The air was crisp and clear. A few high cirrus clouds feathered the sky, as a skylark swooped by in song. The lightness of the moment contrasted with Zapwell’s heavy steps as he set off down the road for what might be his last time. As his mind turned to worry, his face suddenly brightened. It was his favorite time of day, when the first rays of the sun touched the gleaming marble tower at the heart of the city.
He remembered fondly the first time he’d seen the gleam of the Talqamar shining over the city that shared its name. He’d ridden north with his parents to visit the markets on the south side of town, the same markets he passed now as the storekeepers busied themselves opening up their stalls. They’d come to buy a compass for his oldest sister, Mishka, to celebrate her acceptance into the Blackguard. He was proud of his sister, but when asked about the unit he’d like to serve in when he grew up, all Zapwell could do was stare at the shining tower to the north. He’d never before seen something that had so ignited his curiosity, so filled him with awe and purpose.
Zapwell’s skin warmed in the reflected glory of the morning sun, as he left the residential and market district. He breathed in the sweet, fresh scent of the river. The sound of wood slapping on wood, the snapping of rigging, and the jovial banter of sailors mixed with the sound of water sloshing along the shore. The mix of Mann and Nature and Technology felt somehow right here, natural. Perhaps it always had.
Striding down the boardwalk, his footsteps echoed off the water below and he could hear the splash of two otterbears at play. Zapwell thought, as he frequently did, of the early days of this city. What had drawn Menn here of all places, along the rivers of central Mytharbor? Before the gleaming tower of the Talqamar stood on the hill of a nearby island? That hill was where some of the earliest philosophers gathered and debated and, over time, discovered the laws of mathematics. What would they have thought if they knew what would be built upon the foundations they laid? Were these islands on the outskirts of town empty then, or had the first homes and taverns started to sprout up, growing outward to support the population centered on that early place of learning?
Zapwell’s feet caused the footbridge to creak as he crossed the small stream separating the island housing the Scriptorium. So much had changed since those early days. Where once there had been an empty hill upon which wise Menn observed the stars and debated Great Truths, eventually a town had grown up, and the horizon was lost. A tower rose up, high above any potential construction, and their pursuit of knowledge rose to new heights as well. The records they made eventually needed a house of their own, and so the Scriptorium was built.
Zapwell had studied there for years. After leaving home, he had practically lived among the shelves. The tomes within held the collected wisdom of hundreds of lifetimes. Inventions before their time, that worked but were hardly understood, could be found interspersed with texts debating metaphysical truths about astral planes and the records of the soul. Zapwell would lay in the gardens out front and ponder what he’d read as the birds darted through the branches above. He’d daydream of one day having his own inventions recorded within, his own writings preserved; a form of immortality independent of any soul.
He smiled as he crossed the next footbridge. Perhaps. Perhaps today was the day that youthful dream would come true. Normally he would have turned east, crossing a final bridge to reach his lab at the Institute for Ingenuity and Innovation. Not today. Today he turned northwest, towards the tower that had been calling him on since that first morning so many years ago.
Standing atop the tower of the Talqamar he looked out over the gardens and buildings below, and the Twin Rivers embracing the city. The sunlight reflected off the tower, illuminating life in the only city Zapwell had ever felt known. He stepped into the frame of his prototype glider, and his assistants secured the straps. His eyes lingered on the roof of the Scriptorium, then turned south to the forests of his childhood. He leapt, shining, into the future.
