25 - The Crystalline Desires of Zybilna
Into the tower again
The cold wind bit at the smooth tower stones as Frostbite, once again in his spider form, clung to the outer shell of Zybilna’s enigmatic stronghold. So many doors and none of them open from the outside, he thought grimly, legs scrabbling for grip. The walls, like their mistress, refused to be known.
A gap beneath the northeast turret roof gave him entry - another turret, another chance.
He crept inside.
Empty again, but the familiar spiral stair drew his gaze upward. Climbing cautiously, he reached a chamber lit by a faint red glow. A rotting wooden pedestal held a red chest, its hue pulsing like a slow heart.
Shifting back to his Dragonborn form, he opened it.
Inside lay a plumb-sized red crystal, glowing from within. As his claws touched it, he felt it - desire. But not his own. Something old. Alien. Powerful.
Zybilna’s. She desires... vengeance? Justice? The crystal throbbed with resentment toward those who had defiled her throne.
He slid the crystal into his pouch and, instinctively, reached for another.
The black crystal buzzed against his scales - its voice whispered of secrets. A longing to learn what her enemies plotted in dark corners.
The green one wanted obscurity - to vanish, to be untouchable by her foes.
And the blue crystal radiated raw ambition - a yearning to rule, to command respect. There was a Z-shaped fracture in its center. Frostbite narrowed his eyes.
What kind of queen breaks from within?
That was four.
Could there be a fifth?
He returned to the tower’s exterior, one last time as a spider. Cold wind howled, but he pushed on, climbing to the southeast turret. As he entered, the wind stilled.
A white chest on a basalt pedestal waited.
Inside: a white crystal, faintly glowing.
But this one... was silent.
Frostbite studied it. It had desire, yes. But no name. It resisted being known.
He frowned, feeling for meaning, but none came. Frustrated, he dropped it in with the others.
Five crystals... five fractured pieces of a person.
With his magic spent and wings gone, he descended on foot, winding through a smaller tower’s stair and emerging into a hallway. To the west, another tower. To the south, sealed double doors. Stars painted across the ceiling stared down silently.
A glance from the final balcony showed the familiar garden, unmoving in its magical stasis. Still no sign of the others.
He tied his rope to the balcony and descended. His claws ached. His pouch was heavy. His mind was fuller still.
In the carriage room, he found them. The others.
Brolin cleaning his equipment, Maeve perched with a knowing smile, Ashira checking her bow, and the rest - Zephyr, Dhanell - they looked tired.
Frostbite tried to explain where he’d been. The turrets. The crystals. The floating knight. But his words tangled. He forgot the order. Forgot the names.
They listened - kindly - but what they truly understood, he could not say.
The group settled for the night. No more magic. No more spider forms. Just silence, and thoughts that glowed like crystals behind his eyes.
Morning broke. Frostbite accepted a rose from Brolin without understanding why. He turned it over in his claws like it might become useful.
They retraced their steps toward the cursed hallway with the animated carpet.
More hallways. More doors.
Eventually, they split.
Maeve, Zephyr, and Brolin wandered one path. Frostbite stayed with Ashira and Dhanell, who also believed the tower held answers. Frostbite led them to the rope he had set before - tied to the pedestal in the northwest turret.
Dhanell flew the rope to the floating knight - still frozen in time. One by one, they crossed - flying or balancing. Frostbite clutched the memory of the broken horn near the entrance. Maybe it would matter later.
Ashira snuck down first. She returned with news: one man below. Not Kelek. Not Warduke.
The group descended.
The man was... unsettling.
He named himself Zorgath. A servant of Orcus, the demon lord of undeath.
Frostbite did not understand all the words, but the name of Orcus chilled him. He remembered enough to know: evil god, bad soul.
Before the man could make trouble, Maeve distracted him with a trick - wine, charm, something clever - and he was reduced to a gibbering mess.
Frostbite helped tie him up.
What do you do with someone who welcomes death?
The group argued. Frostbite and Maeve left them to it, moving back upstairs.
Back to the locked doors.
The deer-marked ones still would not open. But higher, at the top, the ornate door remained. Cogs. Ledges. A nightingale on the knob.
Someone said it now - the nightingale was Zybilna’s symbol.
Below it, the writing again:
"Speak my name."
Frostbite stood before it, five crystals in his pouch, heavy with someone else’s desires.
Updated on: 17:49
