With squared shoulders and forced, deep inhales, Tempesti started forward. Dread-weighted legs lightened with each step. Whether driven by the desire to seek healing from ancient wounds or from or sheer stubborn curiosity was impossible to know but she dragged herself onto the bridge, one leaden foot after another. It wasn’t until she reached the crest of the walkway that the shroud lifted enough to allow her to register the small, colorful lights flickering throughout the chamber.

Spirits’ candles.

The name rose easily from the depths of her memory. Were she on Earth she might have called them fireflies, but the colors that flashed from their bodies shifted in hues that reflected the sky’s waning light above as they darted among the plants lining the lake’s edge. It was impossible to imagine this experience losing its thrill. Warmth and joy swelled at the sight of returning life and the endless possibilities it implied flooded her thoughts once more. Thoughts for another day, of course. Another day, another world, another person. Still the smile lingered on her lips as the bridge grew shorter, her legs grew lighter, and the spirits’ candles flickered encouragingly around the lake. Giving them a last, loving gaze she turned her attention to the base of the tower. The structure was far larger than she had realized, a daunting colossus rising toward the distant sky. Proximity to the walls brought yet another revelation. Unfamiliar symbols covered every inch of the Primordial Tower. Shallow carvings in the stone almost seemed to elude the eye as she attempted to focus upon them, swimming, sinking, resurfacing. What purpose they served she couldn’t say, some resembled the unintelligible script she’d seen throughout the city while others remained something even more foreign to her. She could only hazard a guess as to their purpose. Incantations, decorations, a collection of dirty poetry. Familiar frustration rose at her continued illiteracy. It seemed unfair that the memories that made themselves known were always of the traumatic variety. You’d think that Elysia would give up something more useful than glimpses of her mental breakdowns. But that was what the past had to offer. This far along at least. The shrines were her responsibility. Hopefully they wouldn’t require any reading.

The matter of finding the shrines themselves had troubled her before she made her way across the bridge but as she continued to examine the tower’s base a large, arched door made its presence known from the shadows in which it stood. A pair of odd statues flanked the stone entryway. Winged human, or humanoid, figures stood silent vigil in the dark. Illuminating them with her lantern, she found herself greeted with a riot of color. Tempesti suspected that they weren’t truly made of stained glass, likely an imitation rendered in some stronger material, but with each new angle they revealed more hues. The Primordial Tower was clearly built in a style that differed vastly from that of the rest of the palace complex but she suspected that these particular sculptures were a later addition, perhaps installed on the orders of Sotiria herself. Whichever shrine lay beyond, duty and eagerness drew her into its orbit with an irresistible pull.