Odin’s coat fluttered slightly in the wind. His fingers crackled with faint traces of lightning as he stepped through the barrier barring entry to the council’s citadel. Naturally, he took note of the strong smell of ash that lingered in the air, as well as the tiny girl crouched behind a tree.

  As he approached the dark tower, the humongous doors groaned loudly. The mechanical grunt of shifting gears reverberated throughout the night, and a tiny opening gave way for a lady in a white robe.

  She walked forward, hands tucked into the sleeves of her garb.

  “Lord Odin, what brings you here?” The lady stood before Odin, head reverently bowed.

  Odin tilted his head. He said with a smile, “The barrier didn't do much.”

  The lady chuckled lightly. She raised her head, and her pale, unseeing eyes reflected nothing. “It certainly was not weaved for someone of your might.” She returned with a gentle smile.

  “That so?” Odin glanced behind her. “Can I take your appearance here as stopping me from going in?”

  The lady slowly nodded.

  “Sadly, yes. My masters have their hands full, and won't be seeing any visitors for now.”

  Odin simply looked at the delicate lady. For a moment, there was nothing but the distant rustling of burnt leaves and the whispers of ephemeral winds. Then, he stepped forward.

  The lady calmly shifted as Odin walked past her.

  When it came down to it, she was simply powerless to stop a Paragon from exerting his will.

  Odin walked through the crack in the humongous doors and arrived at the first level of the tower. Here, it was nothing but gloomy darkness and a repulsive stench. The corners were lined with burning torches, leading all the way to the staircase affixed to the distant walls.

  The light proved insufficient, but Odin could still perceive the heavy stone columns that loomed over him from the left and right sides. His nose twitched slightly, and he asked, “What's this smell?”

  “Something you need not worry about.” A voice answered, but it did not belong to the lady behind him.

  Odin followed the voice, to see a figure descending the stone steps. The figure, a tall and slender man garbed in a black garment with red linings, clung to the weathered wall as he looked down.

  “Silas.” Odin’s lips curled.

  “Stormbringer.” The man acknowledged. He descended the stairs and arrived before Odin. The aged man's face was long and thin, and he wore a nose ring, from which a thin chain ran to a piercing in his cheek.

  “What brings you here?” He asked, his voice laced with silken arrogance.

  Odin observed the man for a few heartbeats, then calmly walked forward, as though about to inspect the place. He said, “Earlier, your men tried to arrest me for saving two children.”

  Silas watched Odin closely. His hands were tucked behind him as he responded with a snort, “No, Odin. They tried to apprehend you because you broke the law.”

  The man added immediately after, “That makes it two times since you've arrived in this city, which frankly, is not too long ago. Need I remind you that the extravagant use of Essence is not allowed—”

  “Do not preach the law to me, Silas. I was present when it was written.” Odin warned as he neared a twin-Griffin statue ahead. He tapped the beak on the left one and said with a chuckle, “This one's prettier.”

  “I have no time for games.”

  Odin turned to look at Silas, who was one of the members of the six-man council.

  “You don't?” He raised a brow. “How strange… could've sworn you take the authority of a Paragon to be child's play.” He walked back to Silas. “Whatever unholy thing you're doing here, I don't care. If it affects the city, however, I will descend upon all of you with my entire might.”

  Silas regarded him with a blank look.

  After a while, the lean man said, “I'll be returning to my chambers if that'll be all. I have other affairs to attend to.”

  Odin silently watched the man return to the upper levels of the tower. He then chuckled softly and walked back to the entrance. On his way out, the delicate lady bowed solemnly.

  “Goodbye, Lord Odin.”

  Odin didn't respond. As the humongous doors closed behind him, his figure shook and burst into slithering streaks of lightning, before shooting off into the sky.

  Maria's body was buried under the shimmering lake the entire time. When the powerful figure left, she slowly raised her head and took a long, strained breath.

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  “Darn it.” She gritted her teeth and quietly swam out of the water. Without wasting any time, she dashed towards the side of the imposing structure, in search of other entrances.

  During the time, dim flames spread out from her palm, drying the wetness of her attire.

  After a moment of searching and finding no other entrances into the dark tower, she turned her gaze upwards. A small window smiled invitingly to her, and Maria grinned in return. She quickly began her climb along the uneven surface of the tower’s walls.

  Why was she going through all this trouble for something that could potentially end in her eternal silence? She had no idea. However, Maria could never pass up an opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. That, and she simply enjoyed poking her nose in other people's businesses.

  After an efficient climb, she made it to the window. Years of hiding from the priestesses in the Church of Origin came with its benefits. Maria carefully removed the iron bar and slipped into the gloomy embrace of the tower. Her feet touched the solid floor. She squinted and contemplated the risk of conjuring a flame for better sight.

  After discarding the thought, she felt up her surroundings and appraised that she was on a staircase. In that choking silence, Maria followed the path led by the stone steps affixed to the walls. She soon arrived at another level of the tower.

  Luckily, a few torches hung on the walls here, so she could finally see. Before her eyes was a large, circular hall with gigantic arches serving as the entrance to multiple dark corridors. It was dead silent, so much so that one could hear a single bead of sweat drop to the floor.

  This place is absolutely terrible! Maria couldn't help but scorn at the ambience. Her heart was pounding heavily now, and she feared it would be what exposed her presence. However, she bit her lower lip and pushed forward.

  Striding across the circular hall, Maria blended with the shadows as she randomly picked a corridor. She continued through its depressing length, observing the doors on both sides. Her feet made almost no sounds on the slate tiles.

  Finally, she heard the first sound ever since stepping into this strange place.

  It was a voice, thunderous and filled with disdain. “That bastard! I'll personally gut him up when we break through our shackles and ascend to the status of a Paragon!”

  Maria's heart leapt within her chest. The sudden noise contrasted with the previous stretch of silence, causing her to almost yell out in fright. She fastened both palms over her mouth and stepped closer to the door.

  Another voice said, this one with a hint of laid-back arrogance, “Calm your temper, Frido.”

  “We need to go about this carefully. There are currently two Paragons in the city. One wrong step, and they'll come barging through our doors. Like that fool did just now.”

  “It's annoying, Silas.” The one from before grumbled. “Stepping all over us. Acting like this city belongs to them. I grow tired of their transgressions. When do we begin the ritual?”

  Councilman Silas answered, “Five nights from now.”

  “Five nights. Hmph! I can hardly wait.”

  Maria didn't dare linger for a moment longer. She crouched low and quickly hurried back the way she came. The conversation she'd just overheard was way beyond her scope.

  Breaking shackles? Pushing through to the Paragon grade? A silent war between Valkara's Rule and the Paragons? A ritual five nights from now?

  That was too much information for a measly Seeker like her!

  Maria returned to the circular hall, about to find her way back to the staircase, when suddenly, she heard it.

  It came once. That loud, agonizing groan that seemed to resonate with the hearts of everyone on the Middle Ring.

  Maria froze in her steps. Her eyes flickered as she half-turned, gaze locked on another deep, harrowing corridor on this level of the tower.

  That sound was something that had been plaguing those on the Middle Ring for a while now. It came once every night, reverberating throughout their very beings and inducing discomfort.

  The sound has been coming from the tower… She frowned and abandoned all thoughts of leaving. She needed to know what was making such a painful throb. Like a puppet, she took slow, entranced steps towards a lonely corridor, before disappearing into the darkness.

  …

  The following morning, Meriday.

  Patrons of the Shining Crow tavern were up early, drinking and regaling each other with tales of their performance in bed the night before. A tiny creature with ashen wings fluttered about, strangely carrying a tray that was twice its size. Upon closer inspection, one would realize that it was the sparkling dust falling from the creature’s wings that kept the tray from toppling.

  The tiny creature was a Fairy, native to the kingdom of Elysia in the Western Continent. The race was one of the most rarely seen, as they barely left their home, the World Tree. However, as Sans Archipelago housed one of the largest trade cities, it attracted a lot of races from the corners of the realm.

  Iago and some sailors from another adventurer ship formed a circle around a table, beer mugs in hand.

  A cured leather board sat on the table before them, its surface divided into hundred squares and bearing detailed drawings. Some of these drawings featured castles, towers, lakes, mountains, mysterious forests, and they were carefully drawn into certain squares.

  On the center of the board, a stack of parchment cards bore the engraving “Fate”.

  “Yer turn.” One of the sailors handed the bone dice to Iago. The young lad wearing wooden-framed glasses nodded solemnly and kissed the smooth, polished surface, before throwing it across the board.

  Six and four.

  “Darn lucky lad, ain'tcha!” An older man, with a heavy beard and tanned skin, slapped his knee with a grunt.

  Iago heaved a sigh of relief. He smiled at the man and said, “No tributes for ya.”

  The man clicked his tongue, and his supporters expressed their frustration. Iago ignored their death glares and calmly shifted a carved Griffin figurine ten squares up.

  Then, he handed the dice back to the man. With a provocative smile on his face, he said, “Don't go turnin’ chicken now, mate. Have yer go at it.”

  “Watch yer tongue, boy.” The man warned. Iago chuckled wryly and shrank back. Both players were especially tense as they had staked a staggering fifty Silver Darlét on this round.

  What they indulged in was called Hundred Hands, a popular game where one had to secure more than half of the overall territory on the board, whilst battling against the machinations of fate. Each drawing on the board had its function. Castles served as a player's main camp, and Tributes had to be paid when one stepped on an opposing player's camp.

  When one gathered enough Tributes, it could be used to acquire the right to challenge a mystical forest and reap its benefits. Precious materials acquired from forest raids would then be used to fortify towers, which served as a player's overall defense, and also improve the state of one's castle. Larger castles demanded more Tributes, naturally.

  Mountainous regions, lakes and valleys were the lands that each player needed to claim, and they covered the most squares on the board. As for the Fate cards, they contained commands that could either be advantageous to a player, or serve as an obstacle in their quest of expanding territory.

  According to legend, the game originated from the kingdom of the Giants, Júrgenheim, when two brothers fought for the right to rule. Hundred Hands was created to decide which sibling was strategically wiser, as well as more favored by the hands of fate.

  The burly sailor with a thick beard threw the dice. It rolled for a moment, before halting at the numbers two and one.

  “Fate…” The man grumbled with a hint of uneasiness in his tone. He stretched out his hand and picked the first card in the stack. It read:

  “You have fallen into the pits of No Further. Pay seven Tributes for a successful rescue.”

  Everyone around the table froze for a moment, then they held their breaths as they looked at the amount of Tributes the man had currently.

  “Five… six…”

  Iago’s eyes lit up. He beamed instantly, “Aye, tough luck, mate! Looks like ye haven't got enough. If ye don't mind, I'll be takin’ those off yer hand—”

  He reached out to grab his winnings, but the burly sailor slammed his fists on the table in a fit of rage. “To the abyss with ye! Bloody bastard!” He shoved the entire table aside, before reaching out to grab Iago by the neck.

  The patrons of the tavern all stood up in a hurry, their beers toppling over as they exploded with cheers. In just a few heartbeats, the place had descended into chaos. A constant about such taverns were the abrupt fist fights, and these weathered sailors very much loved to partake in the action.

  The burly sailor with a heavy brown beard threw Iago against the wall, scaring a waitress who scampered out of the way.

  Iago ignored the pain that shot through his body. He forced a smile and hurriedly said, "It's a bloody game. Ye can‘ave the money, damn it!”

  But the man didn't seem to be interested in the silver coins anymore. He cracked his knuckles as he approached Iago with a grin, his footsteps creating a thud.

  One of his men rushed to his side and whispered, “Cap’n, yer sure about it? He's one of Bjorn’s…”

  “Bloody abyss if I care!” The man shoved his mate aside and threw a punch to Iago’s face.

  The poor lad was lucky to block with his arms. A faint crack reached his ears, and Iago gritted his teeth in agony.

  Just as the burly sailor prepared another attack, the door to the tavern abruptly opened. An unmistakable heat quickly drowned the place, and the now sweating sailors ceased their violent acts.

  They all turned to look at the door.

  Standing there was a young man of envious height, as his head almost hit the door frame. His face seemed like something that was sculpted by the gods themselves, and his eyes were the color of a pristine lake. His haggard, white hair fell freely along his shoulders, adding a roguish touch to his beauty.

  “Ah, is that you, Iago?” The handsome young man squinted his eyes.

  Someone exclaimed at that point, “It— It's Eye of Despair Odirov!”