IC Date: 07/02/2025

As the crystal hummed and glowed, a slow grinding roared from within the door followed by a series of sharp metallic cracks before the door reluctantly yielded, scraping petulantly against the stone floor Half-crazed laughter burst forth from Sailor Tempesti as she recalled the voice of some ancient hectoring woman from the back of her consciousness. Claims she’d made to her rapt and devoted tutee describing the wondrous ways each Spyros ruler empowered the Primordial Tower. Each Spyros ruler who used their divine power and spirit-given authority to protect the planet.

Each Spyros ruler whose power stopped at a door that would respond to no magic but her own.

The absurdity of the situation left no room for anything but laughter. Maybe it was bitter, maybe there was a half-mad fury driving her mirth as she wondered how many truths Elysia… she… had ever heard. It seemed that each memory she reclaimed quivered with lies in every word. Sotiria’s madness, infectious or not, couldn’t account for the centuries of neglect they allowed for the sake of some invented divine right. A tingling heat rose within her, prickling the back of her eyes as she furiously blinked back tears. Blind pursuit of power wasn’t an unfamiliar song, she’d heard it often enough on Earth. Neither was the determination of the powerful to keep their station at the cost of the world in which they lived. Human or not, it seemed that tyrants and oligarchs sang the same tune. Small fists clenched and unclenched, an unspoken desire to slam one foolishly into the stone wall twitched in her arm before the limb fell to her side.

A soft push sent the door hissing across the stone and Tempesti’s breath caught in her chest. A gleaming white tower rose from the deep blue-green of a lake, a shocking bastion of nature amidst the stone and glass of the city contained within what appeared to be an enormous stone well. A circle of dusky sky shone orange and grey around the tower’s crown, its reflection shifting in the water below. White stone lined with heavy railing arced across the water, a high, narrow sanctuary connecting the palace with the tower beyond.

Elysia had stood lost in front of the doors for hours, staring at the gleaming crystal that invited her to flood it with the harpies’ magic. Shadows flitted and flickered behind her, a constant reminder of the madness that always waited, a breath away.

Don’tbecomeher
Don’tbecomeher
Don’tbecomeher

The heat of summer failed to reach her.

Outside of the walls.

Outside of the palace.

Outside of the Tower.

Time for the Rite.

Time for the Rite but it was too far.

Too far across the water and the blade was gone and she was gone and it would all be gone.

She couldn’t touch it.

Pollutionpollutionpollutionpoison

The Wellspring must be pure.

Must be pure.

Must.

Even free of the Tower of the Winds, Elysia had never dared profane this most holy sanctuary with her presence. Her dread a friendly reminder that the past cared nothing for poor timing. But now. Now a Sailor Tempesti strode across that threshold. She couldn’t fully banish Elysia’s persistently nagging fear, but she would not let the lies that frightened girl absorbed hold her back now.