What the Tower Knows - Part 5
Date Posted: June 26, 2024
***Warning: Endwalker MSQ Spoilers Below!***
The pixelated blur returned, and this time, Amon found himself not as merely a spectator, but as the actor upon the stage. He knew without knowing how that he was witnessing something unfold – a memory that should be his own memory, but had been severed from his knowledge.
This sort of thing was not unknown to him – he often found himself acting out dream-memories that he could not control in the sleeping hours. Though he could not speak with his own words, he could feel the emotions and relive the experience as if it was his own.
And this did appear to be his own.
Once again, Amon was his old self, the Technologist from ages ago. He paced his living quarters restlessly, an activity that was common to him, especially near the end of the Allagan age. From outside his balcony, he could hear the sounds of disquiet. The rebellion protests were raging hot, having brought their armies to crowd Syrcus Tower in the final days.
Things were not going well for Xande and his followers. What the Ascian said was true.
But for Amon to turn his back on his people and his emperor, even for the promise of such power that was offered… The idea made him feel ill inside.
Or, maybe, that was the feeling he was getting from the version of himself in this vision. He continued to pace, his long strides devouring the room in anxiety and frustrated indecision.
Finally, he put into words the source of his discontent.
“Send a clone to take your place in the Tower, he says. PAH!” With a flip of his wrist, the Technologist tossed his Tomepad across the room, leaving the screen cracked on the floor. “Emet-Selch knows nothing about gathering proper data!”
He paced some more before turning to monologue dramatically to an empty room.
“Allag will crumble should I not be here to hold it up. Replacing myself with a worthless clone will only skew the results, and certainly turn Allag to the path of destruction,” he then shook his head, placing both palms on the top of an abused-looking table. “’Tis just what they want, isn’t it? I’d be playing right into their hands to follow such a suggestion.”
Amon could feel the pressure of the rushing thoughts in his mind. Rushing so impossibly fast. Calculating beyond normal measures. Working through outcomes, discarding scenarios, considering and reconsidering. It felt more machine than man.
Finally, it all stopped as if the Technologist came to a conclusion. His gaze shifted to the darkened back corner of the room where Amon noticed for the first time a covered figure lying on the table. He’d worked with enough bodies in his lifetime to recognize the shape of a person’s form under a covering cloth.
“What choice do I have?”
Deliberation began once more. More focused this time. A plan of action had been chosen, now it just needed to be carried out. The Technologist finally spread his hands out over the notes and journals that lay on the table, and with a single motion, they all caught flame.
He watched silently as it all burned. All the research. Everything he’d documented from the recent discoveries he’d made.
He couldn’t risk letting it fall into the hands of his successor. Should the one who were to follow in his footsteps know the truth of his making, that would also skew the results of the experiment.
Once the documents were destroyed, the Technologist allowed a handful of dust to drift away on the night breeze. It capered down amongst the sounds of civil disarray that surrounded the Tower below.
Then, with a deep breath, he lifted his hands towards the ceiling, locking into the aether of the Tower. Drawing it into himself.
“I need you now, more than ever, old friend. Do me this one final favor.”