Book 1: Tower City Ch 1

Chapter 1:

Time passed, and the names of the original seven families faded into obscurity, while Vaneesha’s name remained etched in memory. Tower City flourished as a beacon of innovation and progress, with each generation instilled with values of love and mutual respect. However, as the years marched on, the city began to forget its roots. Signs of decline emerged.

The youth no longer revered their elders, dismissing them as outdated and foolish. The haunting melody of the tower grew stronger. People, careless and desperate, began entering its confines in secret. Reports surfaced of lost wagons, sunken ships, and tragic accidents in the theaters. And yet, the seven families remained insulated from the tower’s call, shielded by their wealth and status—at least for a time.

Two thousand years after Vaneesha walked into the tower, Tower City stood at the brink of its twilight. The moment Vaneesha had feared—the tipping point of the city's demise—had arrived. The current leaders of the seven families gathered in a private chamber before an important gala. Their faces were tense, their once-unshakable confidence fraying at the edges.

One of them had a troubling prophecy to share.

"Ethan, I know you believe in these tales completely, but don’t you think it’s time we admit the stories of Vaneesha are just that? Stories," Darius said, leaning back with an air of skepticism. The ship merchant had little patience for superstitions—or for much of anything, really. His arrogance had only hardened with age, growing sharper as his business began to fail. And he knew exactly what the problem was. The only thing that could save his trade now was money, and he had none left to give.

Ethan, the leader of security and master of fine metalworks, kept his expression steady. "The prophecy states that everything will end when things look their bleakest. Don’t you think we’re already there?" His sharp gaze moved across the room. "Iyashin, how many more people are sick now compared to when you were a child? Ferro, how many wagons are breaking down? Alaric, how many of your pubs are struggling to stay open?"

The room fell into a heavy silence. They all knew the truth—things were unraveling. Ethan had noticed every problem creeping through the city, and he had said nothing. If the heads of the families didn’t raise their concerns, he stayed out of their affairs. But he could no longer do that.

The streets were filling with the sick and the homeless. Crime in those areas had surged, and even Ethan had begun to run short on guards; he couldn’t protect every corner of the city. He faced an impossible choice: protect the roads to keep trade routes safe, or protect the people.

He chose the roads. Without steady shipments, the city would collapse even faster. Every time raiders or bandits attacked Ferro’s wagons, that was one more load of goods the city desperately needed—and would never receive.

Ethan continued, “There are also the fires spreading across the land. I don’t know what’s causing them, but it’s becoming a serious problem. My guards haven’t found anyone responsible, and yet the fires keep coming. Things are bad.”

Alaric spoke up. “Isn’t there something we can do about the fires?”

“My guards have managed to put many of them out,” Ethan said. “And each time, within moments, they come back.”

“Water?” Darius suggested. “That always puts a fire out for good.”

Ethan shook his head. “They drenched a burning bush until it was dripping. It still came back. I didn’t believe it myself, so I went to see. I saw it with my own eyes.”

He let out a small shrug, glancing around at the people he had known all his life—men and women alike. These were the only ones, besides his wife and daughter, who ever saw him let the mask slip. “This is why I have to speak with you now about the prophecy.”

No one could speak to the fires beyond the city. They could only speak for Tower City—and for their own livelihoods.

Zorica, brawny from years of labor on the farmland, finally spoke. "What do you suppose we do? I won’t deny it—the livestock aren’t producing like they used to. The crops are less fruitful."

What Zorica did not reveal was the full extent of the farm’s decline. The crops were worse off than ever before, barely producing anything of worth. Stalks withered before they could bear fruit, leaves shriveled under a sky that refused to nourish them. The soil, once rich and fertile, now felt lifeless beneath her fingers. More and more, entire fields simply refused to grow.

The livestock fared no better. They were dying faster than they could reproduce. Calves were born weak, their legs unable to hold them up. Chickens lay fewer eggs, their bodies too frail to sustain them. The pigs grew thinner, their usual robust figures wasting away despite the feed she provided. The air around the farm was thick with decay, the scent of loss lingering like an unspoken truth.

Zorica knew. She felt it in her bones. The land was failing. And soon, there would be nothing left.

"There is nothing to do. The city is fine. This prophecy of doom is childish," Darius scoffed.

Ethan wasn’t deterred. "If you were to hand your business over to your son right now, do you truly believe he could keep it running? Maybe even improve it?"

Darius's smug expression faltered for just a moment before returning with full force. "My son is more capable than any of your own children."

Before Ethan could reply, Sophronia, who controlled the entertainment sector, cut in. A glass of red wine nearly drained empty rolling between her thumb and finger. "What do you suggest we do, then? If you’re so invested in these prophecies, surely you have some understanding of what they mean and how to act on them."

Ethan hesitated, his posture slumping slightly. "I only recently discovered this prophecy. I’ve been piecing it together, trying to interpret it. But we have spoken before about the children inheriting the family legacies and we have waited long enough. This prophesy and us waiting too long to make the children grow up, they just need to be dealt with now. We can’t wait any longer."

Iyashin, ever the man of science, frowned. "‘Trying’ to interpret it? You don’t even know exactly what it means?" His distaste for uncertainties was evident. His distaste for the sick and ugly was less known.

Ethan exhaled. "Prophecies are not science. They are mysteries of truth. But here’s what I do know—we are experiencing more failures than ever before. The numbers have tripled in our lifetime. And our children, the ones meant to inherit our legacy, have not taken their place. They should have by now, and yet… they haven’t. The prophecy speaks of a ‘generation of destruction’ that will not inherit."

A heavy weight settled over the room. The words struck too close.

Ferro interjects, “To inherit they must marry or we formally hand the business to them in ceremony. Marriage is the last thing my daughter will do. She has been very adamant about that.” Ferro’s health had declined over the last two decades. He reserves much of his energy for the moments when he has no choice but to take part in something more than desk work.

Darius admits, "Our children do need to grow up."

Alaric nodded thoughtfully, he knows how much his daughter would love to marry Darius’s son. "My daughter and your son would make a great match, Darius."

Darius smirked. Alaric’s comment was just the opening he needed to push forward his plan. "I say we strengthen our families by marrying within the seven. My son will choose a bride, and we go from there."

What Darius didn’t say was that his true ambition lay with the land trade business controlled by Ferro, not the bakeries and pubs that Alaric had to offer. He had no interest in sacks of flour or barrels of ale—those were trivial compared to the vast network of wagons and caravans that moved goods across the region. The land trade was power, influence, and control over supply routes that stretched far beyond Tower City.

Alaric’s businesses, while profitable, were small in scope. The city could burn, the taverns could empty, and the bakeries could close their doors, but the need for trade would never cease. As long as people needed goods transported, as long as merchants sought new markets, the land trade would remain the true lifeblood of commerce. And Darius wanted it for himself.

Ethan frowned. "Marriage won’t fix the problem of them needing to grow up. People get married all the time—it doesn’t suddenly make them responsible. If they don’t want to inherit, marry, or work the family business all will be lost before their children have a chance to inherit. There would be nothing. The prophecy speaks of a choice. ‘The seven must remember to cherish and choose.’"

Zorica crossed her arms. "So our children must choose—to inherit the family business or abandon it?" Zorica’s heart twisted, she knew exactly what her son would choose. She felt she would rather die than watch him give up on everything she tried to keep alive to give to him.

"Not exactly," Ethan corrected. "Vaneesha’s blessing was about love and unity."

Iyashin, contemplative, added, "Yes, but we know Vaneesha’s blessing gave us what we have. She ensured our ancestors’ prosperity, and we are the wealthiest people in the land. If her blessing is to continue, we must protect what we’ve built. That has to be what it means—to keep our businesses intact."

The only knowledge Iyashin possessed came from an old, faded book passed down through generations of his family. Its brittle pages spoke of Tower City’s deep-rooted obsession with beauty—how its people valued appearances above all else, even their own health. The text offered little guidance on healing, containing only scattered mentions of remedies. Instead, it overflowed with elaborate techniques for preserving youth, enhancing allure, and perfecting one’s image.

In Kenshin’s own handwriting, the truth was laid bare: he’d stopped recording health remedies because he believed he no longer needed them. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined what his lineage would become—people sick, alone, homeless, and dying, while his own kin let it happen.

Iyashin had studied the book countless times, memorizing its passages and internalizing its message. To keep the blessing strong within his family, he believed, he had to maintain the city's beauty. If Tower City remained radiant, its people flawless and desirable, then prosperity would follow. In his mind, the true sickness wasn’t physical ailment—it was ugliness, and his duty was not to cure, but to conceal.

Ethan recited the prophecy's final words. "‘The beginning will loom when the generation of destruction will not inherit. Catastrophe will be paramount. It is unavoidable and inescapable.’"

Sophronia paled. "Unavoidable and inescapable. What does that mean?"

Ethan’s voice was quiet but firm. "It means we have already lost."

The truth settled into the room like a slow, creeping tide.

"We must try something," Alaric said at last. "We make them choose. We give them a day to decide, take their place in the family, or walk away. No going back."

Darius, eager to regain control, pushed his idea once more. "And they marry within the seven. It will unite us."

No one agreed. No one openly disagreed either.

Ethan pressed on, ignoring Darius’s insistence. "They have one day to choose. The following morning, they must live with that decision, no matter how hard it will be for us to watch."

“Why should we push the children so suddenly like this?” Usagi, Iyashin’s wife, asked.

“We’ve coddled them for too long,” Ethan replied. “By their age, we had already taken over our family roles. It’s time they grow up. If we want to ensure this prophecy has nothing to do with our children, we have to make them choose now. And I see no reason to wait any longer.”A murmur of agreement swept through the group.

"Tonight, we celebrate," Sophronia declared. "Tomorrow, we prepare for the worst."

As they walked out toward the gala, Zorica sidled up to Ethan. "This will not be easy."

Ethan sighed. "It never was."

Elsewhere, Alaric sought out Darius. "I was serious, you know. My daughter should have your son. Tell him to consider her—strongly."

Darius hesitated, unwilling to make promises he couldn’t control. "I’ll tell him."

As Darius walked, he found Ferro and matched his pace. "I think our children should marry. Both of us are in trade. It makes sense."

Ferro considered it. "I can talk to her. Explain the benefits. Just know, she doesn’t want to marry."

Darius scoffed. "Explain? My son is the best match any woman could have. Just tell her. I’ll handle my son."

With that, he strode off.

Ferro exhaled, watching him go. He couldn't stand Darius. But maybe—just maybe—this marriage could save their family. Maybe the idea of marriage wasn’t as far-fetched as it initially seemed.

Or maybe, if Ethan was right, nothing would fix Tower City.