In his time, he had witnessed many great things. Yet none could compare to this...

The stairs—Killian realized—were indeed not an exaggeration. They stretched far higher than he had anticipated—the end of them impossible to see as each step led further into the darkness above.

At least this place was not a hoax, as most claimed. That much he could be thankful for, at least. The tower existed, though it was nothing like he had imagined.

He'd pictured great walls with shelves upon shelves, filled with books and ancient tomes.

Here there was... nothing. Nothing but stairs that could lead to anywhere. Enchanted, they said this tower was. Killian remained unsure whether or not he wished to find out if that particular rumor was true.

With a sigh, he stepped onto the stairs and up, up, and up he went.

Killian felt as if he were in a loop. It all looked the same. He could've sworn he'd seen a specific crack in the wall thrice now.

The uneasy feeling of something creeping behind him did not ease even as he picked up the pace. "Get a grip. The beast lurking in this tower is a myth," he scolded himself for acting like a child scared of the monster in the closet. Perhaps it was a myth or perhaps like all other things he had believed untrue until he found this tower, it was not.

A trained warrior he was, yet after thirty minutes of walking up the endless path, he had to take a rest. He sat upon the stairs, his gaze falling below. It looked like an endless pit—no sign of the doorway he came through or anything other than the blackness replacing where he had started his climb.

Drinking some water, he started walking once again.

He lost count of the minutes—though it felt like hours—or the number of stairs when his eyes finally met something other than emptiness, and he found himself in a room. From the looks of it, he was on the top floor of the tower—it only had two, as far as he and the stairs were aware.

A large window lay ahead, showing the setting sun over the horizon. Four hours, then. Four hours that he had spent going up those damned stairs.

He was doing it for Aunt Leira, he reminded himself. The woman who had kindly taken him under her wings after his parents' ship drowned in the Atlantic. She who had taught him the ways of the world. He was doing this for her.

"Greetings," Killian called out, silently praying to the gods that this was not another dead end.

"I am Killian Parrell." He looked around at the empty space around, his jade eyes slowly adjusting. "Nephew to our Great Queen Leira."

"I request an audience with the Keeper of the Grand Sedia," he recited the words of the palace's scholar. "I seek help for the Queen, for she has fallen gravely ill, and death's claws wish to take her away from our realm."

"Oh great scholar, I have traveled far and wide to find thee." He bowed deeply at the empty space before him. "Show thyself to this feeble man who begs for thy gracious help."

The words sounded even more ridiculous as he said them out loud. He had laughed at the palace's scholar when she gave him the paper with the words written on it. But alas, Killian was desperate to save her aunt. She was dear to him, for certain, but he had other reasons as well. She had no heir. If the illness truly took her and she died, the weight of the crown would befall him, and he wished upon no such thing.

Perhaps that made him a selfish bastard.

"I came but not without an offering." He reached for his belt, which had a small pouch attached to it. He placed it on the creaking wooden floor—the sound making him feel as though it would give way right beneath his feet—before taking a step back.

"The finest sapphire," Killian said, gesturing at the pouch with his hand. "Yours for the taking in exchange for a cure."

Silence was what answered him.

"By the Gods..." he muttered under his breath, already frustrated.

He took a calming breath and spoke up once again, "Keeper of the Grand Sedia, hear my words and lend me your aid."

"Please," he added, his jaw tightening.