When Lucian entered his chamber, the silence clung to the stone walls like a living shadow.
The air was cold, heavy with the scent of wax and iron. After a sleepless night, his eyelids felt heavy, yet his mind refused to rest.
Thoughts echoed endlessly: training, duty, Lumi, the Dark Council...
Everything inside him was tangled, a web of purpose and fear.
But he couldn't afford to waste time.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a while, drawing a long breath that trembled in his chest. The candle beside him burned low, its flame barely holding on.
Finally, he stood. His steps were soundless and measured. On the desk before him lay the books that had been given to every new apprentice.
Bound in black, the emblem of the Dark Council carved into their covers.
Some corners were burned; others were sealed with ancient runes that shimmered faintly under his touch.
Lucian ran his fingers across the leather spines, feeling the cold pulse of old magic seep into his veins. The dark energy crawled through his body like smoke through cracks.
Today was the designated.
"Day of Study."
Every student was to examine their assigned tomes, memorize the spells, and explore the halls of Karn Dross, their new home and prison.
He smiled faintly to himself. He would study, but not like the others.
He would observe, remember, and plan.
From the pile of grimoires, Lucian selected two.
One was about protective wards, the other focused on energy channeling and containment.
Both would serve him well.
He tucked them under his arm, strapped his staff to his belt, and stepped into the hallway.
The corridors of Karn Dross were dimly lit, breathing with their own rhythm.
Chains hung from the high ceilings, each carrying a dark flame that burned without heat.
The stones beneath his feet were etched with old sigils, pulsing faintly with red light, as if the fortress itself had a heartbeat.
As Lucian walked, he felt the walls watching him. The shadows seemed to stretch when he moved, as though following his steps in silence.
Every whisper of air, every flicker of light, felt alive.
It wasn't just a fortress.
Karn Dross was a living organism, a body built of stone and fire, pulsing with the will of the Council.
To stand here was to breathe in both fear and power.
Lucian flipped open one of his books while walking. The pages whispered as they turned. Some incantations were familiar, written in the flowing script of common arcana.
Others were older, written in a language that looked more like scars than letters. He traced the ink lines carefully, feeling their faint vibration under his fingertips.
He passed several enormous doors, each adorned with carvings of serpents, wings, and chained figures.
Every doorway seemed to lead to something sacred, or forbidden.
A laboratory. A ritual chamber. A hall of punishment.
He memorized them all. Someday, he might need to find them again.
After a long walk, he stopped before a massive archway. From within drifted a faint smell Parchment, ink, and dust.
A library.
Lucian stepped inside.
Dim light filtered through crystal sconces, reflecting off endless rows of shelves.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of books stretched into the gloom.
Dust hovered in the air, suspended like mist.
The silence was deeper than any he had heard before not absence of sound, but the weight of centuries listening back.
He placed his two books into the leather satchel tied at his waist.
Then, folding his hands behind his back, he began to wander.
Each shelf was filled with histories of magic, treatises on death, and the anatomy of souls.
The Spheres of Shadow, The Language of Bone, Essence Reversal… the names alone were intoxicating.
He felt his pulse quicken. Knowledge was within reach.
But danger was never far in a place like this.
As he walked between two tall shelves, something invisible slammed into his chest.
The impact sent him stumbling back onto the cold floor. Reflexively, his hand shot to his staff, and he was on his feet again in a heartbeat.
The air around him rippled.
The temperature dropped sharply. A gust of cold wind cut through the silence.
Smoke pooled along the ground, twisting upward until it formed a dark shape.
From within the haze, three heads rose a serpent, massive and ancient, its scales reflecting faint silver light.
Its three eyes glowed like pale moons.
A voice slithered through the air, deep and resonant:
"This is the restricted section. Only the permitted may enter."
Lucian's fingers tightened around his staff, but he didn't attack. His heart pounded, but he held his voice steady.
"I only wished to learn," he whispered.
For a long moment, the serpent stared at him.
Then, without another sound, it dissolved back into smoke and vanished.
Lucian exhaled slowly. Even the library here was alive and deadly.
Every corner, every word, was protected by a will not his own. But beneath the tension, another feeling stirred.
Real power had to be hidden somewhere behind such barriers.
He continued his exploration, this time moving more cautiously.
After several turns, he found a narrow aisle in the back corner, almost swallowed by shadow.
There, half-buried under dust, he discovered two forgotten books.
The first bore the title "The Art of Animal Transmutation."
The second read "The Rite of Awakening the Sleeper."
Their covers were cracked, but when he touched them, faint warmth pulsed beneath the surface.
Lucian smiled faintly. Even neglected knowledge had its own heartbeat here.
He slipped the books into his satchel and quietly left the library.
The corridors felt colder on the way back.
His footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
Statues of hooded figures lined the walls their eyes hollow, yet somehow aware.
Lucian could almost feel them turning to watch as he passed. He counted the arches, the intersections, the symbols carved into the floor.
He memorized them all.
Maps could be lost, but memory endured.
When he reached his room, he closed the door softly behind him. The quiet inside felt almost welcoming.
He laid the books on the table and leaned against the chair.
The plan for the day was clear:
First, memorize every spell in the assigned tomes failure was not an option.
Then, prepare for what came next.
He sat down, opened the books, and began to read. Hours passed unnoticed.
The candlelight burned low, yet his focus only deepened.
His fingers traced runes over and over until they etched themselves into his thoughts.
Each spell, each formula, he sealed within his mind using a mnemonic charm, a "mental vault," as he called it.
Once inside, those memories could never fade.
By the time he finished, the room was dim. The last candle struggled to stay alive.
Lucian exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. But sleep wouldn't come.
Not yet.
His eyes drifted to the book he had found in the library, The Art of Animal Transmutation.
Curiosity flared again.
He reached for it, opened the first page, and began to read.
The letters shimmered faintly, alive with residual magic. As his eyes moved along the lines, a slow fascination settled over him.
It described rituals of change ways to merge flesh with the essence of beasts. Each transformation demanded a price: a fragment of flesh, a drop of blood, a sliver of soul.
Lucian paused, the idea striking him like lightning.
Snakes were everywhere in Karn Dross.
If he could take their form, he could move unseen. He could enter the forbidden library again and gather the knowledge denied to him.
The ingredients were simple: a shred of snakeskin, a few drops of blood, and a binding sigil. He had all of them within his room.
The chamber itself, circular and warded, was perfect for a ritual.
Tomorrow would be the day. He would do two things: earn the Archmage's favor and test the serpent form spell.
Tomorrow could change everything.
Lucian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. The candlelight flickered against his face, painting his features in amber and shadow.
For a fleeting second, he saw his own reflection in the flame. His eyes were dark, but within them was a glimmer of something alive.
He let out a quiet breath, closed the book, and lay down on the bed. His body was heavy, but his mind was sharp and restless.
The ceiling above him seemed to breathe with him.
As his eyes drifted shut, only one thought echoed in his mind.
Tomorrow would bring good things. He could feel it, deep in his bones, in the pulse of the dark magic that surrounded him.
Tomorrow would be the beginning.