A Spotlight of Fate

  Once upon a chance, a mortal dreams of an unusual place.

  She swims through the strange golden void, looking at the old half formed walls. Despite the eerie space, somehow she felt at home.

  Too focused on looking at the mysterious engravings on the walls, she didn't notice a gloved hand make it's way on her shoulder.

  "Ah!" She gasped, looking intently at it.

  The gloved hand shushes her and points deeper in. She's too far to make out what it's pointing at but whatever it is it's glowing, bright and pure.

  She follows, curious despite herself, the hand holding hers as it leads her deeper in.

  The void around her shifts as a pale path is revealed along with what she's being lead to.

  A door, a simple violet door with golden knobs.

  She could feel something calling her just behind the door, something grand and yearning and above all else, curious.

  She puts her hand on the doorknob--

  "Already sleeping?"

  Edith fully wakes up as she hears the voice of her elven supervisor, brown hair tied to show off her pointed ears. Looking around, she sees that she fell asleep in the tower's library, among her now crumpled notes and smudged ink.

  "Do you need more coffee? This afternoon is supposed to be your turn for observation." Her supervisor reprimands, stern.

  "I deeply apologize." She bows.

  "Remember, what we're doing is important and dangerous. We can't be careless for even a second, half blood." The supervisor sneers.

  "It'll never happen again, I swear." She needed this job, she needed to know--

  "It better not." The supervisor sighs and looks at the hourglass." Now go. I have much important business than babysitting a short ears."

  Edith wants to snap back that she's not even that important- that she wasn't also a part of Project Prometheus-- that she's also a spare.

  Not like Edith was truly imp--

  But instead, Edith walks into the basement of the tower but not before wearing a heavy silver-lined full body suit.

  She passes by her co-workers, all busy with their own tasks, a hive of ants working hard. She passes by the artifact corridors, the potions storage room, the posters about greatness that annoyingly litter every spare wall the tower has and the sentries stationed ominously.

  Inside the simple basement, there is a chair and a small desk where an energy scanner is in place, idly charting high numbers as it scans the artifact blocked by protected glass.

  A small golden beating heart.

  No one knows anything about it other than it has a high vigor measurement. It's appearance hasn't matched any rogue artifacts or any recorded apparitions.

  And most importantly, it is the only recorded artifact that is Yellow. There's not even a single recorded apparition that is Yellow, so a found artifact with barely any information gleaned only gives a glimpse to a potential mystery.

  The hours pass by as Edith watches it closely, trying to see if it would do anything, even just irregularly beat, literally anything new!

  But it does nothing for the remainder of the watch other than continue beating, elusive as ever.

  She wasn't deluded enough to think that she'd be the one to figure the Heart out but she couldn't deny that she at least wanted to be there for the discovery.

  Curiosity Begets Curiosity

  Edith's shift at watching the Heartstone may be done but her work wasn't. Though unlike her coworkers working on secret but undoubtedly important projects, this research is hers and hers alone.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  She calms herself down as she starts. Deep breaths, refocus, don't get too excited, just keep reading.

  She'd been having eerie dreams like this for months, ever since she'd gotten the job.

  It always ended like that, her before the door but never seeing what was behind it.

  The gloved hand was new though and she hoped that it'd help her narrow things down.

  The Ruby Tower had the best resources available for her research. A watchtower for passive, easily contained artifacts, but containing a wealth of information from retired knights and the scholars that wrote down their words.

  At first, she'd been researching if the dream was anything in the first place. Even discounting the fact that Milya was a level II dead magic zone, dreams were very rarely infiltrated by apparitions. She'd also gotten a purifying and an examination afterwards, but they weren't able to determine what it was.

  She'd given up on skepticism after it kept reoccurring after every single day. Impossible it might be, it was definitely something magical.

  So she decided to focus on finding out whatever it was that was reaching out to her.

  Honestly, she wondered about it, why her? She's smart sure, but she's no genius. Prestigious it may be to work here, she was mostly stuck doing grunt work for the real geniuses as they figured everything out, a cog in a machine piloted by so-called noble scholars.

  Still, apparitions in general including ones that had that kind of power were always dangerous, even if they were donors. She'd copied enough statements of retired knights to know the grim details.

  Even so, she was intent to find out whatever was inside that door. She couldn't explain why other than curiosity, but it felt right.

  So here she was reading all she could find on doors and dreams, doors, and dreams.

  In the weeks that she's been researching, she still couldn't find anything that resembled the door from her dream.

  Doors are as old as the peoplehood's longing for a home so there's many stories about them but whether they're just stories or held truth to them was as for now unknown.

  But all these different doors always led to somewhere.

  The where these different doors led to varied depending on the account.

  Within these pages, there was a door of a different violet where riches beyond the imagination are held, a door of white that contained knowledge that would permanently change the person and a door of the darkest of pink where nothing but nightmares reside.

  There was also another subject of interest, the color. Mysterious Yellow with no recorded encounter in all the years of searching and searching and searching. Sure, folk tales existed but it was just that folk tales with little to nothing corroborating them.

  She'd always loved a mystery and this might prove to be one of the biggest ones of the century!

  She almosts rips a page off a basically falling book apart in her excitement.

  She calms herself down as she carefully puts the book down. Deep breaths, refocus, don't get too excited, just keep reading.

  While she didn't want to entertain the idea for too long, the more she looked and turned up with nothing, she wondered if this was something unknown to everyone.

  Despite the possible and very real danger, the possibility made her giddy inside.

  After all, it could be the discovery of the century! Her mind was still giddy, racing with possiblities, despite her attempts to compose herself.

  And maybe, just maybe, she'd be good enough to investigate it herself.

  Colors of the Mind

  Within the oceans of color that make up oneself, something that does and doesn't belong swims its currents.

  Exploring yet not manipulating, the golden words looks at the many swaying colors and many dark oceans and understands, understands concepts smaller than it's own and the world.

  Simply put, the little persons running all around are questions hunting down answers, theories that aren't even close to being true and hypotheses that feel more like coincidences strung together than anything real.

  The shining truth was inside a place slowly going mad, interpreting mere shadows formed on a cave wall.

  But despite their differences, they all dream of what is unreachable, moths who desire to steal fire not knowing that it'll burn them alive.

  The little stage knew that all of them were just curious, much like it. Despite the greed in their eyes, it was delightful in a way, being surrounded by persons just as curious as it was.

  But one of them was different, a moth that is the fire down to the essence, indigo, orange and violet swirling around her mind.

  Despite how they all want the limelight, the chosen desperately needs it and yet resignation fills her as her violet eyes stare at the flame.

  So the creative majesty wondered, curious, at what she would do to have shining lights beam on her.

  Would she be able to create and breathe life much like the one watching her?

  And at the end of it all, will shining embers prove too much for her?

  Everyone yearns to be seen and the chosen was no different, but at least she wasn't greedy just hungry for it.

  And so the script is written, the cues are in place and the lights beam as the show starts.

  The first actor just has to step into the stage.

  Tink, tink, tink

  Sounds of excited whispers spread all throughout the tower, news of the machine nearly being ready and all the hypotheses that could be tested! The hundred year debates that will oh so finally come to an end!

  They were so close to having such beautiful blazing knowledge in their hands.

  Such was the air, anticipation intertwined with blind madness that everyone could feel.

  Even Edith Brightwing was also in such spirits, for she'd finally found something.

  An old ritual from followers of the Nightingale Up Above to commune with their donor in their dreams. It was made to be easily drawn and adjusted for religious purposes so even she'd be able to use it for her own.

  A nightingale feather, an essence of midnight, a drawing of the door and a dreamcatcher.

  And of course, a silver owl pendant as a precaution.

  All relatively easy to acquire ingredients, such was the Nightingale's caring nature. The only thing she'd have to be careful about is when it comes to the essence, too much can cause one to get trapped in a dream forever.

  She puts the picture on the center of the dreamcatcher, the feather hangs on the strings and the essence sprinkled on the dreamcatcher at last step.

  With the ritual prepared, she goes into a dream that is not a dream that is not an ocean that is a swirl of pure gold.

  A Moth's Flight

  There is a yellow path in the darkness and it is to be followed with no hesitations.

  The chosen knows this and follows everything to the letter.

  The gloved hands point to her destiny, leading her directly to it.

  The simple white door is almost glowing, like whatever's beyond it is excited.

  Opening the door, she is greeted with a familiar chamber within the Ruby Tower.

  The silver chamber is similar to the rest of the chambers there, covered in white charms and silver wards. A tell of it's mysterious inhabitant is that these are the only wards inside as the other artifacts have more intricate and more colorful wards.

  Inside, the Waxen Amygdala continues to beat, like it always does even as the wax continues to drip at it's own heat.

  "Do hold onto your mask, chosen." An old yet youthful voice echoes around them.

  "Who...?" The chosen looked around, trying to make sense of everything.

  "Today, I am yellowed parchment, the pressure of lights and a guide to a glory no one will see."

  "Interesting..." She looked transfixed before visibly pulling herself together. "Why am I here?"

  "As one chosen to reach great heights unseen by many." The room dissolves into starlight and nebulas and golden thread. "Our manner of flight is different, ours seeks truths held dearest."

  "What exactly does that entail?" She asked, unable to keep intrigue out of her voice.

  "Creation, designing your own heart and seeing, truly seeing." The space ripples with golden eyes for just a moment, gone immediately like they were never there.

  "When do we start?" It could tell that she doesn't fully understand what it wants but is too curious- too wanting to ignore or be truly cautious against it.

  "Such strenuous efforts should only start after much needed rest, for too much exhaustion will leave you unfit to fly, much less seek."

  The dream starts to collapse, the familiar shifting and turning into golden strings.

  "But I give you this, the mark of a pact."

  The long golden strings push a simple domino mask onto the chosen, who holds it tightly.

  "Do hold on your mask, chosen."

  With those echoing words, the dream ends, the curtains rise and the play begins.