Kaelen Vosk's journal.

[clamput]

I've had time to sit in the silence.

Time to think about how fast things shifted. One moment I was Nadiri Kaelen Vosk, engineer of the Tower, crackpot inventor maybe, but respected, sought after, needed. And then... Out. Exiled. No ceremony. No appeal. Just the hollow echo of absense where purpose used to live.

Jamileh's voice lingers most. I just can't comprehend her, during my time with the tower, she couldn't stand Zol Nur, I did everything I could to try to turn her opinion, maybe I did my job too well, because now she is always by his side, talking, conferring... About me? I don't know. Maybe I just misunderstood it. Maybe I'm just bitter. But it hurts. I thought we were closer than that. I thought she saw me.

Eva, for all her bluster is climbing fast. She's young, brilliant, stepping right into the shoes I was forced from. Sharp in a way that turns heads, she'll do fine in the Tower, she already is, she's much more willing to bow her head than I ever was... That's the difference between her and I. I have to much pride, to much ego. Part of me is proud of her, the other part wonders if she mocks me when I can't hear her... Maybe they all do.

Then there's Welly. That half-drunk grin and those maddening riddles. He sat me down, gave me the kind of speech that sounded like it'd been rehearsed in his head for years. He told me how he was once thrown out of the Tower, and how out of spite he signed on with the Sandstone... But, he came back to the tower, because there was simply nothing else worth doing. And maybe he's right. Maybe this life outside of the tower is just... Noise and dust and wasted breath... But, would I even fit in anymore? Would it just be weird?

I keep telling myself I don't care. That I'll forge something better. That I'll build something grander with my own hands. But it gnaws at me... The quiet truth is simple, I miss it. I miss the purpose. I miss the shade of the Mount, the hum of the laboratories, bringing Apothar Polk falafels... Hells, I even miss the bickering in the halls between Apothars who have no idea what's going on in the Well, but desperate to grab at the power of controlling it. I miss being part of something.

Maybe I am wasting my time chasing scraps of moonlight and building walls no one cares to break down. Maybe I should grovel. Maybe I should put down the shovel, and allow them to bury me in the dirt that I've dug out. Maybe I should accept that they'd never make me an Apothar, not after this... But what other home do I have?

Smile wider... Bow lower... Play the game.




But that's not me.



Is it?



I don't know anymore.

-Kaelen Vosk

[clamput]

Today I followed up with Welly.

Told him plain: I won't be returning to the Tower. That bridge isn't just burnt—it's ash and piss and scattered stones halfway down the river. There's no walking back across it, no planks to rebuild. I saw it in his face—he wanted me to reconsider. Eva does too. He even told me I could still ignore Zol Nur, that I should have. But I don't see it working. That place—whatever it was to me—is gone.

This will be the last I put that flame to paper. Every time I write about it, I feed it. And it's been robbing me. Of joy. Of direction. Of me.

Elsewhere, the slow disappointments continue. Vellyn seems keener on lifting up Cogsworth than anything I offer. Gohari likely feels the same. I'm not blind—I know the decision will come down to swallowing my tongue and working beneath one of them, or not working at all. And what a choice that is: Tower or Cogsworth? Pride or progress? I don't know which tastes worse going down.

I don't think politics were ever meant for me. I can't play polite long enough to climb, and who would even vote for someone like me? No robes, no lineage, no grace. Just a fat man with soot on his fingers and too much to say.

I'm starting to wonder if this is it. If I'm just going to be another spell-slinger in the Well. Maybe a strong one, sure—but still just a man. A man clawing for meaning in a city that never promised any.

Maybe faith holds the answer. Or maybe something else I haven't seen yet. Or maybe there isn't one. Maybe all this drifting is just how life is.

I've thought about leaving. I've got ten thousand dinars saved. That's enough for a quiet life in Ramieton, or anywhere that doesn't know the name Kaelen Vosk. Sometimes I think about how easy it would be if someone just hated me enough to end it for me. Not because I want to die, not really—but because it would mean something. Because survival, then, would prove something. That I'm strong. That I matter.

But there's no war. No grand cause to fight. No tower. No machine. Just days. And me in them.

So what now?

Do I wait?

Buy some wands? Wrap myself in colored silk and pretend it makes me powerful? I don't know.

I wish I had a passion for history. I wish I burned for something noble. But I don't. I'm floating.

And I'm so damn tired of it.

—Kaelen