Chapter 1098: Ripples of an Era
Along the distant northern frontier’s coastline, the sea breeze swept steadily across the broad, even expanse of Pier One. Large shipments were neatly stacked in the adjacent storage yards, while massive engineering machines—powered by arcane engines and weight-reducing runes—hustled busily nearby, transferring cargo onto the loading platforms.
A towering clock tower stood sentinel at the edge of the dockside district. Its enormous mechanical face gleamed brilliantly under the sun, intricate copper gears clicking and turning behind a crystal-clear window. The hands, adorned with elegant filigree, slowly inched toward the dial’s zenith. Below the tower, a large arcane network terminal at the plaza’s edge broadcasted a public transmission. Hovering above the terminal, a holographic projection displayed a live feed from Conference Hall 112—dignitaries seated beneath solemn monolithic pillars. From offscreen came the voice of a commentator narrating the scene.
A stately ship was moored at the far edge of Pier One. Its hull was forged of gleaming metal, with arcane wing-like fins angling upward. Runes shimmered faintly across its surface, slowly pulsing with light. Above the vessel fluttered the banner of the Ogure Tribal Nation. This ship hailed from the distant Whitefeather Docks, designed and built by the Northern Harbor Empire’s shipyards. Its owner was a wealthy merchant from Timberline, who had already made several voyages between Timberline and Northern Harbor. Now, the ship was preparing for its final journey of the week.
Further along the coast, more merchant vessels of all sizes were docked at various piers. Their flags bore the insignias of Cecil, the Ogure Tribal Nation, or the Holy Dragon Principality. Some showed clear signs of retrofitting on older hulls, while others were sleek, modern ships built from scratch. Regardless of design, they shared common features: tall arcane wing fins and protective systems designed to withstand harsh sea conditions and elemental assaults. A few even bore the sacred wave emblem of the Storm’s Might, signaling that naga technicians would accompany them for protection. Once these “official vessels” entered the open ocean, they would form the core of trade convoys, providing early warnings against chaotic turbulence.
On the plaza near the docks stood a short, gray-haired gray elf. Dressed in a tailored black suit and a custom high-crowned top hat, he gripped a hardwood cane etched with silver patterns. He craned his neck, eyes fixed intently on the holographic projection beside the clock tower. Despite the chill sea breeze of Northern Harbor, the elf nervously loosened his collar and adjusted his tie again and again, his excitement barely contained.
Many others shared his focus, standing along the plaza’s edge, eyes glued to the distant broadcast. Local merchants from Cecil, gray elves and orcs from Ogure, dragonborn from the Holy Dragon Principality, and even a few mercenary-dressed elves and mountain folk of unknown affiliation—all had gathered. They came from all corners of the world, from diverse races, yet all were captivated by the same unfolding moment.
“Almost there… almost there…” the short gray elf muttered anxiously, tugging at his collar for the umpteenth time.
A black-haired woman dressed as a sailor glanced at him and gently chided, “You’ve said that six times already. Be patient, sir—we’re all waiting.”
“I’ve been waiting since yesterday!” the elf replied, shifting from foot to foot. “Damn it, I was even thinking of pitching a tent here… but the sheriff won’t allow it.”
The woman said nothing, instead looking toward a nearby intersection where a patrol of Northern Harbor’s constables had just halted. A red-haired female officer on horseback cast a wary, watchful gaze in their direction.
Further off, dockworkers who had been chatting idly began to disperse, heading back toward the wharves.
Above the plaza’s arcane terminal, the holographic feed switched from an indoor studio to an exterior shot of the conference hall. The commentator’s voice rose with excitement: “Just moments ago, the vote to launch the Circumcontinental Sea Route and enact the related maritime trade legislation passed unanimously…”
A brief silence fell over the plaza, then someone shouted, “The bill’s passed! The bill’s passed!”
The sailor woman narrowed her eyes as cheers erupted from all directions, accompanied by hurried shouts. The short gray elf screamed and dashed off, shouting to an assistant standing at the crowd’s edge, “Mark! Get the loading started! Immediately—start loading! The cargo manifest is approved!”
“Quick, have Nina fetch the new transit permits… no, damn it, I’ll go myself. Nina, head to the customs office—signing can begin now!”
The holographic flags shimmered brightly in the sunlight as the commentator continued rapidly, “With the bill’s enactment, existing trade licenses will expand sixfold, and the oceanic routes will open to private merchants. Northern Harbor’s traders have been awaiting this news for days…
“Next on the agenda, the heads of state and plenipotentiaries will vote on establishing the Food Committee. This special measure aims to provide essential aid to our new allies—the dragons of Talrond—and to lay the groundwork for mutual support among alliance members in addressing global hunger…
“Now, let us turn our attention to…”
Though the broadcast went on, half the merchants in the plaza had already dispersed. Many had waited too long for this moment, while those who remained had varied reasons—some focused on other international decisions to come, others were local onlookers caught up in the excitement. The last small group consisted of dragonborn travelers from the Holy Dragon Principality. Their eyes, some unconsciously shifting into the vertical pupils of their draconic heritage, remained fixed on the screen, seemingly unaware of their transformation.
The black-haired sailor woman watched quietly. Though her attire suggested she was crew from a nearby merchant ship, she remained still as the crowd thinned. She kept a careful distance from others, maintaining a low profile.
“A maritime trade bill passed, and the merchants are elated… This is unprecedented. People from all nations and races suddenly united by a single message from thousands of miles away, a message that stirs the fates of so many…”
She murmured softly, her voice unheard by those nearby. A small protective amulet hung beneath her neck, its runes flickering faintly in the shadows, emitting a subtle, secretive pulse.
“Everything is unfolding naturally. The world’s course is shifting—an upheaval never recorded since the founding of the Great Library. Nations are being guided into a collective of interests. This change happens on a grand scale, yet it touches the smallest details of ordinary lives… Has such a shift ever occurred before? In the old Great Library’s records? Ah… that no longer concerns us.”
A slight stir rippled through the dragonborn gathered in the plaza. The sailor woman lifted her eyelids briefly to glance their way, then lowered them again. “This time, even the dragons of Talrond have become part of the vortex… They have finally broken free from their cradle and returned as members of the mortal nations. The fate of the dragonborn has changed drastically. Now, two kinds of dragons exist in this world… The future? Uncertain. And we will never be part of it.
“It’s time to end the transmission—I know. But there’s no choice. This place is riddled with devices monitoring unauthorized magical fluctuations, and I lack the protective runes to evade the detection towers for long. That’s all for now. Until next time.”
The black-haired sailor spoke softly and swiftly, then stepped toward the nearby intersection. As she moved, a sudden flicker passed over her form—a black cloak had appeared over her shoulders. Shadows deepened beneath the cloak, swallowing her face, as if she had become a void within the fabric.
No one noticed when she vanished. Moments later, a patrol of constables arrived near the arcane terminal. A tall officer frowned, scanning the quiet plaza, while the red-haired female officer beside him voiced confusion. “Strange… The monitoring office reported detecting unregistered magical activity right here.”
“What kind of activity?” the tall officer asked gravely. “How long did it last?”
The red-haired officer’s expression turned serious. “They said it resembled a communication spell—fine magical fluctuations pointing north. It lasted only a few seconds and was very faint.”
“North? That’s the land of those mages. Beyond that lies the legendary dragon realm… or perhaps the coastal peninsula of the Holy Dragon Principality,” the tall officer mused, stroking his chin before shaking his head. “In any case, report it up the chain. We may need to increase the scanning frequency and sensitivity of the city’s magical detectors. This is the most critical moment since Northern Harbor opened. There could be spies trying to infiltrate and cause trouble.”
Across the northern strait, a vast island lay quietly amid swirling ocean currents. Here stood a secluded, independent realm—a sanctuary for mages who lived in peace and solitude, untouched by the world. From this hidden land, they observed the nations across the narrow sea, watching the tides of history rise and fall.
Along the island’s rugged edges, several cities clung to the terrain. Dark-hued towers and towering walled houses stood like sentinels atop the coastal cliffs. Beyond these cities stretched vast, untamed forests, wild plains, and valleys that seemed never to have been tamed. No roads connected the cities to each other or to the interior. Further inward, near the island’s southwestern heart, an ancient and majestic city rose on a highland surrounded by dense woods and river valleys.
This city boasts more towers than any other—an endless forest of mage towers, varying in height and age, scattered across every inch of land. Between these towering spires and the city walls, countless houses with slanted roofs and dark facades crowd the narrow spaces, stacked so densely they seem to pile upon one another. The entire urban landscape gives off an almost impossible sense of layered depth, as if the city’s layout defies geometry itself. Buildings overlap in ways that shouldn’t exist in three-dimensional space—layer upon layer, cluster upon cluster—challenging the very fabric of time and space, pushing the limits of the world’s physical laws…
Only the most skilled mages or those with unique gifts can discern even a faint pattern amid the chaos, finding the true path to any given tower.
This is the City of a Thousand Towers, the capital of the Violet Kingdom—the highest sanctuary and center of arcane learning in every mage’s heart. For centuries, the accumulated magical energies have warped the city’s temporal and spatial structure, allowing towers far taller than the city’s walls should support to rise within them—true to its name.
Like the rest of the Violet Kingdom, the city is surrounded by dense forests, rivers, and valleys, untouched by development and seemingly disconnected from the outside world by any road.
At the city’s core stands the grandest and most imposing mage tower: the Gloom Court. Perched atop a highland unreachable by any road, it remains shrouded in eternal shadow even under the brightest sun. Its massive main tower intertwines with numerous smaller spires, its walls painted in somber shades of gray, black, and purple. Crowning the structure is a floating array of violet crystals, arranged like orbiting planets. Above them, a faint purple magical vortex swirls, and at its center, a ghostly eye occasionally flickers into view—the Eye of Night, tirelessly watching over every inch of the Violet Kingdom.
Inside the highest chamber of the Gloom Court, Prince Nash Nart stepped away from the communication crystal platform. The young man, with black hair and dark eyes, moved to a bulging window that overlooked the city, his expression thoughtful.
“…Even the dragons have broken free from that nightmare of a shackle… The changes this season has brought to civilization have truly surpassed everyone’s expectations…”
Nash Nart murmured to himself. Suddenly, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness behind him.
The figure’s gender was indistinct, their form veiled in a mist of hazy energy. Bowing respectfully, they reported, “My lord, the mirror is unstable. Some shadows are seeping through from ‘the other side.’”
Nash nodded. “Restless because of the recent changes… Understood. I will handle it personally.”
(Friend’s recommendation: The Immortal of the Aztecs—a niche but fascinating read set during the Aztec civilization in the Americas, following an immortal time traveler who tries to develop the Aztec Empire. Worth checking out if you’re interested!)
(End of chapter)