The Storm Tower | Vol.4, The Eldenarian Artifacts ✓

24.

The tower's entrance was a simple, unimpeded archway leading into a narrow tunnel. Makaela summoned a sphere of light to help them navigate the cramped corridor. Shadows scampered behind corners and beneath ledges as she and her group carefully made their way through.

The air was rife with dust and mildew. Using the collar of her coat, she covered her nose and mouth. The others did the same as they went. Had it not been for the bobbing ball of light, they would've been completely blinded by the darkness. Every footstep they took echoed around them, masking the sounds of their labored breaths.

Makaela was just grateful to be out of the cold. They might've conquered the blizzard, but the mountain range seemed to only drop in temperature as time passed. As the sun continued its journey across the sky, she knew the deep chill of the night would follow. The inside of Lumi's tower was a welcome refuge.

Entering the massive ivory pillar jutting into the sky was easier than she anticipated. There was no test to complete, no riddle to solve. Still, her body was teeming with anticipation like a frosty river full of jumping salmon. The further they went, the more feeling returned to her frozen limbs. Warmth crept into the tunnel, infiltrating her garments and soothing her stiff skin. She smiled. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her light ball a few yards ahead of her.

It stopped abruptly upon meeting a pair of brass, doors decorated with intricate symbols from the old language of their people. Ismael frowned at them.

"What?" Makaela asked.

"Charms," he explained. "Very old and powerful ones, by the look of them." He walked up to the door and examined the bronze handle. Makaela arched an eyebrow at the doors. While there was no apparent shield or protective barrier surrounding them, she could feel the magic vibrating from the metal. Ismael was right—the charms were strong.

Hand stepped forward and performed an uncloaking charm. A thin, filmy stream of magic flooded from his palms and poured over the door's handles. Golden energy flickered into view.

"That...looks dangerous," Karin noted.

Makaela nodded. There was no chance in Nordor they were touching that—not with their bare hands anyway. Folding her arms, she glared at the doors.

They had made it this far. Under no circumstance was she about to let some ancient charms stop from her reaching the rest of the fabled tower. Cracking her knuckles, she stomped up to them and prepared a blasting spell. But before she could unleash it, a wall of nausea slammed into her. Coughing violently, she dropped to one knee. Her entire world spun faster than a cyclone over a raging sea; spots dotted her vision, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

With blurry eyes, she peered at the mark on her palm. The golden light inside was nearly gone. She could see the pink skin where the glow of her vitalae should have been. Her throat constricted and the air abandoned her lungs.

"Makaela?! Are you alright?"

Karin and Ismael were at her side in an instant.

Gulping, she stared at her hand. This was a first. Never had she gotten this close to exhausting all her magical essence before. She knew she possessed way more than the average magician, due to her unique heritage, but she still knew her limits, as vast as they were. Sure, she was still recovering from before, but a simple blasting spell shouldn't have zapped her energy. The elements weren't to blame either; much of her training with Madame Alizeh and the monks of House Vaya included adapting to higher air pressures and the cold while casting.

No...something else was happening here.

With the help of her companions, she shakily stood back up. Her knees shook which such force that they nearly collapsed again. Cold sweat dripped from her face and hit the ground near her shoes.