🕑 Added 2025-11-03 08:38:00 +0000 UTC
Tale #9: The Trials of Dusk
Chapter I: What Fed the Monarch’s Hunger
(Content Tag: Dark/high fantasy setting, heavy world-building, regression, messing/wetting, diapers, exposition dumping, probably not for everyone.)
"You can see why I would be apprehensive, right? This isn't a nursery, it isn't a playground; this is a place where serious things happen. This is where the quill is dipped: the one that writes the future fate of many, upon the parchment of eternity. There is no room for scribblers here."
Niko nodded slowly, soaking in the solemn words of the Archivist. "Yes, I understand. I know my appearance gives you pause, but please, don't let it deceive you. My tutelage was under the scholars of Aromat, the holders of the Kingseeker's Tableau. My unfortunate physical state is a product of my tribute; I had to give a lot to survive the brand."
Niko had given everything that he could deem unnecessary, all in the pursuit of forbidden knowledge. The brand of the monarch was a strict requirement to view the tableau, to enter the dilapidated dream of the seventh sinner. To receive the brand's protection, one had to part with more and more, until it was finally weighed as equal to the breadth of what would be given in return.
Such tribute was never the same from person to person, and there were all-too common cases where a person may be devoured whole by the voracious appetite of the slumbering monarch. Niko had watched great men be reduced to husks, their forms torn asunder, and their minds scattered like ashes in the wind; even to survive the brand was a curse, because what was left might not be worth saving. Bones melted into a white pudding, organs ventilated by pocks or mutated into tumorous mounds of useless meat; eyeballs on stalks, or that dripped from their sockets, and flesh turned to slurry or jelly.
So Niko had feared the tribulation, for the years that preceded his turn at the obelisk; every day that he sculpted his mind sharper with the whetstone of the scholar's wisdom, he had to worry that those revelations would be as fleeting as the clouds that hung in the sky. The torment that he put his body through, bathing in the torching flames of diligence, was something he considered might be ripped away from him.
But when it had finally come his time to receive that mark, for the emblem of the Kingseeker to sear itself into his flesh, his loss had not been what he expected. The hungering maw had torn into him neatly, appearing to only have an appetite for that which most men would graciously give away if they could.
The mark had consumed his age, the physical toll of the years upon this planet, and it'd slurped up the very ability for his form to erode in the sands of time. Niko had entered the chamber a man of many decades, his brow wrinkled and his hands withered, but he'd left it with the smoothness of a young babe.
Reversing the ravages of time, the secret to immortality, these were things that endless wars had been fought over. An ocean of blood, and a canyon of corpses, were what lied at the precipice of the flickering hope to achieve what Niko had somehow stumbled into. His hair would never gray or recede, his bones would never ache or become brittle, and the spectacles that'd adorned his sagging visage for the last thirty or more years, were no longer something his eyes needed or could tolerate.
The scholar was to forever be a small child, and that was what his price for admission into the tableau had been.
It'd been nearly a decade since he'd changed, and only once he'd been satisfied with everything he had learned from the monarch's last dream, had he made the journey to request passage into something even greater.
The Archives of Dusk.
It was the greatest collective of mankind's knowledge and deeds; it was the home to the world's most accomplished academics, artists, and leaders; it was the heart of tomorrow's history to be.
Alchemists, sorcerers, arcanists, knights, doomsayers, and kings; these were all but a small slice of the diverse population of denizens that strolled these hallowed halls. One could only be made a fellow member by grand achievement, and to stay seated among mankind's finest, it required constant betterment of one's own legacy.
Niko had once dreamed of being a member, when he was a foolish young man, but he'd long given up hope that the possibility existed for him. His goal for so many decades had been instead to enter the Tableau, a feat that few could boast, but he had never dreamed that he'd feel accomplished enough, or still young enough, to revisit the dream of his youth.
The Gate Archivist glowered wordlessly above him, his face inscrutable behind the golden mask that reflected the glimmer of the artificial constellation above him.
"The scholars of Aromat? I wasn't aware that any still drew breath. They're a reclusive order; the last that entered our midst was laid to rest many years ago."
"Most cannot leave the monarch's dream once they enter. If they aren't swallowed by gaining the rites of passage, then they are either made permanant pillars of the Tableau's architecture, or their forms are too mangled to leave the glow of the Kingseeker's will. I imagine few could make the long journey from the temple." Niko explained succinctly.
"You speak of the Kingseeker's Tableau as something you're quite familiar with, child. You claim your cherubic face is but a curse of the brand's tribute. These are not small claims to pronounce, and while I would not deign to judge a mind by the stature that bears its weight, I would be a fool to take your tale at face value."
It was a perfectly understandable manner of thought. If a small boy, only a few years divorced of his mother's teat, was to make such a lofty claim to Niko himself, then he too would find great skepticism in the veracity of the statement. The Kingseeker's Tableau was one of the nine heavenly remnants; each one was left behind by one of the nine sinners of sanctuary. These were not common relics to be in the presence of, and in fact, one of them was at the core of these very archives.
"I tell you no lies, honored Archivist. My flesh was singed by the whims of the seventh sinner, my soul was spared from being spat from his maw. The secrets of the Tableau's might are housed inside this diminutive form that you see before you, and if you will humor me a bit longer, then I would be readily willing to show you my brand."
"The decision is not mine alone to make, boy. My presence here in front of you, is to only serve as a filter. Many approach the golden gates of our grandeur, but very few spark my interest enough to be allowed in for true judgment. I am but one, of a council of twelve, and it will require a majority's consensus to see you worthy."
It wasn't precisely what Niko had expected, but it made sense to him. Why would a single man be permitted to act alone as gatekeeper? The council was something he had knowledge of, even if not of their proceedings, because they were to be considered the twelve most respected figures of the light-basked continent. His own master had spoke highly of them, of the grand feats they had taken responsibility for.
The only one he knew by name was Seren, the Oracle of the Ouroboros; she was a timeless sage, a doomsayer who had survived for centuries, and whose visions had prevented many cataclysms. Some of the others he knew by title, but most of them were an enigma to him.
"Might you take me before them, Archivist? Have I piqued your intrigue to such a fine point? Or must I perform a feat for you?"
The man behind the golden mask was quick to give his head a shake, "No, those theatrics won't be necessary. You're a strange one, child, but an interesting one. Follow me beyond this gate, and your trials may begin; you have my vote of confidence, but you'll still need at least six more to reach a majority."
An opalescent ovoid shifted on its hinges and slid across the sleek, black walls of the astrological chamber. The Archivist beckoned for Niko to tread behind him, and the pair wandered into the hallway beyond.
The Archives of Dusk were built from the infinite imagination of the forerunners who had sought to civilize this realm, thousands of years prior to this moment; the architecture was alien, it was beyond the complexity that any masterful mason could muster in modern times. Each chamber had been uniquely designed, and the mystical energies used were still as strong as ever.
The first chamber, the Constellation Crossways, gave access to dozens of different rooms beyond, but only one of those gates would lead deeper into the Archive's core. It was an entrance into infinity, which felt representative of the structure as a whole; endless corridors and rooms within rooms.
"The second judgment will be at the behest of Drezen, the Iron Gauntlet of Pharis. He is a legendary knight; he secured the future of his kingdom, with the strength he forged through the five holy catechisms. Pharis would have fallen to peril, if not for his might eternal."
Niko blinked, the words slowly soaking through. "Pharis, yes...I stopped there along my journey here. The man you praise, they had a statue of him in the center of the kingdom. The five holy catechisms... Are they not written upon the scripture of the sixth sinner?"
The man nodded and raised his hand; a turquoise glow engulfed it, and the platform that they'd stepped onto, began to descend.
"Your knowledge is impressive, little one. Yes, those words are written upon the Sanguine Scriptures, another of the divine relics of sanctuary, much like the Kingseeker's Tableau. It is by the power of these words, that Drezen claimed the strength that makes him worthy of his spot on the council. I can't say for certain how he plans to judge you, but if going by his past judgments, then I would presume your crucible will be one of crossed swords."
Niko wasn't sure how he should feel about that; in his youth, his real youth, he'd never been much of a skilled fighter. It was only recently, in the lengthy days of his journey here, that he'd had to learn to defend himself. His body, tiny of stature and bereft of muscle, was not naturally attuned to direct combat; a clash of blades, and with a legendary knight, wouldn't be a simple trial to overcome.
The descent came to a stop, and Niko followed the man to the entrance of the next chamber. While they had assuredly been within the interior of the Archive's outer rings while traveling, and they had delved deep inside by passage of the lowering platform, there was somehow sky above their heads. Right through the bars of an elaborately forged gate, there was a large courtyard, where many more doors speckled the walls, and grass brushed beneath his feet.
"I will leave you now, as to not taint the opinions of the next proctor with unwanted bias. Regardless of how you fare in his challenge, you will continue your journey into the other chambers of the outer-ring. I won't know the outcome of your admittance until the end, and it is likely that you won't either. Best of luck to you, child."
Niko bowed his head, "I have gratitude for your time, thank you."
The gates opened, and the boy wandered through them, his satchel bouncing gently with his steps. Sitting by a marble fountain, with a gleaming suit of blue-tinged armor, and a sword that was easily twice the length of Niko's body, was a man with short hair the color of rust.
"...Get lost, did you? I wouldn't have thought any of the brats from Kaori's nursery would come this far up from her watchful eye. Or are you the page that I sent for? I hope not, with a physique like that." The man gruffly scoffed, his hands on the hilt of his sword, which was buried tip-first into the dirt.
Niko wondered what he meant by nursery, but didn't think it was his place to be asking questions. "No, Sir Drezen. My name is Niko, and I'm here to ask for your favor in joining the Archive."
Drezen raised an eyebrow, but didn't lift himself from where he was seated. "You? As a member? We've admitted children before, against my own vote, but not any as unimpressive looking as you. Are you sure you didn't mean to seek admittance into the Archive's academy? Did Byrneth really let you through the crossways?"
Byrneth...That must have been the name of the Archivist with the golden mask; Niko hadn't thought himself worthy to ask the gatekeeper's name, and it had never been freely offered to him either.
"While your academy is grand, and I would have once been honored to be a pupil of it, I am afraid it wouldn't be of much use to me now. I may not look it, but beneath these junior vestments, I have great knowledge and experience."
The claim got a hearty chuckle out of the knight, "Really, now? I'll admit that you speak like an old man whose spent his life with his nose in a book, but it'll take a little more than skillful diction and a collegiate vocabulary to impress me. Tell me, little babe, what do you know about combat?"
"I confess that I know very little about the intricacy of warfare, nor is my body toned for it. My weapon of choice is my mind, and my magic. Wit is the only sharp blade at my disposal." Niko would admit, with the knowledge that no good could come from deception here.
(Chapter continued in the next post)
