UmbralWhite (TheFrozenMoogle)
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Chapter 40
🕑 Added 2025-03-16 16:48:47 +0000 UTCPendell, a city renowned for its towering spires and vibrant marketplace, once stood as a proud and prosperous center of trade, culture, and innovation. Situated along the coast, Pendell’s cobblestone streets had long been a testament to the blending of ancient architecture with the vitality of modern ingenuity. Yet, despite its outward serenity, the city’s history is one fraught with war, political intrigue, and, above all, the unpredictable influence of magic. The rise and fall of Pendell would forever change the fate of the known world, for it was not just the might of armies that razed the city—but the power of Artes, magic, and forces that defy the laws of nature itself.
Pendell was founded over 800 years ago, after a great migration from the East, following the fall of several ancient city-states in the region. Its founders sought a fresh start, a place where the best minds could come together to build a new civilization—one that honored the balance of magic and technology. Early on, Pendell was a hub for artisans, scholars, and mages, and its waters were teeming with merchants eager to trade rare goods from across the continent.
As its population grew, so did its reputation. Pendell attracted skilled artisans who mastered various Artes—abilities that connected people to the elements, harnessing the very forces of nature to shape the world. By the third century of Pendell's existence, the city had become an undeniable beacon of progress, with magnificent libraries, complex magical constructs, and sprawling towers that reached toward the heavens.
But the true force that set Pendell apart from other cities was its deep connection to the magical arts. Unlike other cities that treated magic as a tool to be used sparingly, Pendell embraced it, making it a cornerstone of everyday life. This led to a flourishing of technological advancements, with Artes being integrated into everything from public transportation to farming tools.
For centuries, Pendell lived in relative peace, thriving as a nexus of commerce and magic. However, this golden age could not last forever. The discovery of runes—ancient symbols that enhanced magical ability—shifted the delicate balance of power in the region. For the first time, mages could wield far greater power than anyone had previously imagined.
The kingdom of Pendell became divided between two factions: the Magisters, who advocated for greater regulation and control of magic, and the Free Mages, a more radical faction that believed magic should be unrestrained and shared by all. These tensions led to multiple uprisings, with each faction striving to control the vast resources of magical power contained within the city.
Pendell was a city on the brink of ruin. Internal strife weakened its influence and strained its political structure. The very forces that had once allowed it to thrive now threatened to tear it apart.
In the year 1024 of the current age, the final conflict that would decide the fate of Pendell began. The city was encircled by a coalition of rival nations, each eager to gain control of Pendell’s immense magical resources. But it wasn’t just soldiers that threatened the city—magical warfare, never before seen on such a scale, was about to engulf the entire region.
The siege of Pendell was not a traditional one. While armies surrounded the city with standard siege weaponry—catapults, trebuchets, and battering rams—mystical forces played an equally important role. The Free Mages, those who had not been silenced by the Magisters or the royal government, had secretly allied with these invading armies. As the siege began, waves of dark, chaotic magic descended upon Pendell. Artillery was reinforced with destructive spells that bent time and space itself, ripping through Pendell’s defenses and rendering most of its magical wards useless.
The battle wasn’t fought solely on the ground or in the skies, but in the very fabric of reality. Artillery was laced with magic-enhanced energy, bending space to create rifts that warped time, creating illusions and confusing the defenders. The city’s protectors, relying on their Artes, attempted to summon barriers and counter-magic, but the overwhelming force of the siege—and the traitors within—was more than Pendell could withstand.
The True Strike, a magical cannon created by the Free Mages, was the decisive blow. It released a blast of concentrated energy that tore through Pendell’s central tower, the Heart of the City. This tower, the pinnacle of Pendell’s magical achievements, housed a vast amount of arcane energy that kept the city’s defenses running. The destruction of the tower sent a shockwave throughout the city, causing massive structural damage and creating an unstable surge of uncontrolled magic.
As the magical storm raged, Pendell’s last defenders tried to evacuate the civilians, but it was too late. The streets, once full of life and commerce, became battlegrounds where no one was safe. Buildings crumbled, shattered by the repeated blasts of artillery and spells. The very earth itself was twisted by the ravages of magic, creating sinkholes, distortion fields, and destructive, unnatural storms.
The rulers of Pendell—both the royal family and the Magisters—fought to the bitter end, but without the Heart of the City and its central magic, they were unable to counter the overwhelming force of the invaders. The city’s magical wards failed, and soon, the city fell into total chaos.
By the time the invading forces entered the heart of the city, only a handful of mages and soldiers remained, guarding the ruins of what had once been a proud civilization. Pendell had been razed, not by the might of armies, but by the very magic that had made it great.
The fall of Pendell was the end of an era. Its knowledge, its magical prowess, and its culture was lost, scattered to the winds like ash. Yet, despite its destruction, Pendell’s legacy endured. The magical knowledge contained within its libraries was perserved in scattered ruins, passed down to future generations.
The city of Pendell became a symbol: a reminder of the danger that comes with unchecked power and the fragility of even the most advanced civilizations. But Pendell also left behind a warning. The war between the Free Mages and the Magisters, the alliances and betrayals—these were the seeds of Pendell’s destruction. It was a city built on the belief that magic could solve all problems, only to be undone by the very forces it had embraced.
Pendell’s fall was a tragic end to a beautiful city, but also a new beginning—a cautionary tale that echoed through time, shaping the future of the world, and serving as a constant reminder that magic, when abused, can become a weapon of unimaginable devastation.
[Speed Reading has advanced from Level 1 to Level 2.]
The flood of information surged through my mind, an overwhelming rush of names, dates, and events that left a sharp ache behind my eyes. I winced, pressing my fingers against my temple.
"The current era?" I muttered, my voice laced with disbelief. "The siege of Pendell was literally during the last dynasty. Did they really believe the continent’s rulers would never change?"
Morres barely reacted. He let out a drawn-out yawn, rubbing his eyes as if this entire conversation was a minor inconvenience. “Actually,” he said, his words sluggish yet deliberate, “it’s referring to another Pendell. Not the one from this realm. For them, it is still the current era, though even then, the text is off by about three hundred years.”
I blinked. Another Pendell? So this book wasn’t just a record of history—it was a bridge between realms, linking past and present across different realities. That meant whatever I experienced inside might not align with what I knew. That also meant my mistakes could ripple out in ways I wasn’t ready for.
Morres, still only half-invested in the conversation, stretched and exhaled through his nose. “You’ll likely have to solve problems without a bow,” he continued. “They rely primarily on gunpowder and lack refined magic. Instead, they lean heavily into magi-tech, as you saw.”
I thought back to what little I had gleaned so far—the massive iron cannons, their thunderous roar shaking the very foundations of the city walls, the eerie glow of artificial runes inscribed along their barrels. It wasn’t like the arcane artillery I was used to—these weapons were crude, industrial, but undeniably deadly.
“Yeah…” I murmured, glancing down at the book. “Those cannons seem... deadly.”
Morres didn’t even open his eyes. “They were.” His tone was completely detached, yet there was something final in the way he said it. Like he had already accepted the horrors written in these pages. “And while their technology is outdated by today’s standards, it’s likely what you’ll be using to breach into Pendell… provided you’re on the offense. If you’re on the defense…” He finally opened one eye, fixing me with a lazy but pointed stare. “Have you been told how to conquer a historical tome?”
I took a slow breath and nodded. “I wasn’t told,” I admitted, flipping through the heavy pages, the scent of aged parchment filling the air. “But I found the information.”
I met his gaze.
“For anything non-fiction, you must make sure everything repeats with very little deviation from the truth.”
That was the law. The past could not be rewritten, only preserved.
But what if something wanted it rewritten?
Morres let out a slow, weary sigh, rubbing his temples as if bracing for a migraine. “Don’t even consider it,” he warned, his voice suddenly sharp, slicing through the haze of my thoughts like a blade. “You do not want the consequences of using your Arte to create a paradox on paper.”
He leaned forward, his eyes—usually clouded with disinterest—now burning with something far more intense. “You’ll become something similar to Danatallion. You do not want your library to start that process.” His voice dropped, heavy with a weight I couldn’t quite grasp. “Focus on preserving history. Promise me.”
I raised an eyebrow, more out of instinct than defiance. “How did you know I’d even—”
Morres exhaled, looking more exhausted than usual. He waved a hand dismissively. “Because your thoughts,” he muttered, “as Cordelia has so graciously pointed out, are loud.” He gave me a tired look, then tapped the side of his temple. “I have very few, and I mean very few abilities when it comes to telepathy, but your thoughts?” He scoffed. “They echo in a deep, dark cavern. Over and over again. Impossible to ignore.”
I frowned, but Morres’ expression remained unchanged. There wasn’t a trace of amusement or exaggeration—he was completely serious.
“Cordelia has mentioned this before…” I admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “But I assumed, with how quiet she is, that it was mostly her complaining. I have been practicing an image—a…”
“A locket,” Morres interrupted flatly. “Yes. A locket imprinted on hundreds of different random playing cards, scattered like a mosaic of games.” He waved a hand lazily. “It helps, but you haven’t passively formed it yet. You’re still forcing the construct, which means it only works when you actively concentrate on it. I’d highly recommend you find a more passive form of protection—one that doesn’t require constant effort.”
His tone made it clear that this wasn’t a casual suggestion.
I exhaled, nodding. “I’ll work on it.”
“Good,” Morres said, already moving on. “But that isn’t important right now. Are you ready for your test?”
“Of course he’s ready!” Fractal chirped before I could even open my mouth. She flitted to my shoulder, puffing up proudly. “He can handle a large, dusty, old book. Right?” Her head tilted toward me, feathers shimmering like liquid metal.
I sighed, glancing at the massive tome. The Complete History of Pendell. My fingers traced the ancient, weighty cover, and something in my gut twisted uncomfortably.
“I suppose I’ll have to be.”
I placed my hands upon the open pages, feeling the weight of history hum beneath my fingertips. The ink pulsed, alive with something deeper than mere words—an echo of events long past, yet still waiting to be lived.
The pages trembled, then scattered, bursting outward like a flock of startled birds. Each one shimmered as it spun around me, glowing a deep, resplendent crimson, the color of fresh-spilled blood. The carnelian light shifted, darkened, thickened, melting into an amber so deep it felt like time itself was congealing around me, trapping me within its resin embrace.
I was the fly. The book was my prison.
The pages spiraled faster, their movement hypnotic, and I felt it—my body was changing. My simple attire dissolved into something heavier, more layered. The fabric twisted, reshaped. I now wore a hybrid of an archmage’s ornate robes and the rugged practicality of military fatigues. Heavy boots met the ground beneath me. A bandolier, lined with magazines and arcane cartridges, draped across my chest. A ring formed on my left hand, cool against my skin, thrumming with latent energy. Evoker. That was its name, if the book was to be believed.
The pages coalesced into a final, blinding flare of light—then vanished.
And before me, the city of Pendell stretched into the horizon.
But something was wrong.
This wasn’t a city preparing for war, nor was it caught in the midst of battle. There were no rallying cries, no formations of soldiers, no war machines rolling through the streets.
Pendell was already lost.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, gunpowder, and decay. The sky was a sickly, oppressive gray, the sun barely able to pierce through the swirling clouds of soot. Buildings—once grand and mighty—stood as shattered husks, their skeletal remains jutting out like broken bones. Rubble choked the streets. Corpses, some clad in tattered uniforms, others in scavenged armor, lay strewn across the ruins, their stories lost to the ashes.
I turned slowly, taking it all in. This wasn’t the siege of Pendell.
This was what came after.
A besieged wasteland.
A graveyard.
And then, the realization settled in, heavier than the ruined city around me.
I had not been placed in Pendell’s past. I had been sent into its aftermath.
But why?
And, more importantly…
Was I alone?
Comments
RedLeaf
Thanks for the chapter! Looks like nothing Alexander is sent to do turns out as he assumes. Bad luck? Or is there a puppeteer somewhere in the shadows, twisting his fate to suite their needs?
