Zachary Scott
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Chapter 135 - The Celestial Stacks [Amuntep]
🕑 Added 2025-09-09 14:53:20 +0000 UTCThere was a scent unlike any other within the Celestial Stacks of Ithariel. I breathed in deeply, trying to etch it into my memory. It was the familiar notes of a library—old parchment and the preserving oils, the decaying spines of bound books, and wooden furniture. But here, there was another scent.
Strong enough magic carried a smell, and the magic here was strong. It was impossible to know if Ithariel created this place himself through some form of rare magic or if it was an extension of his personal space, but mysteriously contained in this bubble like existence.
There was no way to know, but I knew that smell was one I found intoxicating. It was like the air immediately after lightning. Fresh. Crisp. And so, so powerful.
I opened my eyes, taking in the scene. The only way into the stacks was teleportation via an item granted to all those who joined His Divine House. And this spot was where we always arrived. A circular dais on a veined stone floor.
But I only had eyes for the books.
Towering shelves rose in every direction, curving and spiraling out of view in complex shapes that were an artform of their own. High above the stacks, stained windows of blues, purples, and yellows let in shafts of light that filtered through strange plants growing dozens of feet overhead. Their leaves and branches cast gently moving shadows.
This place and its beauty… it was almost enough to make me question my course these past few days.
Almost.
A pair of Emerald Knights passed, their white armor accented with flowing green sashes thrown over one shoulder and worn around the waist to hang at the front and back. The Emeralds were guardians and stewards of knowledge. But they were also its defenders.
I bowed subserviently as the pair passed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of my scalp to my neck.
They couldn’t possibly know what I was looking for. Not yet.
I waited until the sounds of their clattering armor passed, then straightened and hurried through the stacks. With enough time and devotion, one could find all the knowledge needed to reach the heights of Mythril Rank in these books. They were filled with tomes on every subject from lifeforms to obscure and long-lost magical techniques. There were compendiums of every class corestone ever recorded, the methods to push classes to evolution, the weaknesses and strengths of monsters across the worlds, and even entire tomes detailing what adventurers saw when they ventured through rifts. There were many records of accomplishments, how to accomplish them, the rank required to earn their maximum reward, and even advice on which are worth pursuing on one’s path to Rank Ascension.
But today, I came for none of that.
All around, pure white shelves of marble held book after book. The building itself was a circular structure with a domed glass ceiling surrounded by clouds that moved faster than any I’d seen in the natural world. The air hummed with a faint sound like a tuning fork with no source or direction. Many aspects of Ithariel’s magic and Divine House were not ever explicitly explained, but many believed this sound was an ancient boon that drastically aided in reading speed, concentration, and comprehension.
Whether it was my imagination or not, I had seen myself how likely this was to be true.
I passed the central atrium, eyes straight ahead. I passed the Emerald Lore Keeper, who had her hands lifted as books drifted upward to float back, as if on invisible tracks, to their proper places among the stacks. She wore intricate robes woven with protective green metal scales and a headdress stitched with arcane symbols.
I climbed a staircase of glowing gold stone, wound between the stacks that sometimes could play tricks on the eye—making it seem as though they were about to topple over and crush any below in a deluge of falling books. I kept my eyes forward, taking a roundabout path toward a section of the stacks every newly anointed member of Ithariel’s Divine House was warned to avoid.
This area, we were told, was a dangerous area. An area where some truths too powerful to destroy lurked, but none who valued their life should venture. Learning the wrong truths in Ithariel’s Divine House was a deadly sin, and one I had dutifully avoided until these past few days.
Every minute I spent in this area was a potential death sentence. It existed as a temptation, many said. A test. Ithariel and the Emerald Knights let this forbidden knowledge sit, freely accessible, because those who couldn’t avoid the temptation would inevitably expose themselves.
But I didn’t come here for personal gain or power. I prayed that would protect me.
I came to this area because I had seen something in the Crystal Court that haunted me still.
Our god is mad.
The four simple words waited for me when I woke. They stalked me as I traveled the dim streets of Thrask on my way to the game master’s room each day. They drifted behind me like shadows as I climbed into the bed within my personal space each night.
And every time they sounded in my mind, I felt the cracks in my very soul run deeper. Something deep within me was shuddering and shaking, threatening to come loose and drift away entirely.
Our god is mad, and I sacrificed everything to devote my life to him.
My childhood was spent seeking out the hidden Divine Trials. My adolescence was spent hardening myself and training to survive them. My endless drive toward this singular goal had cost both of my brothers their lives. It had led to the destruction of the town where I spent most of my life.
I never wanted any to suffer for my aspirations, but they had. There was a trail of death in my wake. Once, it had seemed a grisly but necessary price to pay. Now, though…
My face contorted as I moved faster.
This was my third day of searching the forbidden stacks. Each day I returned here increased the risk of being discovered.
Even in this section alone, there were too many books to read even in a Silver’s lifetime. A thousand years wouldn’t be enough. But I didn’t need to read every book. I just needed to find something that could explain the mad god’s fixation with Brynn Stygos.
I knew that was the key to everything. Not just the answer to his madness, but the key to my own purpose. Everything depended on this. I believed it with a depth and ferocity that frightened me.
I pulled book after book, working methodically as I dragged the huge ladder along, reading a few words in each book and growing increasingly worried I would never find the answers I needed, especially not before the tourney ended and Brynn Stygos could die or disappear.
Even now, I knew he could be dead or dying while I was here. But there was no helping it. My faith in Ithariel may be shattering, but I could have faith in the fates. I could let them guide me.
My hands moved a bit faster, flipping the pages of an ancient book and shoving it back irreverently into its place.
An hour had passed when I felt it for the first time. It was the faintest magical trace. So faint I almost dismissed it as a quirk of this strange place.
But it persisted.
I looked in the direction of the magic, climbed down the ladder, and slid it along its rails until I was just below the source. I climbed one rung at a time, eyes nearly closed as I focused in on the magic, trying to locate its source.
I plucked a book from the stacks, flipped through a few pages, and then a soft breath escaped me.
Many pages were blank, but the page I had turned to was glowing white as words began to scratch themselves into the book’s surface. They moved slowly and methodically, as if someone was writing them by hand while I watched.
It’s a Concordium. I’d seen Concordiums, of course, but they were expensive and hard to acquire, even with ample coin. Each Concordium was magically linked to a twin. One twin could send words to the other, no matter the distance. All the user had to do was write.
I watched the letters appear one by one, skimming the page. It appeared to be a mundane report stating there was no sign of…
My face inched closer, eyes widening. No sign of Celethiel? The writer was apparently stationed in a dock town called Saltspoke and keeping detailed records of any new visitors to town, including extensive physical descriptions and information they could gather on their background.
My heart hammered in my chest, but my attention drifted as I felt another magical trace coming from nearby.
I tucked the Concordium under one arm and climbed the ladder toward the next trace.
And I found another Concordium. Another where someone was actively writing. This one spoke of the search for Morathai.
What in the name of the gods…
One by one, I waited until traces appeared and continued to gather Concordiums, each speaking about the search for one of the lost gods. I’d found several looking for Celethiel. Some for Sylphara. Morathai. Seraphel.
It seemed as if there were teams of people stationed all across Eros watching for signs of the lost gods, but why?
I sat down with a collection of books that would surely spell my doom if an Emerald Knight happened to find me here, but I didn’t care. My mind was buzzing as the obvious truth loomed so large I couldn’t process it all at once, almost like a bite of food so large I had to take it in, one small bite at a time.
Groups of people with Concordiums linked to the Celestial Stacks.
Groups of people who called themselves “Watchers” that had been commanded by Ithariel centuries ago to monitor specific locations for signs of the lost gods.
Based on what I read, it seemed as though the Watchers hadn’t had any contact from Ithariel in over a century, but they had dutifully continued their watch. There were even a smaller number of books from people who called themselves Overseers. The Overseers made reports on the Watchers themselves. I found a few mentions of Watchers being killed for disloyalty, but mostly the Overseers found replacements when the Watchers died or their children refused to follow in their footsteps. Children who refused were killed by the Overseers, as well.
It was a tightly woven net of observation with no room for leaks. It was self-sustaining, too, meaning Ithariel had likely gone so mad that he had forgotten about it and it had carried on without his input for decades, now.
And it meant there may very well be no one within the Divine House who knew what I was learning now.
Because the reports were centuries of nothing, until they weren’t.
Months ago, reports started appearing of activity. The Watchers were finding signs, and many believed they had located a reincarnation of the lost gods. “Godlings,” as they called them.
There were some more obscure signs, like known mana patterns, especially relating to the dark mana associated with dungeon formation. One Watcher was convinced she had detected an inexplicable surge in dark mana activity in her location and described its movements as “undeniably intelligent.”
One wrote of a tree sprouting from the dead after a battle—a tree that spoke in prophecy and feasted on flesh. But the Watcher making the report never followed up with another report, despite the date being months ago. I happened to find the Overseer who went looking for this particular Watcher, and his reports also stopped abruptly only a week later.
There were multiple reports of a woman last seen in Coil. She appeared to have nearly unlimited funds, and had quickly and quietly risen to incredible political power in a short time.
Another report spoke of a girl who danced with fire. She had burned down half of The Black Wood before the writer described “enemy” Watchers finding and hiding her away before they could take action.
One spoke of a man many witnesses said was indestructible. He had apparently been victim of a magical attack that left half a small town in ruins and should’ve scattered him piece by piece. Instead, he was seen kneeling at the center of the blast, body glowing with purple cracks that faded from view, leaving him apparently unharmed.
Another spoke of a beast locals had begun describing in the nearby cliffs. A beast that took many shapes, all of which were terrible and vicious. Local livestock and people were disappearing at an alarming rate, and the beast was supposedly growing bigger each time it was seen, regardless of the shape it took.
A Watcher near the outermost rings of Ithariel’s influence spoke of a quiet man who had been seen clearing dungeons by himself and killing any who got in his way. He traveled with a creature that was first described as a lizard. The further I read in the reports, the more the description shifted to a serpent, and some of the most recent were even calling it a dragon.
The last spoke of a man who had been seen wearing a voidsteel helmet and carrying an empty glass bottle. The helmet had drawn the Watcher’s attention, but they had lost his trail shortly after some sort of local chaos caused the town to be nearly evacuated. It sounded as though residents fled from rumors of a lich, and the Watcher stopped making their reports a day after they followed into the Black Wood.
Ultimately, the final report wasn’t much, but something about it captured me.
It was, I realized, the helmet.
Voidsteel. Not an entirely uncommon material, of course, but extremely valuable. The metal had unique properties that tended to grant abilities capable of bridging gaps between dimensions. There were also legends of one of the lost gods known for wearing a full suit of voidsteel for part of his journey to godhood.
Seraphel…
I had theories on who the others might be, as well, but this godling with the helmet… I had a sudden feeling I knew exactly where he was at this very moment. I had a feeling he was inside the Thraskian tourney and threatening to upend every game master's well-laid plans for how the tourney should play out.
Gods… but why?
Of all the lost gods, I had found myself many times thinking Seraphel had sounded the most suited for leadership. It had been a moot point for all my life, because I’d never seen so much as a hint of the idea that the lost gods could return.
But Seraphel had been described as the most measured and tactical of The Nine. Often cited as the bridge between two factions within gods. Half of them had resented the need to protect the masses and the other half had wanted to devote more time and resources to defending our world.
Seraphel had been the bridge between both, though the specifics of what that meant were lost in the vagaries of old stories. In any case, they made it seem as though the other gods were dogmatically aligned to a set of ideals that were too far to one extreme. Seraphel had been a bridge of sorts, providing stability and preventing a complete collapse between the two groups.
And how many times had I wished Seraphel was the god who had survived… They were blasphemous thoughts I had cursed myself for, of course, but thoughts I’d had nonetheless.
Reading of The Nine had painted Ithariel as the divinity among them who was most concerned with stability. Some would see this as the greatest blessing, then, for him to be the god who survived. Above all else, Ithariel wanted things to stay as they were. To maintain order. To protect and wait, but never to seek answers or take action first.
His Divine ability to provide rings of safety around civilization were a perfect fit for his goals. He could stay in one place and provide safety and security for everyone within hundreds of miles. He could also sit on his hands, letting problems outside his view fester and grow more terrible by the year, never concerning himself until they had grown monstrous and were upon his doorstep.
In my darkest hours, I’d often thought of how stability was only good for periods of time. Humanoids were not stable beings. Civilization was not a stable concept.
A being of ultimate power with no greater goal than to make things stay the same would eventually stop feeling like a guardian and instead feel like a captor. A captor forcing us to remain within a cage while the threats outside had time to gather their power.
Countless questions swirled in my mind as I rushed from the Celestial Stacks, heading for the dais where I could perform the exit spell.
Why had the godlings returned, and why had they come back in such diminished states? Had their divinity provided them a kind of immortality? Had Ithariel somehow killed all of them, but known they would reincarnate? Had he truly forgotten about these Concordiums and had no idea they were returning? Or would news of Brynn Stygos have stirred his memory, causing him to remember these books and the truths within?
Even though I had far more questions than answers, I did have something. The fraying sense of purpose deep within me had solidified into something unbreakable.
This was my purpose.
This was my new cause.
I would do anything in my power to help the lost gods return to power. To bring back The Nine and usher in a new era of peace and power. And it started with Brynn Stygos. With Seraphel.
Note: Hey ho! I'm planning to release one more alternate PoV chapter today. I just figured I might as well drop this one since I finished re-reading it this morning. So stay tuned in another hour or two and there will be another chapter coming :)
Comments
danger tamer
Wow. lots of hints on what the others are doing I love how Azmerai burned an entire black wood and her watchers panicked and told her to stop. I was thinking the Azmerai was the woman in coil with endless funds. But who is this mystery goddess? Nythera? And I am surprised that Celethiel is the best at hiding, I mean he gave off the vibe of a impulsive fighter. But he hides *very* well!
Ben Bass
TYFTC! So I think Brynn has a real acolyte/devotee now with Amuntep, in addition to the Grommets. I wonder how broken Ilthariel is, and how he will react to Brynn coming back.
