The Ghost of Horace Tower

That night was cold.

Really, really cold. Almost as if the existence of heat itself didn't exist in the world, like a desolate wasteland where everything froze. Most might shiver, others might complain, some even die, but such worries don't faze the Vyurborne warlord as he scribbled countless characters and letters on an unrolled sheet of paper. He dipped the pointed end of his wings into a bowl of ink and continued writing, scratching sound growled with the whistling of the breeze.

The night was dark, but the moon stood very still above the almost frozen world, and so light penetrated through the stone chamber, the office of the Vyurborne warlord, Times Newel Roma. There's a pile of papers on the right side of his table while six bowls of ink sit leisurely on his left. Others would often gasp in awe or chuckle in mockery upon hearing General Times' left-handedness, but he never really cared about them, neither his condition nor the naysayers. He just wants to work in peace, and if it means isolating himself away from the whispers of the world so that he could find harmony while working, then he would scour the universe to find the most isolated area in the world. However, as far as his knowledge goes, no such thing exists, so he puts up with the next best thing.

The Horace Tower.

A desolate and abandoned structure at the highest peak of the Skystead Mountain Range. Nobody wishes to come near Horace Tower: some say it's too cold, others speculate that the phantoms of the now-extinct Horace Family still scour its halls, most just say they hated how far it was from the nearest town.

General Times scoffs at everyone's petty squabbles regarding the tower.

Ghosts? Mere tales parents tell their children to shut them up. Besides, General Times is aware of the rumors surrounding him and this tower. It is no stranger to him that the people of the Keep found his self-isolation bizarre, and some even call him cruel for bringing his family with him. Since no one had seen them for a long time, people had speculated that the Roma family and every noble family with them had perished in Horace Tower, but no one from outside cared enough to check. Soon, people forgot about the tales of the Horace Family's ghosts. Now, people speak of what they call the "true ghost in the Horace Tower!" And General Times knew that those tales muttered in hushed voices are about him and his cold demeanor. It has come as a shock for many when they saw General Times return from his battle against Bismarck alive and bleeding. "Ghosts bleed?" Some children ask out loud. But General Times is too exhausted to care. He tells himself that their words don't faze him, but it does; it most certainly does. And their words hurt. But he has no time to care. He has an empire to rule; he has no time for tales and babbles.

What about the cold then? The Vyurbornes are born to withstand weather far harsher than the ones surrounding the tower. Why must General Times complain now just because the weather just so happens to be harsher in this part of the Keep? So how about the issue of the tower's inaccessibility from the outside world?

Well…

If Times was dangerously frank, he would agree with everyone's sentiment. It is impossible to get through Horace Tower without flying, and even that proves to be an awful challenge. He would have to trek a dangerous path first to relay his orders, buy groceries, and find some weekend leisure with his family. He didn't hate the tower, but he sure as hell believes that the damn thing looks ugly as all hell. Ugly. Desolate. Disgusting, even. It smells bad without Lord Dominion's presence, it looks bad without Lord Dominion's flowers, and it's dark. And sometimes, the darkness stings General Times' heart.

But he stays; he works here, and he lives here with his family and some other nobles who wish to get to his good side. The halls truly are unbearably cold, and the howling of the wind sometimes sounds like the whispers of the dead. And even after decades of working in those god-forsaken halls, General Times still cannot get used to the transcendental horrors the lonely hallways send through his mind.

But just like what his father says, they must keep going. It's their duty. Still, others would often ask the Vyurborne warlord why he insists on staying here. And they have the right to be confused. But General Times is used to hearing such a question repeated a million times.

To prying strangers, General Times would say his professional answer: a figurehead of his stature must live in the most highly secured facilities to ensure his safety against foreign spies or, worse, assassins.

But the truth is that he just cannot stomach the idea of leaving his father alone. And when he returns, General Times wishes to be the first man to sound his father's fanfare,

That's right. General Times does not find pleasure in admitting it, but he treats the every-youthful God of Love and Beauty as his father. Dominion is the man who raised him after the untimely death of his parents, and he would do anything in his power to repay his god with everything he has. Even with his life. General Times would never confide it to anyone, but he loves Lord Dominion with all the fiber of his being. But he also hates him as well with every nerve underneath his skin. He finds relief in knowing what the god is up to, and he finds joy in imagining the day his father would see his adopted son die.

General Times chuckled as he continued working on his stacked paperwork. His wounds haven't even healed yet, but he's already here busying himself with work, work, work! And he knows that he cannot stop anytime soon. If his wings stop moving, Skystead Keep may very well collapse tomorrow. Nevertheless, a refreshing grin still painted his countenance, a known rare occurrence for the Vyurborne warlord. But his smile slowly faded as a painful memory came crashing down his mind.

It had been ten years, three months, two weeks, and a day since Lord Dominion left Skystead Keep. A god leaving his domain for a few years is no rarity in the world, but leaving for more than a decade? Even the other gods would condemn someone who would do such heartless things to their empire. But General Times didn't complain. Never! He believes in his father. He knows that Lord Dominion often makes the sketchiest and bizarre orders that often fail miserably, but he never once, not even for a second, doubted his father's desire to make the world a better, more beautiful, and brighter place. The god's absence is questionable, but there's no doubt in General Times' mind that he did it for the betterment of his realm. However… A decade? General Times is not getting younger anymore, and he's tired. Very. Very tired. And the dark, cold, ghastly Horace Tower does not, at all, comforts his weakening resolve. The Vyurborne warlord knows that he will reach his limit anytime soon, and he fears that he might not be around when Lord Dominion returns.

He closed his eyes, sighed, and stopped the movement of his wings. He needs to rest. General Times perked his body upward and tilted his head backward; looking down for so long had compromised his lower back and neck. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a tree root creeping onto the ceiling.

There it is, the evidence of his father's disappearance: the Essence of Beauty.