Scend

As the blinding radiance fades, your vision slowly reclaims the world before you. To your right, a sheer, monolithic cliff face stretches from the horizon at the furthest reach of your sight, extending into infinity; you glance backward, yet its end remains unseen. To your left lies a contrasting expanse—a gentler, earthen slope drifting downward, equally boundless in its reach. The gravity of your situation settles in. A sound of fluttering wings draws your gaze to the left, where migratory birds slice through the azure void, vanishing into the clouds overhead alongside the soaring zenith of the cliff. You look downward; the slope, too, descends into a depthless abyss. Though mist shrouds the deep, you can discern the faint, rhythmic flickering of lights within the haze. Confronted by this endlessly repeating scenery before and behind you, you realize that only two paths remain open to you. [[Ascend]] [[Descend]]

You approach the cliff face, its jagged surface rising almost perpendicular to the ground beneath your feet. You extend your limbs, testing your weight against a few protruding crags, finding them sturdy enough to bear the burden of your body. You leap down, taking a steadying breath. Crouching, you grind your palms into the grit and sand, chalking them to maximize every ounce of friction. And so, the ascent begins. Stone by stone, step by agonizing step. [[Continue Ascending]]

You sit, gazing down the slope that plunges into the bottomless dark. You find a stone and cast it into the abyss, watching it vanish completely into the fog. You glance upward, scanning the insurmountable height of the rock wall, its summit lost in the clouds. You lower your head. Though the slope below is treacherous and not always safe to slide, it is far more forgiving than the sheer, vertical face looming behind you. [[Start descending]]

Slowly, the earth forsakes you, and the clouds descend to meet you. The rhythmic beating of wings behind you becomes the only sound in the universe, save for the thrumming of your own heart. You watch the cliff face above shift its hue—first burnished gold, then a deep, bruised blue, until finally, it reflects the pale, cold luminescence of the moon. Finding a narrow ledge, you sink onto it, leaning your back against the stone to rest. A glance downward reveals that the world you left behind has been swallowed whole by darkness. Your overworked muscles scream in protest, yet, strangely, exhaustion does not claim you. Still, the view beyond the cloud layer remains denied to you, and so, you rest. [[Keep Ascending]]

You lose count of the days spent climbing, of the respites taken in between. Your existence reduces to a singular cycle: the endless grasping and hoisting toward the next foothold, watching the colors of the cliff face shift through their eternal rotations. At long last, you pierce the veil of clouds, and the terminus of the rock wall breaks into your line of sight. [[Just hold on a little longer]]

Heaving your body upward, you vault over the cliff’s edge. A majestic, imposing gateway immediately commands your gaze. Looking past it into the depths, you see a sprawl of pristine, white edifices, standing in solemn, orderly ranks. The city is a tapestry of gold and white marble; every curve and corner is a manifestation of perfect proportion, cold logic, and supreme aesthetics. [[Go and take a look]]

After a brief respite, you make your way toward the gate. As you draw near, a breeze laden with the scent of blooms and perfumes brushes past you, carrying the faint, melodic chiming of instruments and bells from an unseen source. Beneath the arch of the gate stands a figure. He notices you, offering a silent smile and a nod. You approach him, and words are exchanged. In time, you enter the city, settling into a modest suite in a dwelling on the periphery. [[Live an ordinary life.]] [[Strive and work hard.]]

You meet the days with ordinary diligence, embracing a life of immutable banality within your small suite for a duration you cannot measure. Faces around you change and fade, and a profound weariness toward everything—including this very stagnation—takes root in your soul. It is then that you hear whispers of a colossal elevator on the far side of the city, one that plunges to the very bottom of the world. They tell you a better life awaits in the depths. You feel the stirrings of a need for change. [[Strive and work hard.]] [[Go to the elevator.]]

You immerse yourself in a myriad of affairs. There are days you walk until your feet are numb to the earth, days your mind spins until it nears collapse. Whether your eyes are open or closed, you feel an unseen tether winding around you. You overdraw your vitality daily, yet in exchange, you accrue more and more. You move closer to the city center, your standard of living rising in lockstep with your toil. Yet, the rumor returns: the towering elevator on the other side, the promise of a life of ease below. You begin to waver. [[Go to the elevator.]] [[Continue living this kind of life.]]

You walk to the city's edge and behold the elevator. Standing before it, a sign warns that the descent is irreversible. You turn back, casting one last look at the city. The buildings remain pale and solemn, standing in their rigid formation. It strikes you then that you never truly explored this place; though your feet trod every inch of its soil, your eyes saw neither brick nor bloom. You turn back to the elevator. Its doors stand agape, waiting. [[Step inside.]]

You hold fast to your original choice. The relentless tide of busy affairs continues to consume the vast majority of your time. Yet, you find yourself becoming inured to this existence. Your body slowly adapts to the rhythm of brief respites and high-intensity labor. Your mind sharpens, learning to harvest and restore energy with ruthless efficiency. You move to a grander residence, yet you inhabit it less and less. The moments of joy you once coveted become rare commodities. After yet another blur of high-intensity days, you return to a home that feels estranged. Closing your eyes, the image of the elevator—and the life beneath it—tugs at your mind. [[Go to the elevator.]] [[Continue to maintain this life.]]

You continue on, pouring your life into the vessel of endless labor. Days turn to months; months dissolve into years. You have become wholly acclimated to this relentless pace, yet a hollow ache suggests you have irrevocably lost something essential. Now, you may dwell wherever you please; your name is known to most within the city. Perhaps, on some distant day in the future, you will recall the equally distant past—the cliff you once conquered, and the life by the lights below. Musing on this, you wander through the city until, unwittingly, you find yourself at the great gate. In the distance, a weary silhouette approaches. A faint smile touches your lips. You look at him, and you nod.

You step inside. The machine begins its automated descent. You watch as the city and the azure sky are devoured by the rising rock wall; clouds obscure your vision, and migratory birds pass you in a reverse migration. Hours later, you return to your point of origin, quickly enveloped by the mist. The lights below sharpen into focus, and a city of stark contrast slowly emerges. Stepping out, you walk toward a gate designed with wild, chaotic freedom. The air is thick with the scent of fresh bread and wine, mingling with the pungent tang of gasoline. The cacophony of human noise—laughter, arguments, the clinking of glasses—swells from every direction.

You begin the slow descent. Fortunately, the slope offers terrain that could charitably be called gentle, making the journey manageable. Soon, the cliff face retreats into the distance. Flocks of birds sweep overhead in waves. You look up to see the amber sun sinking below the horizon. Finding a level patch of earth, you lie back against the slope, watching the sun vanish and a canopy of stars ignite within the deep blue sky. [[Continue descending]] i

You continue to descend. Days later, the air grows heavy with moisture, and the barren earth at your feet begins to show the verdant traces of vegetation. The cliff and clouds above are now but vague shadows through the mist, while the city lights below burn with clarity. Soon, the bottom of the slope reveals itself, along with a city glowing in the dark. [[Descend to the ground.]]

You leap from the final protruding root, landing firmly on the ground. Nearby, a gate of distinct character arrests your attention. It is a haphazard mosaic of brass components, crowned by a flamboyant, indecipherable strip of neon light. You head toward it. A complex cocktail of gasoline, alcohol, and grime assaults your senses, accompanied by the roar of steam, the grind of gears, and the crisp clink of glassware. Peering into the depths, you see a sprawling punk-aesthetic metropolis; neon signs flicker in every corner, and steam rising from countless chimneys weaves into the mist. Soon, a man spots you, waving vigorously with a brilliant grin. You approach him, and words flow. Shortly after, you enter the gate. They hand you a tent and some supplies, pointing out a few decent spots to rest. [[Start living there.]]

You begin your life here. Resources are scarce, demanding that you scavenge for your own survival. Fortunately, fellow drifters teach you the art of existence here—how to gather, produce, craft, and process. By day, you forage, mine, or till the earth; by night, you return to the camp, crafting alongside others, sharing stories and lives. Though the food is poor, you find immense joy in sitting by your tent, dining under the watch of the bonfire and the stars. At least, in the beginning. But the daily grind eventually breeds anxiety. You hear rumors of an elevator that can reach the distant city above, where people live in luxury. Yet, some claim the elevator is a myth; others say it exists but is unusable. Beside you, a man drains his last bottle of wine and laughs, "Why not just climb up then?" The crowd roars with laughter. Hearing this, you fall into deep thought. [[Still living there.]] [[Go and find that elevator.]]

You continue your life here, but rather than dwelling in worry, you channel it into action. You begin to hoard resources, bit by bit. After a long while, you secure a dwelling, no longer bound to the open sky. Yet, occasionally, you return to the old campsite, eating by the fire and stars as you once did. Though you have shelter from the wind and rain, you must still hustle daily, lest your stockpiles run dry. The anxiety has receded, but it has not vanished. Only at night, in the tavern's embrace, can you drown it in spirits. On another drunken night, you return home. Moonlight spills through the window, draping your accumulated wealth like a thin veil. You have gathered much, yet it would not survive a few days of squander. The thought of the elevator surfaces once more. [[Keep living there.]] [[Go and find that elevator.]]

You left the city, searching far and wide. Days later, you found the so-called elevator shaft, but it was hollow—there was no car. A sign nearby declared that the elevator could not ascend. You felt no surprise at this revelation. With a sigh, you returned to your home. The next day, you returned to the shaft. You raised your head, gazing at the earthen slope you once slid down, and higher still, at the faint, looming verticality of the rock wall. [[Take the first step.]]

You continue to save, continue to live. Days turn to months, months to years. You have long since left the small dwelling for a spacious house. Below lies your own shop, the fruit of years of painstaking thrift. You manage your business; customers are few, so the days are rarely frantic. Yet, the income suffices, allowing for occasional extravagance. You have forged bonds with neighboring shopkeepers and regulars, finding genuine enjoyment in this life. Sometimes, you return to the old campsite to visit the faces that remain, catching up over the bonfire and the starry expanse. You bring them simple supplies—food, tents—and sometimes, you speak of the elevator, imagining the life atop that unfathomable cliff. Once, in high spirits, you walked to the entrance to gaze at the faint outline of the rock wall. There, you saw a figure jump down from the slope, walking toward you. You laughed, and with the courage of wine, waved to him grandly.

You begin the ascent. You start with the earthen slope. Gentle and riddled with roots, it yields easily to your climb, and progress is swift. At night, you lie down to rest as you did on the descent. By day, you press on. Gradually, the sky above clears, the vegetation thins, and the slope steepens. Unknown days later, you return to your starting point. You walk toward that familiar, nostalgic cliff face. This is the closest you have been to it since the beginning. After a long rest, you begin to climb the wall. You grip stone after stone, step by step, hauling yourself upward. You have been climbing for an eternity; your muscles and stamina are long past their limit. Yet, you simply continue. Resting places become scarce; finding a ledge to sit is a stroke of fortune. And so, you climb—step by step, day by day. Unknown weeks later, you break through the clouds, conquer the cliff, and arrive before a gate. You look up at its pure, white solemnity, struck speechless by the shock. You take a deep breath; the fragrance of flowers and perfume seeps into your soul. The elegant strains of orchestral music and the resonant toll of bells flow toward you from the distant architecture.