The Abyss

Taboo.

That which ought not to be done. That which is forbidden.

And so, the story begins.

Far, far beneath the surface lies a sprawling prison. It is known as The Abyss. It bears the same name as the mythical homeland of the devils, the land once sealed by all the world's great sages. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, they're all made of the same gray stone. A stone so smooth the world blends together. The lights are sparse, only dimly illuminating each cell. Each cell is closed through magic, leaving no door for a prisoner to hope to escape from. They never leave their cells; they are never let out. In the main hall, where desperate men go mad, there is constant wailing.

However, deeper inside The Abyss, the world grows even darker, yet eerily silent. The most, if anything, are soft and constant murmurs, or the rattling of chains, carried around the echoing halls. The Abyss is made to hold those who break Taboo. In the main hall are those men who erred, those who still have a mind to lose. Beyond that are the solitary cells. The cells to hold the monsters who are truly mad.

One soldier, a guard new to his post, turned around by the maddening appearance of the prison, wanders down the shadowy hall. There’s a constant murmuring, an indistinct sound just loud enough to fill his head completely. It sends a chill down his spines. Yet even as he shivers, and as he turns his head to look down each direction of the hall, he cannot find the path back to where he belongs. There is no light to guide him. And so he must continue to wander.

He wanders in front of a cell, as though he was drawn to it, spellbound. He cannot see inside of it, but he can hear words clearly. There’s a young, gentle voice within the cell. Distorted by the echoes it sounded frightening, yet right before the soldier the voice is clear and tranquil. He almost forgets that the owner is a madman, somebody who cannot be let loose. The voice shows no sign of being affected by the prison at all. Yet the last incarcerated prisoner had come five years prior. The guard already feels like he’s lost something in a short few weeks. He shudders at the unfazed voice when he realizes, and only then does he realize what was being murmured.

“—Bu I Pro.”

The guard is unfamiliar with magic. The prisoners cannot use it, and if they could, it wouldn’t be wise to give them skilled mages as sacrifices. However, soldiers still end up trained to react in certain ways to spells. In the case of the element “Pro,” indicating explosion, soldiers are to scatter. The voice spoke so firmly that the guard nearly forgot himself, nearly forgot the safeguards in place, and ducked for cover. As he quivers, he sees a small flash within the cage that fizzles out slowly. In that tiny moment of light, the guard saw a shadow smiling back at him.

The guard hears quickening footsteps, metal echoing against the stone, a sign of one of his comrades. Though he can leave, he still finds himself transfixed in front of the cage. The voice, though so gentle, overpowers the footsteps, growing louder as they approach.

“Go forth now, my dear guardsman. You know the spell. Take it to one of the petty mages above and have them conduct my test. Return to me with results good or ill, I require it.”

The guard feels something hard slam against the sides of his skull. The footsteps disappear, the other guard having arrived and pressed his gloved hands over the new soldier’s ears. The senior guard, without moving his hands, drags his junior away. The young guard doesn’t know what to make of this, but allows the other guard to bring him back to the light. As the pressure on his skull is relieved, the younger guard begins to be chastised by the older.

“What were you thinking, you fool!” The young guard, startled, responds.

“I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“I don’t need your apologies, I need you to understand! That was the Forbidden Sage you were gawking at!” The younger guard feels his knees go weak. The older guard catches him as he begins to fall.

“Th-the Forbidden S-Sage? H-hey, s-sir, am I g-going to die?” The older guard lifts junior up and holds him on his shoulders.

“Don’t listen to those gossips. Those sorts of rumors don’t help anybody. You won’t get cursed just from a short conversation with the Forbidden Sage. But all those freaks in that block, they’re allowed to use just enough magic to keep themselves alive. We don’t go near them unless we need to. Otherwise they might get one over on us and kill us with even a tiny spell.” The younger guard returns to quivering as he remembers the small flash. “You got lucky this time.”

“Y-yes sir.” The young soldier begins to mumble to himself. “If they’re so dangerous, why even bother keeping them alive?”

“I don’t know. The only ones who do are the Warden and the Council.” A new voice answers the older soldier.

“Indeed. The reason’s not important. Your duty is to the lesser charges.” The older soldier salutes the moment he hears the voice.

In front of them, a lantern hanging from his hand, is the Warden of The Abyss, the lone mage keeping the magic of the prison alive. Unlike the armored guards, the Warden wears his dress uniform, the deep purple and gold trim of the Magic Corps, the short cape on his back signifying his rank. His features are softer than when he was on the frontlines, but he’s no less imposing than he was in his prime. His brown hair and stern face are still striking even in the dark. He carries himself with the dignity befitting his position, the one who seals the Abyss. He smiles affably at the two guards under his command.

“Got yourselves turned around, did you?” The younger soldier answers him, though still rattled.

“I did, sir.”

“Well, get yourselves back to your proper places. It’s dangerous for anybody to be too close right now.” The two soldiers stand and salute the Warden. As they walk off, the Warden begins to venture deeper into the prison.

As he walks into the hall containing the worst criminals of The Abyss, the Warden hears a chorus of joyful voices racing up and down the hall. As he walks closer, the voices seem to notice him. An older voice, deep yet light, responds to his presence with snark, but not any real disdain.

“What, Warden, is it that time of the month again? It’s Jazzy’s turn this time, isn’t it?”

The Warden stops in front of the cell of the Forbidden Sage. He shines his lantern inside. The warm glow illuminates the sage. Inside the cage is a young man, just barely old enough to be called such. His skin, kept from the sun for so long, is a sickly pale. His long black hair is shaggy as it spreads across the stone floor. He wears a black coat, jagged at its ends, that even in his youth could not be taken from him. If he had grown somewhere else, then perhaps he would have grown to fill the coat. Yet in his cage it still hangs loosely over his frail body, as it had when he was but a child.

“No. Libarius Canto Grandis Magice, you have been summoned by the Council—” The voices all go silent. Then a voice begins to shout, unlike before, genuinely angered.

“Damn you, Salvo! How dare you! Should we all start heaping on the praise now! About how wonderful it is that you ghouls could wait until he came of age before you brought him to the torturer’s lashes! Ought we celebrate how disciplined a stance it was to take only his leg and his youth up until now!” The Warden smiles gently, though only Libarius could see it, before he addresses the other prisoners.

“Calm yourselves, allow me to finish. Now isn’t the time for anger. This is another time for us to celebrate. My dear gentlemen, if all goes well you can soon return to your lonely and hopeless existences.” The next voice to speak can hardly believe it.

“Salvo, you can’t mean…”

“Indeed. It is as you think, my dear gentlemen. Our petition has at last been heard.”

The Warden reaches out a hand towards the Forbidden Sage, sitting on the ground. Responding to his magic, the bars of the cell vanish. Behind him, a glowing doorway appears. The chains binding the Forbidden Sage to the wall of his cell fall to the ground and clatter. He speaks, his voice still unchanging.

“Will I be able to return to my research now, Salvo?”

“I don’t know. I can’t make any promises. But, Libarius, I truly hope that you will be able to live freely. Let’s go.”

Without taking the hand extended down to him, Libarius stands up. He stands and he walks somewhat clumsily, being so deeply out of practice, but he can manage it well enough. Salvo, worried for the boy, stays close to him, prepared to catch him if ever necessary. Together they walk towards the glowing doorway; towards freedom.