Garn takes a long look at the entrance to Tartarus, specifically at the deep gashes now prevalent around the entrance. The entrance, which had been two large well-enchanted doors before, has been completely wrecked. Less than half of the left door is still attached to the entrance while the rest is destroyed.

Near the entrance and strewn across the floor are limbs and metal. The two [Spear Guardians] are no more. Their bodies had been brutally sliced apart and their expensively enchanted weapons and armor is nothing more than scrap metal.

“Hmmm, I do hope they learn that such insolence will not be accepted,” his lady Ambrosia exclaims while the metal spider crawls up her arm and into her cleavage. The battle had been quick and one-sided, as he had expected.

“Indeed, my [Lady], though I do, at the very least, must inform you that the coven heads will be very displeased with the destruction of property.”

Ambrosia licks her lips, “They are always displeased about anything, but I do not care for their thoughts right now.”

She begins walking into the building.

“Right now, I wish to speak to the Panoptic and not when those old turds allow it.”

Garn nods and follows his [Lady] like a shadow. She glides forward with intent, the age-old enchantments becoming stronger and more noticeable as they travel deeper into the spire.

Eventually, they are met with stairs going both up and down. At the bottom is where most of the prisoners are held, entrapped in a field of magic that keeps them alive and siphons their mana to power the defensive enchantments of the upper chambers.

His [Lady] begins to ascend and Garn obediently follows. His higher senses allow him to hear the moans and screams of pain of those underneath, but he gives them no mind.

They travel upwards, Garn’s ears and eyes twitching as his gaze looks to the heavily enchanted cells and the prisoners which are housed in them. Each prisoner looks at them in curiosity, many beckoning both Garn and his [Lady] to come near. His lady ignores them while Garn frowns.

Each of these prisoners is as strong, if not stronger than himself. Many of them are older than even his [Lady], but within the cells, the enchantments are all-powerful. They cannot escape and if they attempt to, the tower will take their lives.

Tartarus, after all, is completely automated.

-----

After a good near thousand steps and countless cells, they arrive at the top floor and a door.

At the top of the door are the words Panoptic.

His [Lady] steps forward and opens the door. She enters.

Garn follows inside and is immediately met with an enchanted glass screen that partitions half the room. On one half is him and his [Lady]. On the other is the Panoptic.

The Panoptic is, to those that first see her, an impossibly old woman. She sits hunched in a simple chair, set in the middle of her side of the room. Her skin is as pale as parchment and her wiry frame makes her look much like a corpse.

As the Panoptic moved and she raised her head, Garn could see her empty eye sockets.

Still, he can't help but feel a shiver travel up his spine at the empty gaze. A look that seems to see not just himself but through him, seeing the whole of his existence. His instincts constantly warn him of extreme danger.

“Ambrosia, you are looking rather refreshed. It seems you very much enjoyed the little fight with those two. I see you even gained a level in your [Sanguine Reaper] class.”

The words are heard but not spoken. The Panoptic’s body had decayed so much that her ability to move her jaw was lost long ago.

His [Lady] steps forward.

“You had me awakened from my slumber far earlier than I would like. What is it you offer and what is it you want in return?”

The Panoptic’s gaunt lips pull up into what could be considered a smile. Her words begin to echo.

“Little Ambrosia, tell me, what is it that I truly desire?”

The question completely catches Garn off as well as his [Lady]. The Panoptic has never known to desire anything.

The Panoptics arms tremble and then begin to move. The cracking sound being generated is similar to bones breaking.

“Long ago was I captured, and here I have been held since the era of the Demon Wars; here to be used as a glorified [Diviner], [Augur], or [Oracle]. My survival is only allowed for as long as I am useful to the covens.”

Ambrosia crosses her arms.

“What do you offer and what do you want?” the [Lady] repeats herself.

The Panoptic does not answer, instead, she does something that Garn had never heard her be able to do before.

The Panoptic stands, age-old dust falling from her lap. His [Lady] is surprised.

“Freedom, little child.”

The Panoptic steps forward, one of her arms touching the enchanted glass.

Upon her touch, the glass vibrates briefly before melting into a liquid that slowly flows onto the floor. It starts from where her finger touched the glass and expands to the entirety of the wall. The glass pools and spreads across the floor, hardening with surprising speed.

Garn’s heartbeat quickens as his primal instincts wish to come out. His fur stands on end as his body prepares to react. Not even the combined strength of the coven leader could break the glass, but the Panoptic had done so with but a simple touch.

His mistress, to Garn’s shock, does not act defensively but merely looks surprised.

“This tower no longer holds you,” Ambrosia says, her eyes staring down at the melted glass.

“What freedom do you actually desire?” she asks after a moment.

“To be free of his gaze.” Panoptic exclaims slowly, her body now standing straight.

Ambrosia tilts her head, “Who is he?”

The Panoptic looks up, into the eyes of Ambrosia, her expression unreadable. However, the feeling that is given off is one that Garn’s instincts cannot fully comprehend.

“Odin.”

Garn swallows as he considers who the Panoptic is and what she represents. She is a [Fate Weaver] and one whose level now exceeds over four hundred. She is arguably one of the highest leveled beings on the entire planet.

Her class allows her to see the future and weave events for that future to happen. The idea that Odin, a god, could somehow have his all-seeing eye blocked should be considered silly. Only death would stop Odin from gazing where he pleases.

Still, the Panoptic does not lie, which is all the more troublesome.

Ambrosia smiles, her eyes glowing a bright red.

“Where is he?” Ambrosia asks while licking her lips, “What do you want me to do?”

Garn suppresses a shudder as he watches the Panoptic smile with no teeth. Her gaze turns towards the wall, which so happens to be south.

“His fate is tied to my freedom. His success will allow me to roam these lands unimpeded.”

Ambrosia’s gaze turns south as well.

“Where is he? I will assist him,” she says quickly.

The Panoptic turns around and slowly strolls back to her seat, the glass liquid on the floor begins to swerve back into position, reforming its original enchantments.

The Panoptic sits and takes her usual customary position upon her chair.

“Patience child, he grows safely. He is not ready for you yet, not as the world is right now.”

The Panoptic pauses, her heading dropping forward.

“Strengthen yourself and those who follow you. Your time is limited. The world will change soon and this land will as well.”

__________________________________________________

Ambrosia gazes at the now silent Panoptic. The whole situation was… intoxicating.

Hope is something that had been absent from her life for so long. She is old, though not as old as the coven leaders, whose ages go as far back as the Demon Wars, but old enough to consider the current generation of elves young.

“My [Lady], what do you wish to do?”

Ambrosia turns to Garn, her eyes analyzing him from head to toe. The man had been ready to fight the Panoptic, a grave mistake considering how easily she had broken out of the cell.

“First, do not speak of the Panoptic being able to leave her cell. Her capability must be kept a secret.”

Garn nods to her.

She pauses, staring at the grizzled wolf for a few seconds… and decides that he will live.

“Good.”

Ambrosia begins walking down the stairs, Garn quickly following and keeping pace.

Time passes and they leave the spire. She frowns at the damage she had done to the entrance and regrets going so overboard. Now that she has awakened, she will need to speak with her peers, especially now that she needs strength quickly.

“Garn, when we return to the mansion, I will require full disclosure regarding what has happened while I slept as well as the number and levels of those that will fight for me.”

“That has already been prepared. In your study is a detailed report on the machinations of the covens and the world since your slumber,” Garn says behind her.

“Good,” she responds, her eyes squinting as a question forms in her mind.

“Tell me Garn, why do you think that she had asked for my awakening now? An earlier awakening would give me far more time to prepare. I doubt her ability to predict the future would have weakened. She is known to be able to see several hundred years into the future after all.”

Ambrosia continues walking towards her carriage. Garn, to her surprise, does not answer for the entire walk. He stays silent until she enters and the carriage begins to move.

“I believe she cannot predict the [Hero] that will be summoned,” Garn speaks up with a frown on his face.

Ambrosia does not reply to his answer, especially considering that the why, does not matter to her. It was merely a passing curiosity, one in which she puts little importance on. What matters is that her dream is now possible and she would do anything and everything to make it happen.

________________________________________________________________________

After escorting his [Lady] home, Garn orders his most trusted men to keep watch for any intruders in the property. Not that his [Lady] would have trouble taking care of them herself, but more so as not to cause a distraction for her… and to keep the mansion in one piece. The cost of hiring a [Geomancer] and an [Enchanter] to fix any damages is a big headache in itself.

Garn walks out of the mansion and looks down towards the city he had been taking care of and protecting. A city that had begun thriving and evolving for the past several generations.

“[Wolf’s Sprint], [Accelerating Dash], [Light Step],”

Garn speaks and activates several skills which cause his muscles to tighten and heartbeat to quicken. Of course, his expression and posture do not change. He continues to look professional despite his heightened state.

Once the skills are active, Garn slightly bends his knees and then extends them.

The ground beneath him cracks as he rockets through the air and towards the city. He falls over two hundred meters and lands on the ground. In less than a second, his body disappears with a loud boom as he breaks the speed of sound. It does not take long for him to reach the city.

He stops at the gates, the [Guards], two wolfkins like himself, nod towards him in acknowledgment before going back to scanning for threats.

Entering through the front gates, he sees his people and internally frowns at the spiked collars on their necks. Children running around with bruises on their necks, forced to play safe or risk falling and getting killed. Thankfully, the ignorance of youth means that they are still able to smile in this bleak sunless world.

Garn allows a sigh to escape his lips, his years of planning coming closer and closer to fruition. Even more so thanks to the Panoptic…

With a deep breath, Garn centers his mind and makes his way towards the center of the city and the location that the training arena is situated. Walking past the [Guards], he enters through the arena doors and finds his people already hard at work in the training fields. Mock combat, ranged practice, weapon training, and even a bit of the magical arts. Of course, there are [Healers], [Cooks], and even a [Masseur] present to assist training.

Many of those present stop their training to look at him before continuing on again. They know that their specific job requires no rest. They must grow and become strong so that others can keep their lives when the call for slaughter is made.

Garn moves to the back of the arena where storage is kept. Outside of the storage area are several wagons of various goods. Food, metal, tools… enchanted crystals.

He opens the door and enters inside. Behind it are stairs leading downward and two [Spearmasters] who stand at both sides, their eyes gazing at him with fervent loyalty.

Garn descends the stairs, walking for a good five minutes before reaching the end. To his trained eyes, the hallways glow with a powerful enchanted light as the air thickens with power.

At his presence, the wall opens to reveal the hidden city of the Lycans. A city that had been buried during the Demon Wars. A city built by the originals. A city built by the Neuri.