this great monster, who defeated even a skilled bounty hunter, and in his desperation to find Septaphim for revenge, he suspected, correctly, that the 'great monster' was none other than Septaphim himself."
"Ancient Three broke into the chamber just as your friends arrived, and would have killed them both if not for Septaphim's timely intervention. Once Ancient Three stepped inside the circle, Septaphim sent him forward in time, and allowed the two of you to escape. Of course, you repayed this little debt by returning later to kill Ancient Three, ending his tortured existence."
"But... why?" asked Seraph, puzzled. "Why did this Septaphim rescue us?"
Ancient One smiled. "Oh yes... there is another part to the story you are unaware of: no doubt you remember that the Power rune was taken by Ancient Five. It was effective beyond Arathea's wildest dreams... Ancient Five was filled with so much power, he leaked pure magic. But the magic became unstable, and uncontrollable, discharging itself randomly into the environment, and it was growing stronger all the time."
"Ancient Five became a walking bomb: each discharge became more violent than the last, and soon white flames burst into existence randomly all around Ancient Five, and his body became nothing more than a vessel for an unstable buildup of raw magic. He retreated to the Fortress, at the peak of the Spire, exiled from the rest of existence, to which he had become a real danger to. He was Septaphim's greatest fear come true: what if Ancient Five could no longer contain the magic? If every last drop of magic within him was released upon his death, then it would blow us all to kingdom come, destroying the island, and possibly everything else as well."
"Ancient Five eventually reached a point where his control over the magic slowly slipped away, and in a desperate move to prevent utter annihilation of the entire world, he used the magic to seal himself for eternity inside a block of solid rock, hoping that the stone would hold the magic while preventing more magic from leaking in."
A memory tugged at Seraph's brain. A man, sealed in a rock: somehow, it all seemed familiar...
"Unfortunately, he was only partially correct. The stone did hold the magic, but more magic leaked in slowly, soaking through the solid rock. Ancient Five had only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. Septaphim could not reach the top of the Spire, where the sunlight would have killed him. He realised that he needed the help of the other Ancients to resolve this threat, and ultimately, undo once and for all the many mistakes of the Ancients."
"Unfortunately, I was mad, and sealed within the Vault, while Ancient Three was unlikely to offer any help to the person he hated so much. But there were two more Ancients remaining, and Septaphim turned to them for help."
The memory made the right connections, and Seraph's mind leapt. "The rich old man," said Seraph excitedly. "When he died, he wrote something cryptic on the parchment: "FIND OTHERS", and a drawing of a man, framed by a square. That's it, isn't it? A man framed by a square: that was Ancient Five, trapped in a rock. Which would mean that..."
Ancient One nodded. "Cain Fortune was no man: he was the Ancient who held the rune of Wealth. I'm surprised that you didn't realise it earlier, of course... after all, his name betrayed his true identity: 'CAIN FORTUNE' is nothing more than a rearrangement of his true name, 'ANCIENT FOUR'."
next chapter
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