31st of the 12th Cycle
One step after another.
Left over right, right over left.
Keep pushing forwards.
Behind them, the pristine snow swept plains of the Dawnton.
Ahead of them, the divine fury of a dead god - unbound - boundless - with all the rage and resentment of a betrayed king unleashed upon eternal oblivion.
The winds howled as a thousand men marched into the greatest storm to ever grace this corner of Teyvat. The earth roared as the hurricane ripped trees - root and all - from the ground and threw them as if they were toys, roared as stone fractured under the immense pressure and as frozen soil was churned into mud. Whips of air lashed indiscriminately, tearing earth from earth and sky from stone - as bolts of lightning curled and flashed overhead like furious dragons.
The world screamed as the divine tempest ripped and shredded at the edges of reality, scoring miniscule lacerations into the veil of mortality. Aether's keen senses saw it all, the Great Beyond shining the firmament yonder. And he was the only one who saw it, for even with the fractured veil, mortal perceptions of reality meant that it was natural they could not observe anything that would contradict said perceptions.
When Barbatos first tore his people from chains and led them out of the Tower's domain, he carved open a path straight south through the Brightcrown Mountains and Windwail Highlands with his newfound power. Now, it was the only rational landway towards the Tower, nestled deep in the heart of the Brightcrown Mountains as it was.
Uncreatively, it soon came to be known as the Windwail Gorge.
The same gorge they were marching northwards through. The same gorge acting as a wind funnel for the largest hurricane Aether has ever laid his eyes open.
'Hurricane' could not even encompass a fraction of the sheer magnitude the storm possessed. It was as if the very heavens had fallen to the earth, a mass of revolving grey clouds - an ashen mountain borne of untold fury and despair. Lightning flashed intermittently within the great totality, so vast it was as if the gods had planted trees of pure power - and the thunder that followed so deafening it even drowned out the howl of the winds around them.
It was even said that on a clear day, the ceaseless tempest could even be seen from the highest towers of Mondstadt.
An old god known as Decarabian once ruled the Tower, a deity perceived as a tyrant who had imprisoned his people in the very storm they were now fighting against. But humanity sought freedom, and rebelled against the Tower - fighting a short but bloody war that resulted in many lives lost. But death was preferable to captivity, and the rebels emerged victorious in the end - with a newborn god at their head.
When Decarabian was slain, his storm fell with him - but five centuries later, following a bloody war with the Kingdom of Khaenri'ah, the storm was raised once again by the Dragon of the East. Stormterror, as it is now known as.
Aether forged onwards, on foot, as the prison cart had been flipped and ripped apart by the winds a while back - two of three bishops dying as a result. No one was looking at him, all too preoccupied with having a steady footing on the rocky ground - for the winds had long blown the dirt and soil away, eroding the ground to smooth stone.
Despite that, Aether made no attempt to escape.
Because to stop moving forward for even a second would mean being swept off his feet and torn apart by the razor-like gales overhead.
Mages surrounded the column, spaced at regular intervals. Compared to the rest of them, they had a much easier time finding purchase - the zephyrs at their command pushing away the worst of the storm-gale, creating a sort of vacuum which allowed the expedition to march without being killed outright.
At the southern end of the gorge, the winds were much more manageable - a far cry from the state of them now. As they made their way north, stronger and stronger wardstones had to be raised in order to set up camp - and now on the final stretch, they had no choice but to break through the storm before they succumbed to exhaustion, for there was no longer any suitable place to raise a camp.
Although the world around him was a drab, raging grey, Aether's internal clock allowed him to ascertain that the Sun had just touched the horizon. Thankfully, before he could fully come to terms with potentially having to struggle for the coming night - a horn was blown from the head of the column, long and low, the signal for having reached the end of the gorge.
Having prepared for the instant beforehand, everyone - including him - immediately dropped to their knees and moved to the side, pinning themselves against the canyon walls. Aether materialised Aphelion in his chained hands and stabbed its golden edge into the earth - just as he saw many knights doing the same with spears and swords.
There were no horses to be seen, save for the ones pulling the wagons, for the Grandmaster had judged it too cumbersome and risky to bring their steeds along. The horses pulling the prison cart, well, their churned bodies were likely resting somewhere far behind them.
As for the horses hauling the wagon containing the wing, they were now steadily making their way up the column - the path now cleared thanks to all in front moving out of the way. The tarp covering the wagon had long been ripped away, revealing the amputated limb for all to see.
To the untrained eye, there looked to be nothing amiss about the wing, but Aether could discern the truth readily. The wing had lost its lustre, for no longer was it the vibrant cerulean it once was. It was lifeless, pallid and greyish. The mages had long drained the wing of all the Anemo it once contained, harvesting the energy for other uses.
Which meant the appendage was now a massive empty container.
The mages brought the wagon to as close as the storm wall as they dared - the dark grey, near-opaque barrier of wind and thunder ever threatening. Hastily, they began to syphon Anemo out of the storm and into the wing - moulding their mana into invisible tubes in order to perform the act - a simple yet ingenious solution, Aether had to admit.
It seemed like an eternity for the ritual to be completed. A careful act it was indeed, for if the mages let too much through at once, the entire mana system may be overloaded with Anemo - which would not be preferable for just about everyone present. Thus they knelt there, even as night fell upon them and the world got dimmer did they still kneel and wait.
Aether did not know whether to praise the discipline of the knights or the craftsmanship of their prayer-carved armours - for the men were still as statues, like boulders withstanding the raging waves of a furious sea, unmoving, unfaltering.
As he was just about to keel over from either exhaustion or boredom - or both - the horn was blown again, and Aether jerked upwards.
He gazed at the wing, and saw it restored to its former glory. So saturated with Anemo it was, that motes of light were wafting off the surface, not to mention the massive thing was floating off the wagon - somehow lighter than air.
The winds had noticeably calmed, from a hurricane-like gale to a more manageable squall. Despite that, the storm wall was just as dark and foreboding as ever - seemingly unaffected.
Seemingly.
The mages retreated, forcing the wagon to back away from the barrier - and the Grandmaster took their place, with a small squadron. No more than a dozen men and women, they all had one thing in common - a small gleaming trinket tied onto their outfit - an Anemo Vision.
Over the winds, he could hear the Grandmaster ask a question to a beast-eared young lady.
"Dame Sucrose, are you certain this technique will work?"
"A-Ah! Yes… yes, most c-certainly, Grandmaster!" Sucrose stuttered, "I assure you, isomer eighty-three type four is completely stable!"
"...Very well," Jean sighed, "Vision Bearers, fall in!"
He watched as she nodded to Sucrose, who anxiously bowed back - before retrieving a lime green flask out of a case.
There was a brief pause, then the young lady sucked in a breath - and hurled the concoction into the storm wall. Aether tensed as he watched the flask enter the barrier and disappear out of sight without any reaction - then tentatively relax as nothing happened. Glancing side to side, he saw that many of the spectators were just as confused as he was.
But he noticed Sucrose continued to stare intensely at the storm wall, and Aether tightened his muscles again.
Just in time for an ear-splitting shriek to surge over them - causing many of the knights to keel over in pain, clutching at their ears. Aether winced as he continued to withstand the terrible, terrible sound - it was as if the winds had suddenly gained vocal chords.
He watched, transfixed, as the barrier expanded - as if it were in labour with child - before bursting like a cyst, revealing a raging artificial wind spirit inside. The ungodly creation screeched at the top of its non-existent lungs, whirling, flapping, creating a vacuum within the storm where no wind blew. And yet, the storm pushed back, pressing against the spirit from all sides, and it began to falter;
Before a dozen Visions gleamed in the twilight like miniature stars - and the spirit was suddenly reinvigorated, enlarging and growing ever more furious. As more and more power was pumped into the spirit, the vacuum steadily expanded in size - before he suddenly caught a faint light from the other side.
"Forwards!" the Grandmaster roared, as the horn was blown, "Forwards, forwards! Hold your breath as you pass through!"
No one needed to be told twice, and the entire column surged forwards into the breach like a tide. Aether sucked in a breath and entered the vacuum, suddenly feeling himself speed up at the lack of air resistance. He leapt forwards, and within the fraction of a second he bypassed the raging spirit and broke through out the other end.
Glancing backwards, he watched as more and more people emerged from the swirling mass of black clouds, and moved out of the way to give them space. Aether heard a chorus of neighs, before suddenly the sixteen-horse wagon burst out of the clouds, Stormterror's wing held on by hastily tied ropes. Lastly, the Grandmaster and Vision Bearers emerged from the storm, drenched in sweat.
Without any more power feeding it, the spirit started to succumb to the immense pressure placed on it by the storm wall. Shrinking more and more, with a final feeble wail, the spirit was devoured by the tempest.
"By the Lord…" someone murmured.
Turning around, Aether looked up and widened his eyes in shock.
Decarabian's city must have been many times the size of Mondstadt. Sitting in a great valley shaped like a bowl, the Brightcrown Mountains surrounded the ancient metropolis on all sides. They were in the eye of the storm, and Aether could see the walls in all of its glory - massive curtains that hung from the heavens encompassing the entire city.
On the ground, he could see the ruins of numerous manses and castles now inhabited by nothing but ghosts. In the distance, the husks of once mighty towers rose from the earth, like small children in the presence of their progenitor. There were numerous ridges and valleys - perhaps once canals brimming with water - crossed by massive bridges comparable to the great bridge leading into Mondstadt.
"Let us make haste," Lisa spoke, breathing heavily, "We must erect an encampment at once - for I am bone-tired, and exhaustion does not bode well for my complexion."
1st of the 1st Cycle
Aether thought he knew the Tower, having seen it from a distance.
It was impossible to miss, even from leagues away and beyond the storm - the dark silhouette ever present and foreboding.
He didn't know the Tower.
The hulking spire of once polished stone was marred by soot from a rebellion long past - creating an ashen black appearance. Even in ruins, he could tell the facade was beautifully carved - tall arches sculpted into the stone that served as windows and the hundreds of balconies that sprang from them. There was no comprehending how gargantuan the Tower truly was, until you stood in its shadow.
You could fit the entirety of Mondstadt's upper city into its walls and still have space to spare, it was a small city unto itself. And the Tower was so tall he could scarcely see all of it even looking straight up, so high in fact, that the top of the Tower was shrouded in perpetual storm clouds.
The stories did not do it justice.
Aether beheld the once beating heart of a forgotten kingdom - and he felt like an ant.
A small detachment of around a hundred men marched him across the only remaining bridge that crossed the dry moat surrounding the Tower. While he was still chained, everyone knew it was for formality's sake, if nothing else. They knew there was no escaping here, and that he could've escaped many times before arriving here if he so wished.
Stepping foot on the hill the Tower sat upon, the Grandmaster cautiously led them up the stone stairs leading up to the gate. Old legends were carved into the stone, depicting great battles and heroes - and twin rows of granite statues in the likeness of ancient knights flanked the stairs.
There was nary a sound save for the faint clanking of armour and the creaking of leather boots - and a shiver crawled up Aether's spine as they stood before the gates. They were massive, ashen black basalt marred by countless runes and symbols carved into it.
Aethe could feel the dull thrum of an age-old sorcery permeating the air, as if the gate was the maw of a great beast breathing down on them.
The Grandmaster stared at the gate and glanced back at them - and for the first time since meeting her, Aether saw uncertainty gracing the woman's face. An uncertainty that was present on all their faces too.
She sucked in a breath, before speaking loud and clearly.
"I am the Lion of the South, come to request the audience of the Dragon of the East!"
There was a heartbeat - and then the basalt stirred, vibrating, swirling, as if were a liquid. Ripples formed on the surface, and there was a voice-
"Thee has't come to die."
A soft voice, young and feminine.
From the ripples, a fair maiden emerged - grasping a cecilia to her heart. Her long flowing hair was white as freshly fallen snow, her eyes a dazzling array of colours - as if staring into a kaleidoscope - her attire, a simple plain halter dress fastened by a blue corset around her waist.
Her lips were soft pink, her lashes long - her face spotless.
The young lady was gorgeous, her beauty unmatched by all in her presence.
And yet, manacles were fastened around her wrists and heels, the chains leading into the basalt gate - creating ripples when they clinked. Her splendid dress was marred with dried blood around her chest, and a golden spearhead was stabbed though her heart, the shaft snapped off. Her nails were broken, her slender fingers calloused and bloodied.
"Depart," she said, "Thee has't no business here."
"My apologies," the Grandmaster replied, "But we do have business here, my lady…?"
"Amos."
Despite only being able to see her back, Aether could tell Jean was surprised by the fact that she took a half step back. Around him, he saw slight flinches and heard stifled gasps.
"Lady… Amos," Jean tested the name, "I… we thought you had fallen against Decarabian."
"Doth I seem alive to thee?" Amos gestured to the spear piercing her heart, "I am but a shadow, bound to guard this gate for an eternity."
"..."
"Now, depart."
The Grandmaster seemed to gather her resolve, for she stepped forward and put a hand on the hilt of the sword at her side. Seeing this, the knights followed suit, fingers curling around hilts and hafts.
"We seek audience with the Dragon of the East, if you will not let us through - then we will have to force our way in."
"Dragon of the East?"
"...The dragon that claimed this tower."
Amos laughed, a melodious sound that morphed into a cackle near the end.
"Who dares claim the Tower?" she asked, clearly amused, "Who dares challenge the usurper's place?"
"Pardon? The dragon is Lord Barbatos' servant, as are we all. Did you not fight alongside-"
"Barbatos?" Amos hissed, "Who doth thee think binds me here!?"
Oh, oh. Aether took a step back, watching the knights' reactions. Various degrees of shock, surprise, and disbelief - and even the Grandmaster looked wary now. He began to piece the puzzle together, and found the situation increasingly curious.
"Lord Barbatos-!? But… but why?"
"I do not fathom the mind of the mad god," she scoffed.
One of the knights drew their swords, "Careful what you say next, girl!"
"Sir Eberhard, put that blade down," Jean sternly ordered, to which the knight obeyed.
Despite that, it was clear to Aether that all the knights shared the same opinion as Eberhard, even if they did not show it so obviously.
Jean turned back to Amos, "I do not understand, my lady. The stories say you fought together to kill Decarabian-"
"Thou cannot kill a god."
"Pardon? It is known that Morax has killed many gods during the Archon War."
"Thou cannot kill a god," she repeated, as if in a trance.
"What-"
"She is correct," Aether interrupted, speaking for the first time, "You cannot kill a god - not truly - you can only destroy their corporeal form. Be it decades or centuries, the god will recreate a body in time if they so wish and return to the mortal plane. But you cannot kill a god."
There was a silence as they all stared at him, and Aether shrugged his shoulders in response. He spoke the truth as he knew it; you cannot kill a god. Or more accurately - a god can be killed, but they cannot die. Because gods were simply masses of energy without a shape, and energy cannot be destroyed.
Amos stared blankly at him, before sighing and sitting down - her chains clanking as she did.
"And yet, mine own dear Decarabian was murdered by the usurper," she scoffed, "His body reduced to ash, his soul cast to oblivion."
Soul cast to oblivion? Aether shivered down to his bones, the Devouring Chaos? That was the end of the line, not for gods, but for everything. When all is said and done, everything will be devoured, the sun, the stars, the Great Beyond - all of it. There was no fate worse than oblivion, for that is no fate at all - just pure nothingness.
Emptiness.
Aether was shaken from his thoughts by a flash of lightning - and a violent crack of thunder that popped his ears. He saw Amos craning her head upwards, staring at the perpetual storm clouding the top of the Tower.
"Doth thee truly wish to climb the Tower?"
She spoke softly, dangerously - with a slight tone of warning. As if trying to discourage them from even attempting.
The Grandmaster swallowed, "We do."
"Even if't be true the things thee'll see shall shake thy reality?" she pressed, "Even if't the truth be unfit for mortal eyes?"
"I don't understand, we just want to-"
"Even if?"
"...Indeed."
"Then so be it," Amos rose to her feet, walking back into the gate.
"May thee climb the Tower, may thee court death," her ethereal voice surrounded them, "Welcome, daft fools, the mad god awaits."
Rewritten on 10/6/2022