Liandre had been lost for days in the Alto Vale forest; he needed to find a definitive solution to his problems, and the only way was the mage's tower, or the cursed tower. The legend that spread across the continent said there was a being so powerful living in that place, who could never leave that stone fortress raised so many years ago that no one even remembered its origin or history — they only knew someone lived there, and if you were brave enough to overcome the challenges, you could have your wishes granted by this powerful and relentless being.
The mercenary held his sword firmly, leaning against the leafless tree in that foul-smelling swamp; the air was tinged green from toxins rising from the damp ground. His breathing was ragged from exhaustion; hunger weighed him down and the need to rest made it particularly difficult to go on. But he had to end the curse upon himself. Liandre knew he had no one but that vain hope that the sorcerer really existed and could do something about his unusual and painful condition.
He continued his journey with long strides toward the heart of the forest. The trees had no leaves, and the smell reminded him of moss mixed with the rotting flesh of animals. He felt nauseous; the environment's sensations were unpleasant, he could feel sweat running down every part of his body; the leather armor didn't seem enough to protect him. However, he knew he was skilled in his abilities, familiar with protective magics that had allowed him to get as close as he could. He saw the tower not far away. His greatest enemy at the moment was exhaustion. He just needed to arrive before the first moonless night; his torment would begin as soon as the old gray one disappeared from the skies.
The mud and puddles on the ground soaked his leather boots, dirt ingrained into his skin. His physical features stood out at that moment: tense muscles showed the stress of the situation, his strength and training evident in his size. Liandre was a big, muscular man, with a prominent belly, besides the stubble beard and hair swept to the side, the left side shaved; dark brown hair, amber-colored eyes revealing the rarity of his lineage, along with dark skin. But what stood out were the scars that ran across visible parts of his epidermis. Not all were from battles fought over his thirty-two years. The severed ear had its own story; however, what drew attention was the family necklace he carried as his most precious possession; the green jewel stood out among his gear. His backpack was lost two days ago, and thirst was present.
He stepped onto the less soaked area; the trees seemed to suddenly transform, becoming lush as if the swamp scene had never existed. The veil he crossed became evident.
— What the hell is this?! — When he looked back toward the puddle, the trees still looked splendid like the most beautiful spring. He walked forward with renewed hope, until something grabbed his leg.
Thick vines from the trees clutched his ankle, squeezing tight and knocking the big body to the ground. His last strength went into swinging the sword at the root, cutting it. He thought he heard a groan coming from the tree; the root bled and stained his already dirty clothes. He quickly stepped back, running as fast as he could before the absurd and frightening sight. He only heard the beating of his own heart. He couldn't believe the forest was alive; he had a clear sensation of feeling the pulse of the ground beneath his feet. The vines moved and danced beside him; however, he didn't have enough courage to look around at what was happening. Until he felt the stone wall hit his body after running through the underbrush, among bushes and branches, receiving scratches and cuts. He had reached the cursed tower.
The passage was open, entangled with moss and plants. He entered the place without thinking; he just needed to feel safe, and even so, when he passed through the portal, he felt swallowed by an oppressive presence and completely blacked out.
He could easily dream of the past. His family name was Arthuro, recognized by the crown; however, after the coup in the kingdom, several noble families lost their titles and nobility, and the Republic of Elderan was established. They had to survive somehow; their titles no longer held value. At that time, Liandre was just a child, not understanding the dimension of the problem with the establishment of a new form of political power. He saw his mother and father killed because of the titles they held; he was cursed soon after by something that had haunted his family for countless generations and would end with him, as he would have no heirs. He thought he could live with the suffering the family curse brought him; however, each moonless night, his body and desires suffered the consequences of a sin he never knew he committed. He searched for ten years for ways to destroy it; trained his own body, aimed to be the best fighter in the region in his mercenary work. He was cared for by a group called the Golden Lions, whose leader held him in high esteem. Even with all the history he had lived until that moment, nothing could chase away the shadows of his ancestors that remained in his body.
The smell around reminded him of mint tea with honey; thinking about it, he opened his eyes searching for that familiar sensation. He was on something soft beneath him, animal pelts forming a kind of comfortable bed. In the current circumstances, any surface other than the hard ground would be comfortable. He sat up slowly. He noticed bandages on parts of his body; he felt sore but rested. The place easily caught his attention: a table with a porcelain tea set decorated with pink and white flowers, and some cookies that made his mouth water. But he saw the jug next to the bed; he grabbed it without thinking, drinking all the watery content inside, trying to minimally satisfy the feeling of thirst.
— Take it easy, I do not intend to deprive you of your basic needs. — The voice came from the other side, near a shelf full of beautiful books. The tone was soft and at the same time dangerous, slightly hoarse.
His appearance left Liandre speechless; he never imagined someone so spoken of in myths and legends could look so sublime. The elegant clothes highlighted even more his slender silhouette. The long wavy hair, brown with golden highlights, made him almost supernatural. His eyes shone light green, besides olive skin, only lighter than his own, which bore no scars — unlike the mercenary, who seemed lost in the individual's eyes. The pointed ears revealed his race: elf.
— I thought you wouldn't survive to reach this moment. — Liandre was emotional, yet tried to hide the feeling as he adjusted his posture on the bed, turning toward the man. — Are you the mage of the tower?
— It's one of the names they give me, between cursed and blessed; depends on the interest of the seeker. But over the years, it has become harder to reach the tower; the challenges increase with time. It's the first time I see someone in thirty years. — He said as if it were something usual. The mage seemed used to solitude.
— I'm cursed, and you are my only hope. — He took a deep breath and finally stood up. He was clean, and when the sheet covering his body revealed more than it should, Liandre didn't notice his own nudity, mesmerized by that mythical figure. He quickly grabbed the cloth, covering his waist.
— I had to clean your body, I couldn't let you dirty my belongings. Even my servants can't clean pelts. — The mysterious man had stared a lot at the robust body in front of him. — I know your curse and I know well how to solve your circumstances, but there's always a price, boy.
— What do you want? I'll do whatever it takes. — Liandre had nearly died, risking everything on a practically impossible journey. Of course, he would give whatever was asked if needed.
— I'm glad you're willing. — The elf approached the small table, pulled out a chair, and sat down; the sound of the wood was minimal. He gestured for the other to sit across from him. Liandre did so without hesitation, despite the discomfort of nudity; the cloth helped reduce the shame. Having permission to drink tea and eat, he practically devoured the cookies in front of him.
— What's your name? I'm Khaled. Oh, it's been so long since I said that name. — He said with a surprised and even innocent tone.
— I'm Liandre. — There was an obvious anxiety in the mercenary's voice. His strength was renewed knowing he could finally rid himself of the evil that dwelled in his body.
— Actually, that curse on your body, Liandre, is part of a fragment of my own power, so there are ways to extract that piece from within you. — Khaled spoke as if telling a bedtime story, even though it surprised the young man in front of him, who didn't seem to believe what he was hearing. — Two centuries ago, I was at the peak of my power, but some didn't like such a powerful being living among humanoid creatures. I was betrayed and saw my power shattered into seven pieces scattered across the world. However, they couldn't risk me recovering my primordial magic. In the end, they imprisoned me in this tower, lacking either the ability or the will to kill me. — The mage smiled as if recalling something amusing.
— Others came here seeking power, blessings, or whatever their creative and selfish minds could desire. What I asked was simple: find these fragments of power and bring them to me.
— I can do that! — Liandre stepped forward, interrupting the man before him.
— And none returned, Liandre. — Calmly, Khaled drank the rest of his tea, savoring its refined flavor. — But it's different now.
— Different how? — Patience wasn't one of the mercenary's virtues, so he wanted to know what he needed to do; he required information.
— Don't interrupt me. — The sorcerer said sweetly, even though his words carried the tone of a command. — There is one of those fragments right in front of me. — He extended his hand toward him. — Wahy. — He spoke the magic word, and the tips of his fingers turned silver, revealing the magical aura surrounding Liandre.
— It's quite evident; it almost seems like the gods brought you as a gift. — The smile was beautiful, thought Liandre, unable to stop staring at the physical features of the elf before him; every detail seemed to have been drawn by divinities. — You will help me leave this tower, accompany me to find the remaining six fragments, and then I will remove my power from within you. This energy must have been passed down with the death of a relative, right?
— Before me, my mother suffered from the curse since my grandfather's death. — He admitted, reflecting on his family's entire history. Each relative suffering in different ways until reaching the mage's tower.
— Don't worry, the journey won't be too long, almost like a stroll. I just need to get out of here, and I can easily locate my fragments and reclaim them. In the end, you'll be completely free, Liandre. — The mage finally had a way to regain his freedom, and it was right in front of him in the form of muscles.
— If you couldn't leave before, why now? — Naturally, that dialogue piqued Liandre's curiosity. He wasn't a magic user, even though he could defensively use some spells he'd learned at the mercenary guild.
— When you walked through that door with part of my power, you brought the outside world to me, creating a sort of bridge. I will cast a simple binding spell between us, so when we leave, I will finally be able to step into reality. Of course, we will be connected by this little magic, feeling certain emotions and even sharing small memories; a reasonable side effect, don't you think?
— I have nothing to hide. I'm a mercenary, but before that, my family had some prestige in society, until the arrival of the Federative Republic of Elderan. — He said bitterly. — But there are still monsters, elves, dwarves, giants, fairies, and whatever else you want to see out there. I don't know how much the world has changed in the last two hundred years, but I'm willing to cooperate with whatever it takes. You can cast whatever spell you want, I'll help however I can, just get this out of me.
Liandre was at his limit. That's why his grandfather went mad, and his mother was on the same path until the tragic moment of her premature death. The mercenary thought he could handle the adverse circumstances of the curse, but each moonless night the torture seemed harder to endure.
— I'm glad to have such a dedicated host, Liandre. Rest assured that, in the end, you will be free from any pain. Now come eat; I think it's necessary to be strong before we leave the tower. — Khaled stood up, waiting for the mercenary to do the same. He gently touched his shoulder, squeezing it as if wanting to feel the musculature.
The mercenary knew that this lonely man wasn't telling him everything about what had happened; however, he needed to trust that he would be helped. To rip the magic from his interior — and, if necessary, travel the world seeking those fragments — he would make that effort. He had come so far; there was no point of return; he just needed to endure a little longer until he was finally free from any pain or consequences of the curse.
They descended a staircase to the pleasant smell of smoked pork. Because of his rumbling stomach and mouth watering with hunger, he didn't notice that they passed several locked and dusty doors, indicating that they hadn't been used for a long time. He was focused on getting his plate of pork meat. As much as he knew about magic, he was still surprised by some feats. The plates, in what appeared to be the dining room, were floating to the table, being set and prepared by something he couldn't see. Khaled, noticing the big man's surprised expression, just smiled at such arcane ignorance.
— They're invisible servants; they help me with everyday tasks. — The casual tone made Liandre feel stupid. He just scratched the back of his neck and sat at the table, already serving himself a huge ham. It wasn't as if he had lost his table manners; he just hadn't eaten properly in days, so he devoured everything he saw: corn, cheese, bread, rice, mashed potatoes, and especially the succulent pork.
Khaled seemed interested in what he saw before him: a burly man eating voraciously. The truth was that it had been a long time since he'd had the company of another living being, so he felt relieved to be able to share a meal once again. The mage was a lonely figure; sometimes he talked to the servants, but those creatures made of magic had no consciousness and couldn't respond. He only truly valued human warmth when he lost it completely, and even in the presence of someone with no manners at the table, so desperate for food, he found Liandre's behavior endearing.
— Explain to me how your curse works. — The elf asked with curiosity while grabbing the wine, pouring two goblets.
— On moonless nights, my body craves blood. If I don't hurt or kill someone, my body takes its toll, and I'm the one who gets hurt. Wounds open up, and the pain is excruciating, as if my flesh were tearing from the inside out. — Liandre had never told anyone about his circumstances, but he felt he should do so at that moment. It wasn't a matter of trust, but of necessity.
— We'll figure something out. I need to see precisely how it works before creating something that, at least, temporarily inhibits the effects. I don't think it would be effective for you to keep suffering from this ailment throughout the journey. It's my power; I should know how to do something about it. — Khaled said confidently, wanting to show the other that he would be effective in destroying the burden in his heart.
The young man could hardly believe that he might finally be free of what had tormented him so much. Most of his scars were from refusing to hurt someone, but he wasn't always successful in his intent. Now he could solve all his torments.
After eating, Liandre was finally able to bathe, clean every part of his body, and get clean clothes. The armor he'd previously worn was unusable; he would have to get another soon, but at least he gained new leather boots and a fine fabric shirt. Then he wondered: where did all this come from? Pigs, peas, cheese, and clean, fragrant clothes? Khaled couldn't leave the tower; so when did he manage to get so many supplies? These questions would have to wait for another time because they were about to perform the binding ritual.
The sorcerer had prepared everything at the top of the tower. There were books on shelves, as well as potions on top of cabinets — none of which the mercenary could identify; there were even some dubious ingredients among them. The symbol on the floor was what caught his attention. Khaled pointed to where the young man should stand. Liandre did so without hesitation, even knowing nothing about arcane matters; he didn't allow himself to feel doubt at that moment, willing to accept any magical contract offered. The elf seemed very focused on what needed to be done, beginning to recite the words. He opened his arms, making smooth gestures as if dancing — something beautiful in the mercenary's eyes.
— 'iinaha tantawi ealaa sihr alraabitat bayni wabayn allaaeibi. laf hataa tantahi raghbat alsaahiri. — His voice echoed through the place. He could see magical particles forming around them both. The silver color enveloped the mercenary completely, and on his neck, arcane words appeared, marking his skin like a tattoo, with a similar design emerging on Khaled's wrist, as if holding a dog's leash.
— Finally. — The mage said after ten minutes of conjuration. Liandre didn't feel anything different, just a slight tingling throughout his body. — We can leave immediately.
The mercenary figured the other must be in a hurry to leave the tower, so he didn't question how abrupt it was as they headed to the entrance. He suddenly grabbed his wrist, feeling the shiver even stronger. He already saw Khaled in a good light; with the bond, he felt a greater closeness, the sensation and trust he hadn't had before beginning to grow in his heart.
— We'd better gather supplies before we leave: clothes, food, and maybe some weapons. — Liandre said more softly, even though his voice was rough and hoarse, imposing when he wanted; he was still a warrior with plenty of brute strength.
Khaled pondered for a few moments as he stared at the larger man's face. He was right; they couldn't leave without any provisions. He ordered the servants to pack the bags, fill the supply backpacks, and led the mercenary toward the room where he had something special that could serve as a weapon. It had been so many years since he'd opened that chest; he didn't even remember if the sword would still be fit. He retrieved the contents from under the bed. With his arcane mark, he opened the chest. Inside was the most beautiful sword Liandre had ever seen: a broad sword, with a red sheath adorned with gold details; the hilt had small rubies of the same color, and the leather was of excellent quality; there was a faint glow indicating its magic. It was the first magical item he'd ever possessed; when he held it, he could feel the power flowing through every part of his body.
— It belonged to an old friend, but you can keep it. It will protect us, so it's yours, Liandre. — The elf knew that, at some point, the sword would return to its true owner; he wasn't giving it away forever. He looked for a few moments at the mercenary brandishing the sword with bitterness but disguised that feeling with the smile on his face.
Finally, the two could leave. Night was falling, but Khaled didn't want to stay another minute in that place; he could suppress the forest's evils as long as the mercenary was near him — he was his source of magic and the bridge to the outside world.
The elf stared beyond the portal as they reached the lower area of the tower. He had the backpack on his back, potions, scrolls, and magical items; his adventure attire, which he hadn't worn in so many decades, finally ready to leave that place. Liandre took the lead, stepping out first, extending his hand toward Khaled, who took it, even if it was merely a symbolic gesture; somehow, he felt safer holding that strong, large hand.
Stepping onto the earth outside, seeing the moon almost disappearing in the sky, the stars filling the vast emptiness. The air was different; he felt alive after so long. His journey was about to begin: to recover every fragment of his power, and then his revenge would commence against those who dared betray and challenge him — and he didn't mind using Liandre until he got what he wanted.