Echoes Beneath the Tower
Part III: The Spiral Sigil
The door opened with ancient reluctance, stone grinding against stone. Dust rolled out in waves, glittering faintly in the light of their spells. Beyond lay a spiraling staircase, descending into darkness that swallowed even Thalyria’s staff-light after a few turns.
The sigil above the doorway pulsed once more—gray at the center, ringed by blue, red, and green—and then faded into stillness, as though its purpose was now complete.
Jahn stepped forward cautiously. “There’s a silence down there. Not empty. Waiting.”
“I feel it too,” Nyssarra murmured. “Not malevolent. But... watching. Measuring.”
Wolfthora chuckled, adjusting the war axe slung across her back. “Good. I like being underestimated.”
“I’ll go first,” Thalyria said firmly, raising her staff. “It was my call to come here. I opened the way.”
Nyssarra placed a hand on her shoulder. “And we’re with you. All the way.”
They descended.
The staircase wound in a wide, slow spiral, etched along the walls with murals and scripts in languages even Thalyria couldn’t fully read. She traced them with her fingers as they passed—sacred geometries, elemental symbols, pictographs of towers and trees, stars and streams.
Near the bottom, the air changed—growing colder, yes, but also more alive. There was magic here, raw and ancient, thrumming not from a single source but braided through the stone itself.
They stepped into a round chamber, low-ceilinged and smooth-walled. The floor was a massive mosaic: the Spiral Sigil at its center, ringed by four colored runes. And on the far wall stood a pedestal—not empty, but occupied by a crystalline cube suspended in a field of soft gray light.
“Another memory device?” Jahn asked.
“No,” Thalyria said. “Something deeper.”
Nyssarra knelt beside the pedestal. “This isn’t just a record. It’s an anchor. A node.”
Thalyria’s breath hitched. “You’re right. This is a keystone—something the Orders must’ve used to stabilize the tower’s power. The Spiral at the center of their union.”
“But why hide it?” Jahn asked. “Why bury it under wards and lock it away from the world?”
Wolfthora stepped forward, tilting her head toward the ceiling. “Maybe because someone wanted it forgotten.”
She was right.
A shape began to form from the walls—gray mist thickening into a humanoid silhouette, hovering above the mosaic. It had no face, only the vaguest impression of features: a robed figure, tall and still, with symbols shifting constantly across its surface.
“Who comes to disturb the Spiral?” the entity asked in a voice that was neither loud nor soft, male nor female. It echoed inside their minds rather than their ears.
Thalyria stood her ground. “We are seekers. Of truth. Of knowledge. Of peace.”
“Three come in service of the old Orders,” the guardian intoned. “One of Blue Light. One of Seren’s crystal. One of Fire Unbound.”
They glanced at each other. Nyssarra. Thalyria. Wolfthora.
“And a fourth,” the voice continued, turning its featureless face toward Jahn, “who bears all three, and none.”
Jahn blinked. “I—I don’t understand.”
“The Spiral does,” said the guardian.
Thalyria stepped closer. “What was this place? Why was it hidden?”
“Because the Orders failed,” the guardian said flatly. “Not in purpose, but in will. They stood together—but could not stand against what came.”
“The God Wars,” Nyssarra whispered.
The mist swirled. “This tower was meant to outlast gods. A beacon of balance. But mortals lost faith in unity, and chose sides.”
“And what happens now?” asked Wolfthora, hand on her weapon. “We just walk away with a lesson?”
“No,” said the guardian. “You are not here to learn. You are here to decide.”
The cube on the pedestal flared, and from it projected four glowing paths—blue, red, green, and gray—each branching outward in different directions through the chamber walls.
“This is a crossroads,” the guardian said. “Each path leads to an aspect of power once held in harmony. But only one can be awakened without unbalancing the whole.”
Thalyria stared in awe. “You mean… we have to choose?”
“One path,” the guardian repeated. “One test. One legacy.”
Jahn shook his head. “That’s not fair. The Orders stood together. Isn’t that the point?”
“Then perhaps unity is not in choosing a single path,” Nyssarra said quietly. “But walking it together.”
The guardian paused. And then, slowly, it nodded.
“A fifth path,” it said. “Untouched for centuries. Unknown to all but the Spiral.”
The gray light deepened, and a fifth beam of magic rose from the pedestal—blending all four colors in a helix of light.
“No power in this chamber can be claimed alone. But this—this is not power. It is understanding.”
A door opened behind the pedestal, revealing a spiral stair descending once more—deeper still.
“This path was walked by the Grey Order alone,” the guardian intoned. “None returned.”
Wolfthora grinned. “Sounds like our kind of trail.”
Thalyria looked to her companions—Nyssarra, eyes shining with quiet resolve; Jahn, solemn but steady; and Wolfthora, alight with challenge.
Then she turned toward the stairs.
“Together, then.”
And they descended into the Spiral’s heart.