Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (113/?)

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Thacea

This was it.

The promised revelation.

The hopes and dreams of empiricalists long dead and forgotten, brought to fruition within the confines of this impossible construct.

An impossible sight, brought about by impossible means, at the hands of an impossible entity.

What was once a dream snubbed at by the arcanists, and snuffed out by the mages, was now proving to be anything but a long dead concept.

Standing in front of me, not unlike artifacts in a museum, were constructs bordering on the absurd — windowless towers of questionable aesthetics, and grand spires unsuitable for anything but grandiose monumentality. These shrines to height, dedicated seemingly only to ego and hubris, served a purpose far greater than any symbol or monument to house and clan. 

For they served a purpose once thought impossible.

A means of conveyance from the dirt through the tapestry. 

Their size — proportional to the immensity of such a task.

Their design — thematically poignant. Resembling needles meant to pierce straight through the fabric of quilts and tapestries alike. 

Their underlying mechanisms, however, remained vague despite Emma’s grandiose descriptions. 

Harnessing the energy from caged explosions was no longer enough. Instead, we had to take our gloves off, skipping straight past the middleman — propelling ourselves atop of the raw and unmitigated power of combustion itself. 

The conclusions drawn from such a statement… were nothing short of ludicrous. 

The breaching of the tapestry couldn’t have been that straightforward.

…

Could it?

Indeed, if the caging of explosions within those combustion-based artifices was of any indication, then there must be some form of enigmatic manaless means of harnessing the pure power of combustion; one powerful enough to propel these towers of iron and steel through the heavens.

The visualization of which… proved nigh-impossible to manifest. As imagining one of these monoliths attempting flight as they were… was not just ludicrous, but an exercise in insanity.

At which point, did I finally realize the leypull of the situation.

I was actively considering, through no uncertain terms, the flight of literal towers.

Towers the size of those found in Aetheron’s capital, lifted not through some Nexian planar magics fueled by its boundless streams of mana, but by manaless means.

I awaited my disbelief to settle, and for doubt to slowly precipitate, amidst the brisk yet meandering carousel of towers slowly diminishing in size.

But it never did.

Or at least, not in any significant quantity to quash the impossible conclusions my heart and mind had already since reached.

I understood, in no uncertain terms, the sorts of impossibilities Emma was capable of.

Moreover, our discussions on… the void, and the expanse beyond the tapestry, had instilled within me a firm acceptance of Earthrealm's seemingly impossible reach.

It stood to reason then, given my certainty of Earthrealm’s foregone destination, that the manner in which said destination was reached was a more palatable point of contention.

But this clearly wasn’t the case for all present, as Ilunor and Thalmin were quick to demonstrate.

“Towers.” Ilunor began indignantly. “I’m assuming you wish to proclaim these towers as somehow key to your claims of piercing through the tapestry?” The Vunerian spoke with as much skeptical bluster as he could muster.

“I, for one, believe it to be a novel endeavor.” Thalmin interjected atop a more confident cadence. “There have been a great many stories of impossibly tall towers in old Havenbrockian tales. Towers that reach for the heavens, and some which dare to reach beyond it. I believe it to be a logical conclusion then, given the sheer height of the towers seen in Earthrealm’s grand cities, that there exist towers tall enough and grand enough to pierce through the tapestry.” 

Ilunor’s features remained surprisingly unfazed by that statement, refusing to hint at his acknowledgement or dismissal at the prince’s assertions.

Though it would be Emma who would respond not with a firm or definitive answer, but instead… a sheepish insistence on moving past Thalmin’s points altogether.

“I mean… you’re not wrong, Thalmin.” Emma began through what I could only describe as a reluctant admission. One which elicited a set of wide-eyed incredulous looks from all present. “But I’d prefer we start at the beginning, rather than skipping right through to the end.” 

This… outright admission through omission stoked the flames of curiosity welling within me, as memories of that private sight-seer, of that… impossible construct floating above Acela once more came into my mind’s eye.

“Then let us begin, Emma.” I spoke eagerly, watching as we arrived at what was quite possibly one of the smallest towers yet. 

One that barely reached the height of an outer-ring townhouse in the Isle of Towers.

“This was the first.” Emma began, gesturing towards this four-finned oblong tower. “The first to breach the tapestry, that is.” She continued. “But before I show you that fateful flight, and the successive flights that took place in the years and decades since, I’d first like to show you the basics of how all this works.” 

The carousel of monuments shifted leftwards, passing by stranger and smaller objects, before arriving at an innocuous item that shifted the entire dynamic of this demonstration.

A humble firespear.

My features immediately darkened, as I reflexively shifted my gaze back towards the endless row of towers that stretched on into the artificial horizon.

Their shape, their function, all of them couldn’t have possibly just been based on the simple fundamentals of an alchemist’s toy—

“No.” Ilunor began, voicing what felt like our collective disbelief as he took a step back. “You can’t possibly have us believe that you’ve iterated and adopted the primitive principles of what is at worst a toy and at best a primitive attempt at shimmer-stars.” The Vunerian’s voice shook, not so much out of fear as it was out of sheer disbelief. “You… you can’t possibly be using firespears for what is effectively…” Ilunor trailed off, allowing Emma to interject.

“Yes.” Emma began through a cocksure cadence. “That’s precisely what I’m getting at. And just to make sure we’re all on the same page, I’m assuming that your definition of ‘firespear’ is that of a tube packed with solid propellant that ignites in order to—”

“It is a toy, Emma Booker!” Ilunor reiterated through a hiss, acknowledging Emma’s query without directly addressing it. “How can you have us believe—”

The carousel moved once more, silencing the Vunerian if only for a moment as we were introduced to what appeared to be a chair… with a disconcertingly large number of firespears strapped beneath it. 

“We’ve been toying with the idea for literal millenia before we finally got it right.” Emma interjected. “I won’t have you believe that a simple shimmer-star firespear is what got us beyond the tapestry. That’s just absurd. Because in a similar story to aerial craft, we started from what was ostensibly the right idea, but executed in a way that just didn’t quite cut it. Take for example Wan Hu over here, a civil servant back in one of our ancient civilizations. We know little about him, heck, some people dispute he even existed. But it’s his story that tells so much about our desire, our dreams of breaching the tapestry.”

“A dream that involves strapping about fifty firespears to the bottom of a chair, Emma?” Thalmin interjected with a cock of his head.

“Well like I said, we had to start from somewhere. And whether or not this ever happened, it shows just how long we’ve had this dream, and the trial by fire by which we would eventually reach it.”

The scene quickly demonstrated the… catastrophic results of the firespear chair, which was then quickly followed up by countless more similar demonstrations. Of firespears of varying forms and shapes reaching for the heavens only to reach their expectant demise, or barely even lifting off the dirt at that…

Each and every one starting with the same expectant fiery hiss, before ultimately reaching its ends either in a sub-par bang, or a wispy fizzle. 

This eventually culminated in what appeared to be a spindly, innocuous, utilitarian metal rack; holding within it yet another firespear.

Yet there was something undeniably different about this one.

As unlike the rest of the abject failures thus far, Emma’s sight-seer seemed to place an inordinate amount of focus on it, showing what appeared to just be nothing but a static firespear burning through its fuel in about half a minute.

“1925, twenty-two years after our first aerial craft took to the skies. What seems innocuous and rather underwhelming is actually a critical point in rocketry. Prior to this junction, our firespears had been simple, primitive things. A tube of solid-fuel propellant, burning uncontrollably and without the ability to be guided. This all changed at the hands of Robert H. Goddard, who proved on this day that liquid-fueled firespears were possible.” 

The scene quickly shifted, progressing rightwards through the carousel as similarly ramshackled firespears were shown launching… and failing, over and over again. This was interspersed with successful launches, though few ever reached the heights that that Emma’s manaless aethra vessels had formerly reached.

However this trend too quickly took a turn, as each increase in these firespear’s sizes brought with it an improvement in the successes of every launch, and an increase in their flights.

“So after centuries or millennia of trial and error, suddenly using liquid fuel somehow fixes all of your problems?” Ilunor spoke up, crossing his arms in a look of blatant skepticism.

“Not exactly. It’s one of the components to it. I’m skipping over a lot of minor details here, Ilunor. But suffice it to say, this century was an era of immense technological progress. Lessons learned in other fields — from aviation to flight mechanics to communications and beyond — all translated into improvements in rocketry. In short, with every passing year, our increased understanding of the natural forces allowed us to iterate and improve. The advent of liquid fuel was simply a major milestone that unlocked an entirely new era in rocketry. It provided us a far more reliable means of controlling what was previously uncontrollable, giving us the reins to better tame and command the very heart of this beast — combustion itself.” 

Ilunor had been quiet throughout a major portion of that explanation, though it was the latter part that truly gave him pause for thought. 

Something had clearly shaken him to his core.

A certain understanding that I too had garnered.

“Magic solved this issue.” I began plainly, garnering the attention of all present. “The reason why firespears are relegated to a trivial amusement, is simply because there are far more means by which its ends can be accomplished. The lack of control of a firespear, the lack of consistency and reliability, the volatility of it — all of it and more can be addressed through magical equivalents.”

“A mage could simply adjust his manipulation of leypull itself, for one.” Thalmin acknowledged warily. 

“Control and mastery over flight, is thus almost second nature to the mages that seek it.” I quickly added, nodding in Thalmin’s direction.

“And would this… control involve the change and mixture of alchemical solutions and reagents? Of when one is added and one is removed, or how much is aerated and what quantities to add when?” Ilunor suddenly inquired, his eyes narrowing and his voice wavering.

“Precisely, Ilunor.” Emma nodded sincerely. “That’s… more or less it. I mean, there’s a lot more that goes into it but—”

“Just get on with it, earthrealmer.” The Vunerian hissed, his brows quivering if only for a moment  following that answer.

Emma nodded, pressing onwards as the titular tower-like design of these firespears started coming into its own.

This eventually culminated in that first four-story tall firespear we’d started off on, standing atop of a platform in the midst of a clearing within a wooded forest. 

Continuous streams of thick white smoke billowed from its umbilicals, whilst almost half of its bottom ‘fins’ were likewise obscured from sight as a result of what were probably noxious fumes.

Then, came a rumbling. Slow at first, but rising higher and higher in pitch and ferocity. 

The lingering smoke began to stir violently, while the umbilicals spewed even greater volumes of fumes, all culminating in a shriek-like roar that ushered in not just a suspiciously missing tower as was the case with ‘Wan Hu’, but instead… the undeniable flight of a literal townhouse. 

This building-sized construct… rising purely through the combustion of a firespear.

“1944. Forty-one years after the first Wright Brothers flight. The launch of a V-2 test rocket dubbed the MW18014. They didn’t know it at the time, since… well… we hadn’t yet established the boundary between the skies and space — the Karman line. But this launch marked the first man-made object to reach outer space. The first object to breach the tapestry.”

“And do you have proof of this? Images, sight-seers, shards—”

“There was instrument data. But if it’s images you want, then let’s keep moving forward.” Emma announced plainly.

The scene quickly shifted once more to a desert in the middle of nowhere.

A firespear of similar dimensions, but additional improvements sat on its platform.

As if in anticipation for what was to come, the firespear once more careened upwards atop a shriek-like roar, angry flames exiting through its conical end.

For a moment, I could almost liken it to the fiery insides of a dragon’s throat. 

It was only after the roar of its fire was over did Emma materialize a series of static images, each of which were of… questionable quality — black and white splotches with barely any visual cues or landmarks by which to identify them.

“1946. Forty-three years after our first flight. The white sands missile range, New Mexico. The launch of yet another man-made object into space, but this time… it had memory-shards. Albeit primitive ones by today’s standards.” 

All three of us took steps towards these floating images, of what appeared to be—

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Thalmin

A dark sky, and… something resembling a grainy soupy-mess of a terrain as seen from above.

This… wasn’t what I at all expected.

Moreover, this wasn’t what I wanted.

Throughout it all, the growth of these firespears beckoned a disconcerting question that grew to rival Emma’s claims of breaching the tapestry.

This was because if her claims were to be believed, if these firespears of immense size were truly controllable, then they could serve not only as toys nor tools of exploration. 

But tools of war.

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Ilunor

The image made no sense.

Nor did I try to make sense of it.

It was merely a dark sky and some indistinguishable blur.

There was nothing to be garnered from this.

The tapestry had yet to have been torn.

This was an exercise in futility.

This… had to be.

What else could this be but—

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Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Thacea

—the curvature of a realm. 

This was… the curvature of a realm.

Tales from high-soaring flocks have consistently reported seeing a curve to our world, even after the Nexian Reformations.

It was just an undeniable part of reality.

And yet this… was fundamentally different.

The curvature was far, far too pronounced. 

The result of flying higher than even the high-soarers, of ascending far beyond the flight-limit, which meant that this image, this shard, could’ve only been captured at heights beyond the tapestry.

“I know you probably still don’t believe me.” Emma continued. “So let’s skip a few years so we can get a better view~”

The scene once more shifted, still in the desert, but with a wildly different firespear. For this one was… much more refined. It was spindly, tall, yet smaller than what clearly was ahead.

Its launch soon followed, violently careening off of its metal brackets with a loud and feather-puffing SHRRRRK! 

All three of us watched as it pierced through the skies faster and more aggressively than the previous firespear, disappearing even quicker from view.

“1954. Fifty-one years after our first flight. The Aerobee. Nothing too exciting about it, except that on a few of its missions, it managed to snap enough images for us to form a photomosaic of this~” Emma paused, revealing an image that prompted my eyes to grow wide.

Gone was the grainy black and white image.

In its place was a color-image of—

“Is that… part of a globe?” Thalmin uttered under a shaky breath. “How… where was that taken?”

“That has to be manufactured.” Ilunor suddenly managed out. “Globes of adjacent realms are made through careful cartography and assembled through countless hours of—”

“This wasn’t a work of cartography from the surface or even from the sky Ilunor.” Emma interjected. “This… was taken high above the clouds, high above a realm, so high that you can actually see massive chunks of a realm from above.”

“This image was captured… from beyond the tapestry.” I managed out under a hushed breath.

“Impossible, princess.” Ilunor shot back violently, his eyes growing wide with a hastening incredulity. “I expected better from you. You, a master of deciphering truth from lies! This…  this is nothing but a… cleverly, well-crafted, and admittedly impressive work of cartographic expertise that posits a highly-detailed globe as seen from an otherwise impossible vantage point—”

“Ilunor.” Emma interjected, her tone retreating from that teasing, almost boastful cadence, to something more grounded and sedate. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t address this before we continued.” The earthrealmer breathed in deeply, as if readying herself for a heated back and forth. “Exactly what is the issue—”

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Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Ilunor

“The tapestry cannot be breached.” I interjected plainly. “Not by aethraships nor by firespears, nor by mages of strength and skill beneath that of true planar laureates.” I continued without hesitation… yet garnered nothing but the infuriatingly expressionless glare of the earthrealmer’s mask in return.

I awaited a long-winded retort, an answer befitting of her seemingly limitless coffer of words. 

I anticipated a noble’s vault's worth of justifications.

Yet I received a paltry commoner’s ration of syllables. 

“Why?”

This… lit the flame welling within my throat, streams of smoke emanating from my nostrils momentarily disrupting this manaless illusion, breaking up the phantom-like streams of light that made up this impossible world.

Reminding me, if only for a moment, that this illusion… was in and of itself, an extension of the impossibilities it purveyed.

“Why?” I mimicked using an exaggerated caricature of the earthrealmer’s inflections. “Why?!” I guffawed, shaking my head in the process. “Is it not apparent, earthrealmer?! It is because the tapestry is for all intents and purposes impermeable!” I took a deep breath, the billowing smoke breaking, scattering the beams of light even moreso. 

“Then let me ask you this, Ilunor. Is it impermeable because of some inherent physical property… or is it impermeable as a result of some innate magical property.” The earthrealmer responded cautiously.

This question — blunt and seemingly straightforward at first — quickly put into question my entire frame of reference.

I paused, taking a moment to observe the ‘sights’ and sounds around me, at the dead and desolate wastes dotted with manaless constructs operating within a manaless world.

And then it dawned on me.

Earthrealm… had naught the mana to breathe contemporary life, nor did it have the mana through which the tapestry could maintain its natural connection to the transportium.

I rapidly shifted my gaze now, my eyes landing on that of the lupinor and avinor, my mind parsing through every available iota of knowledge I had on the lesser natural phenomenon of the adjacent realms.

“What are you looking at me for, Iluno—”

“Shush!” I silenced the lupinor, instead shifting my focus towards Thacea. “Your realm has nothing I am interested in.” I quickly justified, the lupinor’s features contorting into one of both confusion and incredulity.

“What’s that supposed to—”

“Princess.” I began, silencing the lupinor in the process. “Your kind has produced a great many powerful mages, not to mention natural flyers.”

“You flatter me, Iluno—”

“I must admit my… ahem… disinterest in the fundamentals of adjacent realm physiography leaves me with a simple yet foregone question — have you or have you not been able to leave the confines of your tapestry?”

“Not to my knowledge, Ilunor.” The princess responded curtly. 

“As expected.” I began with a cursory nod. “I understand that adjacent realms, especially younger realms, have a… lesser-transportium network. I take it that attempts to reach the tapestry do not result in a natural induction into said network?” 

“That is correct.”

“Then what barriers have you observed?” I continued with growing urgency. “I presume your kind have been inclined to reach said tapestry, as is the inclination of many a young and foolish race. What prevented you from ascending higher, if not for the transportium induction phenomenon?”

“Power.” The princess responded succinctly… in synchrony with Emma. This impromptu duet prompted the pair to turn towards each other, if only for a moment.

With a nod of acquiescence from the earthrealmer, the princess continued.

“We have observed, as many other realms have, that there exists a… functional impasse through which no amount of power — magical or otherwise — can successfully breach.”

“And those planar mages with the talent to do so… those who remain on Aetheronrealm anyways… would reach an impasse similar to many others — the lack of ambient mana with which to breach the tapestry.” I quickly added, my mind running through these disparate points one after another.

“All of this is to say that without relying on mana, earthrealmers have found a violently novel solution to pierce the tapestry.” Thacea concluded through a poignant smile. “As without a transportium to induct them, nor mana to limit them, it would seem as if the raw power of manaless combustion itself was enough to get them through the primavale.” 

The princess’ latter statement gave me pause for thought, as I turned towards the earthrealmer with an expectant gaze.

There was still, however, a major point of contention which these images have failed to address. A glaring error in which my victory may still be assured.

One that the lupinor prince himself seemed to acknowledge through wary eyes.

“You make… convincing arguments, earthrealmer.” I began tentatively. “But your attempts to undermine my belief in known reality fall short in one very blatant detail.”

“And what might that be, Ilunor.”

“If you truly have breached the tapestry… then where is the endless glowing expanse that is the primavale?” I smiled brightly, pointing to the crude image, or more specifically… the darkness surrounding the globe. “If you truly have gone above that which envelopes your globe, then where is the ceaseless bright that lies beyond? If you truly have entered the realm that only planar mages have, then where is it?!”

“Ilunor. I’m going to be blunt here for a moment. I understand that there may be fundamentally different natural forces at play here between our realms. The primavale beyond the tapestry may in fact exist in the Nexus. I for one am willing to entertain such a notion. However, where I come from? The skies aren’t the limit. Indeed, there really isn’t even a tapestry to breach. What lies beyond the flight limit of conventional planes is just… nothing. Or rather, a big empty expanse of vacuum. A void in which our planet floats. An emptiness where there exists no land, water, or even air. A true vacuum that stretches on for literally millions upon billions of miles in every direction. That is what lies beyond our ‘tapestry’, or rather, our skies. And that is what we found when we finally breached it.”

My eyes remained transfixed on the inky darkness of that image as Emma spoke.

However, no sooner did she finish were we then thrust into an entirely new scene.

And before I could even speak, we were introduced to the next manaless firespear — a squat, disproportional, inelegant looking dart-of-a-craft. Painted in refuse-green and adorned with a symbol consisting of a hammer and sickle; the symbols of peasants.

The color combination repulsed me.

The inelegant design proved to be even more of a revolting sight.

The four protruding extensions of the central spire were far too large, far too bulky, especially when considering the squat, almost laughably short conical structure it was beholden to.

This was not even mentioning the utilitarian plinth it sat atop of.

The tower sat there, its umbilicals bellowing heavy smoke which gathered at its base, condensing into plumes of thick white-grey fog that obscured much of the platform.

Then came a series of obnoxious bell tolls, beeping second by second until finally—

“1957. The launch of the R-7 Sputnik PS, carrying atop it a payload of the same name. One which would come to redefine our relationship with the void which hangs above.” Emma began, her voice barely making it through the terrifyingly loud explosions that thrummed throughout the sight-seer. 

I watched in discontented awe as the four massive metal clamps chaining this behemoth to the plinth finally let go, and as this watchtower-tall giant of iron and steel took to the skies; bathing everything behind it in the raw fury of this manaless facsimile of dragon flame.

Part of me wasn’t at all impressed.

But that part of me was very much still bound to crownlands expectations. 

It hadn’t yet registered that this really was a purely manaless endeavor.

It still, in some vain attempt at holding my disbelief together, considered this to be magical.

But I suppressed that for now.

The logic in the operation of this oversized firespear… was understandable.

As such, I continued watching, my eyes narrowing as I saw what appeared to be a point of critical failure for the would-be tapestry-breacher, as those visually offensive side-elements detached in one fell swoop, spinning and tumbling wildly in mid-air, creating an almost cross-shaped pattern as it fell back down to earth.

“Heh. So this truly does take after the shimmerstars it so wishes to mimic.” I managed out under a derisive breath.

“That was intentional, Ilunor.” The earthrealmer argued.

To which my eyes immediately narrowed as a chuckle soon followed. “That? Intentional?!” I chastised.

“Yes.”

“What purpose does losing major elements of your craft possible have—”

“Staging. To put it simply, Ilunor, the higher up you want to go, the more fuel you need to use to get up there. More fuel means more systems and storage mediums to carry it in, meaning more weight needed to take into consideration—”

“Which means more fuel is required to compensate for the weight, which means more weight…” Thalmin pondered aloud, the earthrealmer nodding in acknowledgement at his observations.

“This creates a problem where reaching the void in a practical and efficient manner becomes a near-impossible task. That is, unless you divide up the flight into different stages.” The earthrealmer continued, bringing us unnaturally closer towards this firespear, at the key point where its four accessory components were discarded. 

“This way, you can shed dead weight as you go, using as much fuel as you need for each stage, and ensuring that you need less fuel to burn for each successive stage as the craft becomes ‘smaller’ and ‘lighter’ as it were.” 

The scene continued, as this now disproportionately long and spindly body too soon began breaking up, leaving only its conical tip to lazily meander upwards, leaving its spire to spiral back down towards the ground below.

At which point… did I finally notice it.

The curvature of the globe.

Set against not any glowing seas of endless energy… but instead… nothingness.

The void, as Emma was so insistent on calling it.

It was at that moment, following this ludicrous explanation, of some of the most outlandish proclamations… did it all finally make sense.

Earthrealm… was a dead realm.

A manaless realm that through some abominable stroke of happenstance spawned life.

It stood to reason then, that in such a realm, with no mana to speak of… that the primavale may simply not exist.

That the rich expanse of infinite possibilities, of pure fullness and energy, was simply nonexistent here.

Instead, there was only darkness.

Darkness and emptiness.

Absolute nothingness.

It made sense now.

It all made sense.

“You are the children of a dead realm.” I managed out, interrupting Emma’s long-winded explanation of this chrome metal ball that had since emerged from the conical head of the broken-apart firespear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I… did not even notice the wispy darkness or blueness of your tapestry. Nor was there any… tear as we made our way past what should have been a clearly-defined boundary. It was brilliant blue in one moment, and in the next, a gradual gradient towards black.” I described, laying my observations out to bare.

“I don’t think I’m following here—”

“You have neither a tapestry nor a primavale. Your realm… floats amidst nothingness. Your people… are born from nothing. And now… you seek to return to the nothingness which surrounds you.” I took a deep breath, my eyes transfixed not only on that chrome metal ball, but the globe it now floated above. “Why? What about this dead nothingness draws you to expend ludicrous time, effort, and resources on attaining access to it?!”

“The stars, Ilunor.” The earthrealmer responded frustratingly calmly. “The stars and more significantly, the other realms which float amidst this same nothingness.” She pointed at a distant body, one which the sight-seer helpfully highlighted.

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Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Thacea and Emma’s Room.

Thalmin

“The moon is a realm?!”