SYMDF 32

Chapter 32

“…No way.”

Recalling how Emily had gazed endlessly at the tower, Ion let out a weary sigh. The troublemaker.

Walking the corridors of the banquet hall, he turned, offering Baron Lissian’s daughter a gentle smile.

“I’ll go find Emily. I think I have a guess where she might be.”
“Can you manage alone, young master?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve visited the Imperial Palace plenty of times. I won’t get lost. Stay and reassure my mother. Don’t let her worry.”
“…As you wish, young master.”

Once he saw her return to the ballroom, Ion headed out into the gardens. Quieter than the banquet hall, but with people lingering here and there, he slipped carefully toward the outside.

He narrowly avoided acquaintances and, once clear of the hall, quickened his pace, eyes fixed on the tower in the distance. Despite walking long, it seemed never closer—it loomed directly north of the palace’s central gardens, vast as a small mountain.

Checking ceaselessly that no one watched him, Ion slipped into the deserted path beyond the ruins of an old temple. Beyond that, there were no lights; the way lay dark, forbidden.

At the archway that resembled a final gate, Ion whispered a spell—summoning a faint ball of light in his palm. He pressed on slowly, wary of traps or people.

Weeds rustled underfoot, sending a chill into him.

“Would Emily really have come here?” Ion muttered. Emily was timid. Venturing somewhere even he found ominous seemed unlikely. But if she had… he must pursue.

He passed into the thicket until, at last, the tower itself towered above.

“Emily? Emily! Are you here?”

His voice came out as breathy whispers, absorbed into the silence. No reply.

He drew a long breath and looked up. The tower’s vast circumference made the top invisible, swallowed in the sky’s dark. His body went rigid at its oppressive size.

Rustle.

Spin—he turned. But nothing. Animal? Or wind in weeds. His nerves taut, he began circling, searching for the entrance.

It was worse up close; the building reeked far more than any mage tower. The forbidden ground lay tangled with weeds waist-high. Sweat prickled his palms. He cast another light orb, doubling the illumination. The moss-stained walls glistened in its glow.

“Emily? Answer me if you’re here.”

And then he found the entrance.

The door was heavy iron, surprisingly well-kept despite the tower’s age.

“Rebuilt… perhaps?”

For a moment his fear eased, replaced with curiosity. Ignoring the frail warning sign nailed there, he pressed the chill metal door. Inside was darker still than outside moonlight.

He glanced back. The ballroom was a long way off; adults would fret soon. Still, heart pounding like an explorer’s, Ion stepped in.

Creak—Creak.

The hinges’ cry cracked the silence. Pale light from his sphere touched webs and dust. Still he left the door ajar, venturing within.

This isn’t for stars, he thought grimly. Not this vast.

He completed a circuit of the first floor—empty, barren, cobwebbed. But the spiral stairway tugged him upward. His pulse climbed.

Three empresses leapt to their deaths here…

He wiped sweat from his shaking hand and began to ascend.

“Emily…”

He couldn’t truly believe his timid little sister might be here. He’d scold her if she was—but here he was, lured on by his own curiosity.

Pant… pant…

Stairs endless, lungs burned. He used a light vitality spell. His breath eased, but his legs still ached. Finally halting at a landing, he cried louder:

“Emily! Emily, it’s me! Brother’s here!”

Nothing.

He finally accepted—it was impossible. Emily wasn’t here. She should not be.

Still, he called once more.

“Emily…”

Only his echo whispered back.

She must have already gone back… Then I should too. There’s no sense in risking more.

He steadied, exhaled, and began to descend—but paused. His eyes caught faint glimmerings higher in the black.

WHOOSH—

A cutting gust. Panicked, Ion recoiled—forgetting stairs.

“Ah—!”

His footing slipped, his body spun, he flailed. Arms shielded his head instinctively as he tumbled—until he thudded onto a landing.

Groaning, he pushed himself upright.

“Tchh… what was that?”

He looked. An ice arrow jutted from the step where he’d stood. White frost spread around it.

Not a trap. A spell. Which meant—

His hair prickled. Someone is here.

Ion tried to move, but pain lanced his ankle—sprained. He collapsed again.

He intends to kill me? Because I trespassed…

His hand shook, hardly able to summon spells. He glanced up the stairs—darkness swallowed all. But then, at last, feet stepped into the light he had conjured.

His heart thundered violently.

“Who are you?”

The question shocked him—the voice was not deep, not grown.

“…?”

It was the voice of a boy, about his age.

And then the figure stepped forward. A boy clad in shadow-black hair, with eyes bright blue like frost.

Footnotes

• Tower of Wailing: Forbidden spire at Imperial Palace’s north, tied to imperial tragedies. Nickname born from three empresses’ suicides, including the first queen of the current Emperor. 
• Forbiddance (금지): Certain palace regions are classified as inaccessible by imperial decree—trespass itself is near-suicidal. 

Ice Arrow: Proof of another’s presence—suggesting not simple haunting but active warder or occupant, long thought impossible.