It's Been a While, Serne
A vast magic circle was inscribed across the wall of the Ivory Tower's tenth floor.
The most mysterious spell in the history of mankind.
The greatest unsolved mystery of the magical world, never fully deciphered even after a thousand years.
This was the marvel that scholars praised in hushed, reverent tones: a technique from the Age of Magic capable of moving an entire hundred-story tower to any location its caster desired — Relocation Magic.
The gate incident three hundred years ago had damaged the circle along with everything else, and restoring it had long been the Ivory Tower's most cherished project. After pouring in untold time and capital, they had finally, stubbornly, succeeded.
"Heat transfer values are nominal!"
"Double-check the purification water levels!"
The tenth floor of the Tower of Time housed the Relocation Magic Restoration Center, where Ivory Tower scholars bustled in frantic circles, adjusting the circle's settings in preparation for the optimal jump.
Among them was one man.
"This is the Relocation Magic Restoration Center! This is the Relocation Magic Restoration Center! Please respond!"
He clutched a communication crystal, straining to raise a connection, and finally shook his head in defeat.
"Director! We've lost contact with the Tower Master. I suspect he's left the tower..."
The man in charge of the center stiffened.
"That can't be. He was on the hundredth floor, I'm certain of it."
"The Tower of Time's barrier is blocking all outside communication lines, so that's the only guess we can make... We'll keep trying!"
The Director let out a low groan of frustration.
What on earth is happening up in that tower right now?
Then — vroom! hummm! — a different communication crystal began to ring. The scholar who had been trying to reach Bermude, Master of the Ivory Tower, snatched up the new crystal at once.
Crackle.
"This is Serne Eindark. Respond."
The scholar who received it — and indeed, every scholar around him — went taut with tension.
It was the daughter of the Ivory Tower's Master, the notorious official heiress: Serne.
"I-It is an honor, Lady Serne! This is the Relocation Magic Restoration Center!"
"It's my father's order. Proceed as planned — relocate the Tower of Time to Kizen's Roke Island."
The scholar waved frantically behind him, and his colleagues scrambled back to their stations. He bowed over and over as he answered.
"Yes, my lady! We will carry out the order at once!"
Watching from a distance, the Director's eyes narrowed.
Why was the daughter giving orders instead of the Master of the Ivory Tower himself?
And more than anything—
How.
How is Serne still alive?
The scholars here knew only fragments of the truth, secondhand and cut into pieces; most of them simply followed orders.
But the Director was a confidant planted personally by the Tower Master, and he grasped the whole picture. He knew that the original plan had been to sacrifice Mayrin — and that Serne herself had volunteered to cast the Absolute Seal in her place.
"One more thing. How are the relocation coordinates for Roke Island currently set?"
"They're set for the Kizen campus."
"Change the coordinates. A little way off from the campus there's an area called the Forbidden Forest. Retarget the coordinates to the central zone of the Forbidden Forest."
The scholar blinked in puzzlement, but for a man at the bottom of the ladder, questioning the decisions of his betters was a luxury. Do as you're told, and the ones above will shoulder the consequences.
"Understo—"
"Hold on. I'll take it from here."
The Director stepped forward and accepted the crystal himself.
"This is Hession, Director of the Restoration Center. Lady Serne."
"Ah, it's been a while, Hession."
"Where is the Master of the Ivory Tower? Why are you the one issuing orders, my lady?"
"Girdon went on a rampage, so Father left me in command and went down to deal with him personally."
Her voice was the very picture of composure — which only made Hession more suspicious still.
But with this many people listening in, he couldn't very well come out and ask: What happened to the Frozen Clock? How are you even alive?
"My lady, our connection with the Tower Master was suddenly severed."
"He must be in the middle of a battle. Girdon is hardly an easy opponent, after all."
"Our center answers only to the Master of the Ivory Tower. When he returns, we will resume contact with him and—"
"A mere dog my father keeps."
The Director flinched.
It was only a voice from a communication crystal, yet her tone carried an oppressive weight that brooked no defiance.
"Because Father shows you a little fondness, you forget your place and dare to bare your teeth? When I come down to the tenth floor myself, shall we see whether you can still hold your head up and squawk then?"
The scholars around them shot the Director terrified signals to stand down.
Everyone in the Ivory Tower knew Serne's cruel temperament well. Stories abounded of people who had crossed her and vanished without a trace, only to turn up later as broken husks in some squalid slum.
"...Business is business, my lady."
The Director was trembling too — but the situation was far too suspicious. He could not, absolutely could not, back down.
"Director Hession."
"Yes."
"Report to me in person. Come up to the hundredth floor at once. Use of the magic-circle elevator is forbidden. Crawl up the stairs on all fours like the dog you are."
The Director's face burned crimson.
His subordinates averted their eyes, at a complete loss — they wanted no part in this kind of power struggle.
"That's an order."
"...Understood."
The Director set down the crystal and began to walk.
"And you — the one who took the call earlier?"
One of the scholars scrambled over in a panic and snatched up the crystal.
"Y-yes, my lady! Please, give the word!"
"I hereby appoint you Acting Director. Succeed in relocating the tower, and the position will be yours for good."
His eyes flooded with greed.
A chance to join Serne's faction — the faction whose future inside the Ivory Tower shone brightest of all. He could not let this slip away.
Without so much as a glance at the senior crawling off on all fours, the scholar cried out at the top of his lungs.
"I will give it my utmost!"
"Prepare the tower for relocation and stand by."
"Yes, my lady!"
Fitting indeed for a necromancer specialized in the mind — she didn't even need her feathers, wielding the organization and its people with nothing but her tongue.
The center moved at Serne's command.
"Output raised to maximum!"
"Purification spell ready to activate!"
"We can move it at any moment!"
The Acting Director nodded and raised his crystal to report.
"This is the Relocation Magic Restoration Center! Lady Serne, the moment you give the order—"
KRAKOOOOOOOM!
A wave of scarlet lava came surging in and incinerated the scholar with the crystal, leaving not a trace behind.
Hssssssaaaa—!
The lava swallowed the tenth floor in an instant, coiling around every scholar touching the magic circle and wiping them from existence. Those who screamed and fled, those who were still drawing their wands — all of it was drowned in molten rock and melted away.
"H-huurgh!"
Director Hession whirled around in horror.
In the blink of an eye, the entire floor had become a sea of lava. From the molten tide lapping up the walls, something like a serpent's head flicked out its tongue and swiveled about, surveying its surroundings.
"Hession."
The lava roiled and boiled, and from within it a man emerged.
Bermude — Master of the Ivory Tower.
"M-Master!"
"The plan has gone awry."
Bermude spoke.
"Simon Polentia, the Student Council President of Kizen, has taken control of the Frozen Clock."
"Is... is that true?"
"From what I just overheard, it seems Serne was cooperating with him. Serne is a traitor."
He turned his seething eyes up toward the ceiling.
"...What will you do now?"
"There's nothing to decide. The Frozen Clock is not a power to be trifled with. If Simon Polentia truly absorbed it, he'll lose control and run rampant before long — he won't be able to contain it."
Bermude turned his head.
"When Simon Polentia goes berserk, we drop the tower onto Roke Island just as planned, with that ticking bomb left to fester inside the Tower of Time. When I give the signal, activate the Relocation Magic on the original coordinates and get out."
He tossed the Director a new communication crystal. Hession caught it and nodded.
"And if Simon Polentia does not go berserk — or if Serne kills him before he can."
Bermude murmured, his eyes glacial.
"Then we eliminate everyone connected to this incident. The guests, the brats from Kizen, the Ivory Tower Kids, the guards and scholars working in the Tower of Time — every last one of them."
"Th-then..."
The Director's voice quavered.
"Lady Serne...?"
A spine-chilling smile curled across Bermude's face.
"No matter how this ends, I will rip the heart out of Serne's chest with my own hands and chew it to pieces."
FWOOOOOOSH!
His entire body stained itself in lava and erupted skyward. In an instant he smashed through the ceiling and rose to the eleventh floor, then the twelfth, the thirteenth, the fourteenth — blasting through floor after floor as he climbed.
...Truly magnificent.
Wherever the Master of the Ivory Tower passed, a colossal tower of lava was taking shape in his wake.
The hundredth floor.
Only the roar of boiling lava came through the crystal Serne held. Before long, the crystal on the other end must have been destroyed too — the connection died completely in a burst of static.
"What a shame."
Serne clicked her tongue.
"A little longer and it would have worked."
"The Tower Master made it inside faster than we predicted. Nothing to be done about it."
Simon spoke, his hand resting on the hilt of the Greatsword of Ruin, planted in the floor.
"For now, I've sealed off the spiral staircases across the whole tower. Buying time, at least, should..."
Serne shook her head slowly.
"A man like that will simply punch straight through the ceiling."
While the two of them traded plans, the Ghost of Time stood apart, sunk in thought, his expression grim.
Simon glanced back at him.
"Oh, right — how did it go? Can you see the tower's future now?"
"Hmm? Ah — aye. It seems the darkness is lifting, little by little."
"That's a relief."
"More to the point, lad. You're wielding the Frozen Clock's power — are you truly certain nothing's wrong with your body?"
Simon shrugged.
"Apart from feeling a bit dizzy and queasy, I don't think so? Same symptoms as when I used this technique before."
"...Hm. If you say so, I'll take it as a mercy."
Simon rose from where he'd been crouched, still gripping the greatsword's hilt.
"First I'll seize control of the dungeon and stall him however I can. Serne, while I do that, focus everything you've got on recovering."
Serne shrugged.
"I'll try."
That she was alive at all after unraveling the Absolute Seal was itself a miracle — but without her support here, they couldn't hold out for long.
"I'll block him with the dungeon first, and if that fails, I'll bring out the legion if I have to—"
Wham—
Suddenly Simon's vision flipped upside down. The world splintered into three, and he crumpled to the floor, retching.
"Simon?"
"...Just as I feared. No one could channel power that vast without something breaking."
The Ghost of Time hurried over. Simon collapsed onto one knee with a heavy thud.
"Let go of the sword — now! The problem isn't controlling the dungeon anymore!"
"I-I can't...!"
Simon's eyes bulged as he gasped for breath.
"It won't come off! It's like my hand is fused to the blade...!"
KEEEEEEEEEN!
Golden rings unfurled one after another across the Greatsword of Ruin. The blade groaned and cracked, spitting golden sparks.
"Simon?"
"Stay back!"
Simon bellowed.
He wrenched at the sword with every ounce of strength he had, but the golden rings slid down its length and clamped around his wrists like shackles. Within moments they had claimed his head, his chest, his arms and legs.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick!
The sound of a clock's hands rang out from every inch of Simon's body.
"Ghh — AAAAARGH!"
Simon thrashed, screaming in agony. Through the wild tangle of his hair, his two pupils had twisted into the shape of clock faces, their hands beginning to turn.
"The Frozen Clock! It's gone berserk inside the sword, and it's pouring into Simon!"
The Ghost of Time shouted.
Pier reacted at once.
"Boy! Can you hear me? Use your thought-stream! Divert part of the burden to me!"
Pier reached for Simon with his thoughts, but the Frozen Clock's rampage was too much even for a Legion Commander's iron will to withstand.
"Grraaagh!"
GRUMBLE. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The entire hundredth floor began to shake. Stone fragments rained from the ceiling; fissures spidered across the floor.
"There's no help for it! Use the Dungeon Master's authority — destroy this tower, this instant!"
The Ghost of Time roared. Simon looked at him through the pain.
"But if I destroy this tower—!"
"There's no other way! Stay like this and it won't be just me — every one of you dies!"
"Simon!"
Nngh—
Simon clenched his teeth and shut his eyes.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick!
He couldn't gather even a sliver of strength.
Destroying the dungeon wasn't the problem anymore — simply holding onto his own mind was becoming a struggle.
Crackle. Fzzt.
As though caught in some impossible glitch, Simon's body was bleaching into shades of gray. Every pained twitch of his shoulders, every movement spawned a flurry of afterimages.
"Ah!"
Serne's eyes went wide.
The afterimages grew larger and worse, and then Simon's body began splitting apart into many strands.
She heard the cry of an infant. There was a small boyhood Simon, a pure-hearted country boy chopping wood, a Simon from his first year at Kizen. There was even a Simon older than the one standing here now.
"Simon's time is—!"
This couldn't be allowed to continue. Serne abandoned her recovery, plucked a feather, and moved to intervene.
"Wait."
"—!"
A third party's voice froze Serne mid-motion.
Cra-ack!
Skreeee—
A violet magic circle flared up from all directions and clamped down on Simon's condition. The rampaging chaos in his body began to stabilize as though it had all been a lie — the infant Simon, the mountain-village boy, the whole cascade of apparitions fading away until only his true body remained.
And a tall man.
"This is the Tower of Time, isn't it? I knew it would come to this."
Serne's eyes went round as saucers.
The face was unfamiliar, yet somehow known.
He looked almost exactly like Simon — but the air around him was nothing alike. And then there was that power, impossible to fathom.
...This man.
It wasn't a matter of merely being strong. Her whole body prickled with dread; gooseflesh crawled up her arms.
Uncharacteristically, Serne felt the words slip out of her, drained of their usual poise.
"Who... are you?"
"Ah."
The handsome man with sharply chiseled blue hair looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise — then softened into a gentle smile.
"It's been a while, Serne."