Resting atop the tall Ocean Spire, I felt at peace. My companions had retired to the relative warmth of the sigil room below, but the cool wind didn’t bother me up here as it once may have. I still felt the magic from the completed Edict of Fire coursing through me, a pulsing heat that reignited when I unlocked the spire, and seem to resonate somehow when I was near any of the towers I had claimed. I idly wondered what I would feel when I resolved the Edict of Storms, but thoughts of the future seemed fleeting, ephemeral up here. I was warm, the view was unparalleled, and here I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about either the Disfavored or Scarlet Chorus sharpening knives for my back.
There had been occasion during my travels across the peninsula to write to Tunon’s other agents, each of us performing slightly different duties. Some studied, some acted, some judged. We each of us worked to maintain Kyros’ law as directed by the Archon of Judgment. One of the more scholarly agents tried to press me about the location of the Silent Archive, that great repository of all knowledge the Sages had gathered – including knowledge which Kyros had deemed too dangerous to exist. I liked and reported that the scroll had been destroyed, and was called a fool for my ignorance. He thought only he and his fellow scholars had the academic wherewithal to determine which knowledge was forbidden, out of the neigh-endless answers within the scroll.
I didn’t fault him for his anger; his purpose was indeed to study and interpret. Mine was to make decisions, to judge in matters factual and physical. I deemed the scroll was too dangerous to be available to anyone, including other agents of Tunon, but well-recognized I had neither the education nor desire to pour through the scroll and decide the value of its mysteries. Such an artifact could only be judged fully by Tunon or Kyros himself. When I had completed my investigation of the two army generals, I would return to the Bastard City …
Thoughts grew foggy as I tried to form more long-term plans. Plans could still be made in the morning; the stunning vantage point would have changed. Far better for me to spend the time I could afford enjoying it. Connecting with the spire. Feeling the pulse of the magic trace through my veins and into my chest.
From up here the moon looks so close, as if I could reach out and touch it. As tempting an idea as that would be though, I’m happy to just sit and reflect, to watch the ocean at night. To enjoy this brief respite from the ravaging storms below, both magical and political.
