CHAPTER 1: ENDLESS SUMMER
The sun beat down on Caden as he made his way through the narrow, winding alleys, its harsh light baking the paved streets enough that he could feel it through the soles of his boots. He wrapped his cloak more tightly about his shoulders, its drooping hood casting a dark shadow over his face. There were few who would brave the streets these days, he only encountered a handful of people who were going about their business, all of them sticking to the shadows of the buildings as they skirted the glare. The white and beige facades of the timber-framed structures seemed to glow such that he found himself averting his eyes, their narrow windows protected by wooden shutters in the vain hope of keeping out the pervasive heat, their towering brick chimneys long idle. He could see the heat haze coming off their sloping, tiled roofs, making the air above them shimmer like a mirage. They had been fashioned to ward off rain and snow, not to endure these temperatures.
Where once the city had been overflowing with greenery, now the patches of grass were yellow and sickly, the once-proud trees wilting. Caden remembered a time when each and every home had sported window boxes that overflowed with lush flowers, their bright colors, and their wonderful scents raising the spirits of the townsfolk. Now, they lay empty, the gardens left untended. There were no bees buzzing from blossom to blossom anymore, no butterflies fluttering on the breeze.
It was noon, but that term was slowly losing its meaning. The days grew ever longer, the sun lingering in the heavens, the cloudless sky as deep a blue as he had ever seen it. How long had it been since he had felt the rain on his face? When exactly had the seasons ground to a halt, plunging the world into an unending summer? He had become accustomed to this such that it was starting to feel normal, and that thought worried him. To adapt was also to forget, to become complacent.
He crossed a small bridge, the burbling stream that used to course beneath its stone arches long dry. He leaned over the side, seeing its parched, cracked bed. It wasn't too long ago that a chorus of croaking frogs would have greeted him here, the cool night air rustling the reeds on the shores, but he found that he could scarcely recall the sound.
His destination loomed ahead of him, the twisted tower rising above the city's slanted rooftops. It was a far older edifice than the buildings that surrounded it, the aging stonework held together more by the creeping plant life that had woven between the bricks than by its own ancient mortar. At its base were several gnarled trees, their stout trunks sprouting from the structure's foundations, their winding branches serving to brace it. They had also suffered as of late, but they still retained some green leaves here and there, kept alive by the arcane power that resided within the crumbling walls. At its peak was a thatched roof that framed a large clock, its bronze hands slowly ticking away in spite of the fact that the twenty-four-hour day no longer held much meaning for the people who lived beneath it.
Caden walked up a snaking path that was lined with old cobblestone, the grass to either side of it slowly growing healthier as it neared the base of the structure, leeching off the aura that it exuded. Caden was attuned to its magic. He could feel it on his skin, in his very bones, an entirely different kind of warmth washing over him. If he strained, he could almost hear it on the air, a kind of musical hum with no obvious source. As he reached the old oaken door and turned the handle, the oppressive heat seemed to fade, as though a bubble of cool air had settled around the tower. It was relieving, but it did little to put him at ease.
It swung open on creaking hinges, and he stepped over the threshold, emerging into a grand library. From the outside, no one would have guessed that such a wealth of knowledge could have been contained within, shelves packed with dusty tomes extending high into the air as they spiraled up the center of the tower. A winding staircase led up to the top level, corkscrewing its way up the length of the structure, its banister carved with flowing floral patterns. No matter how many times Caden set foot inside, the disconnect between its outward appearance and its interior always made him do a double-take. The space within was somehow larger than the structure should allow, a powerful spell that had been cast long ago bending reality like a bowed branch, keeping it from springing back into shape.
In the center was a large wooden table, its surface strewn with yellowed manuscripts and leather-bound books. The Master was hunched over it, poring over a scroll, holding up an eyeglass as he scanned the faded text. He looked up from his work as he heard the door close behind Caden, his bushy brows furrowing. He was wearing a long robe that was fastened about his waist with an ornate belt, the fabric a slate grey in color, patterned with arcane runes woven from threads of shining gold. His bushy, grey beard was almost long enough to reach his stomach, his face wrinkled by age. As old as he was, he remained spry, his blue eyes bright and alert.
"Oh, it's you, Caden. Come, come," he said as he waved him over with a liver-spotted hand.
"You summoned me, Master?" Caden asked as he walked around the table. "If this is about the books on cryomancy, I'm still sorting through them."
He stopped beside the old man, eyeing the scroll that he had been examining. The yellow parchment was stretched taut between two wooden rollers, each one topped by ornate finials cast from sterling silver. There were notes strewn around it haphazardly, it seemed that the Master was in the process of translating the rows of odd pictograms. It was no language that Caden recognized, nor did he see any common runes or symbols. Whatever it was, it was obviously very old.
"I knew that it was somewhere in the library," the Master began, picking up his eyeglass again. "There was some...vague recollection in the back of my mind, a feeling of
deja-vu
, as if I had lived this moment before. When one reaches such an advanced age as I, one's memory tends to get...patchy."
"What is it?" Caden asked, pulling back his hood and shaking out his mop of brown hair.
"This has all happened before," the Master replied, sifting through his stacks of notes with a frantic urgency. "It is cyclical, at least...that's what these accounts have led me to believe. I must have read this scroll in passing long ago, or perhaps it was referenced by another scholar, but it tells of a great calamity that befell a long-dead civilization."
"Read it in passing?" Caden asked, cocking his head. "It looks like you're translating it to me."
"I can hardly be expected to memorize every damned language that has ever passed beneath my nose, boy," the Master grumbled. "There are thousands of them, and my memory is finite. I'm sure there must be a book of old notes hidden somewhere in the tower, but I found this first, and time is not our ally."
He snatched one of the pieces of paper, his eyes scanning the looping handwriting that he had scrawled upon it with his quill.
"It was five thousand years ago that an identical event took place, though this scroll is not nearly that old. It is simply a record of an account passed down to a historian during the fourth age. Thank the Gods he saw fit to make a record of it, or we might never have come across this crucial piece of information."
"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Caden asked, the Master grumbling under his breath.
