“Between time and space concealed, the potent force to five revealed.

Ether’s secret power, with roots divine, unveiled to one who sees the wind aligned.

Earth’s touch crumbles, fire’s kiss it bleeds, the answer lies where the unseen leads.

To solve this puzzle and gain the prize, one who sees the wind must close their eyes. 

In space unseen, the time dictates, embrace the wind your power awaits.” 

~Riddle of the Ankh of Zephyria

 Prologue

Grant T’amery, Chief Supreme of the Boven Naturals High Consul, stormed into his office, the door slamming shut with a resounding thud. His breath came in sharp, furious bursts as he marched toward the window. The fading amber light bathed Arcanopolis in a golden glow, a calm contrast to the tempest within him

“She was meant to unite the pieces,” T’amery muttered, his words dripping with venom. “Not absorb the Tome’s power.”

Hours had passed since Paige Connatis, one of the prophesied Cinquain Henten, absorbed the Tome of Obscurities. The tome, an ancient text written by the AliMaji Sagesse, containing spells unseen for millennia. Now, with that power coursing through her, she threatened to unravel his meticulous plans.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his reflection—a moment’s hesitation brought by Paige’s unpredictable powers. But he crushed it. Doubt was a luxury he could not afford with so much on the line. Turning from the window, he fixed his attention on the Oracle Prism, now dark and silent on its pedestal. Once his most trusted tool, today it had betrayed him.

He took a breath, centering himself, and let a small smile curl his lips. “No matter. Soon, everything will align as foreseen.” The day’s events had crystallized his resolve to exert absolute control over the Cinquain Henten and their Ankh quest. He would twist the situation to his advantage; Sylph supremacy was within his grasp.

If he could steer the prophecy’s course, the first of the five Shadow Ankhs would soon be his. Even Paige Connatis, despite her newfound powers, would dance to the rhythm he orchestrated.

His mind shifted to Andre Prodetor, the one person close to Ms. Connatis, firmly under his influence. Prodetor would be the key. Through him, T’amery could control Paige’s every step, harnessing her newfound power without her ever realizing.

T’amery’s smile grew, though the weight of his ambitions pressed heavily on him. No room for doubt. He swept it aside, trusting in his control, in his power. He had come too far to let a shadow of hesitation derail his plans.

He strode across the sanctum, his boots echoing on the familiar stone floor. The air hummed with latent magic, thick with the scent of ozone and old parchment. Relics pulsed with power, attuned to his presence. Among them, a dagger uncovered in his youth whispered promises of chaos, its oscillations hinting at volatility held in check by T’amery’s will.

“Not yet, my friend,” T’amery murmured, his fingers brushing the blade’s hilt. “Be patient.”

The ancient grimoire of forbidden dark magic, the Codex Oblivora, trembled on his desk as T’amery approached. Its weathered pages fluttered open, revealing arcane secrets hidden for centuries. A malevolent glow pulsed from the text, casting shadows that danced like living entities.

The Codex Oblivora surged into his hands, its cover warm and throbbing like a heartbeat, the ancient tome alive with secrets that had long awaited release. Dark energy coursed through his veins, the tome alive with anticipation, eager to reveal its forbidden secrets. Recognizing the potent Sylph blood coursing through him, it yearned to unleash its dark secrets.

Ink swirled beneath his fingers, forming cryptic symbols that revealed forbidden spells, each one a tool to reshape reality. With each turn of the page, the room chilled as shadows thickened, drawing power from the universe itself.

His eyes widened at a spell to bind magic—an incantation to suppress even the most powerful Maji. Another page revealed a ritual for summoning shadow creatures from other realms, beings of pure darkness that would obey his every command. These spells would be invaluable in his quest for Sylph domination.

T’amery’s smile broadened. The Codex Oblivora was more than a book; it was a weapon to ensure his plans would come to fruition. With these newfound spells, he would be unstoppable.

As the Codex’s power coursed through him, T’amery glanced toward the Oracle’s Prism. Yet, of all the artifacts, only the prism remained dark and silent. Its faded aura, once invaluable to his strategies, now refused to yield. Despite his attempts to coax insight, it resisted his will, mocking his supposed authority.

“Speak to me,” T’amery commanded, desperation cracking his composure. The prism’s silence symbolized the uncertainty he faced—the unpredictable nature of Paige’s abilities.

With a slow, seething frustration, T’amery hurled the prism across the room. It struck the wall with a dull thud, deepening his frustration. “Worthless trinket,” he muttered. His fight for the Boven Naturals universe had begun—and he would suffer no defiance.

~~~

 As night gave way to dawn, moonlight filtered through high, arched windows, tracing ghostly patterns across the darkened room, each shadow a silent witness to the dark ambitions within, each shadow a silent witness to the dark ambitions within. Silver beams, like ethereal fingers, brushed against ancient artifacts, casting long shadows that whispered forgotten secrets. Far below, Arcanopolis’ masses scurried, unaware of the pivotal events soon to engulf them.

Thoughts of Paige Connatis surfaced again—a crack in his meticulously laid plans. Her raw potential was a wild card slipping beyond his control. A single misstep from her could unravel everything—yet, with the right touch, she could be a pawn in his grand design. Each step she took could either fortify his plans or shatter them beyond repair, and the uncertainty gnawed at him like a relentless phantom. The chamber seemed to press down oppressively as T’amery navigated possible futures only he could see. Paige occupied a critical juncture; whether she would be player or pawn was his to decide.

T’amery reached for an AetherTether, a device far more potent than the common communication tethers used throughout the Boven Naturals universe. Unlike its mundane counterpart, which merely projected holograms of willing participants, the AetherTether was dark magic—an unbreakable link between souls, compelling them to answer. He whispered an incantation, feeling it vibrate against his palm. Subtlety could prove mightier than force, and the AetherTether was the epitome of subtle control.

At his command, Alesyn Pottworth’s spectral form coalesced, shimmering in the dim light. Her once-familiar features reflected uncertainty; perhaps aware she had no choice but to appear.

“Report,” T’amery demanded, his voice sharp with authority. “Are our plans intact?”

“Yes, Chief Supreme. Bordon will reach the prison within the hour.” She hesitated, a shadow of their shared past clouding her eyes. “But my son, Newel... will he be safe?”

T’amery’s eyes softened imperceptibly, a rare glimpse of the man he had been before ambition consumed him and before he had left Alesyn behind. “Alesyn, you have my oath. Serve me faithfully, and Newel will survive the coming tempest.” The mention of her son’s name evoked a flood of memories, ghosts of a time when they had been young and inseparable.

In his mind’s eye, T’amery saw them as students at the Arcana Academy, racing through the halls of the prestigious institution, their laughter echoing off the ancient stones. He remembered the day they had first discovered their shared affinity for alternative magic, the wonder in Alesyn’s eyes as she conjured a wavering black flame in her palm. Alesyn had introduced him to her cousin, Ry’lynn, a moment that changed the course of his life. They had all dreamed of a future where they would stand side by side, their powers intertwined, shaping the world to their will.

Time had worn their bond, eroding it like a steady drip of water on stone. Alesyn had chosen family and duty, while T’amery had climbed, ever higher, driven by ambition—sacrificing everything in pursuit of power. In moments like these, with their shared past casting a long shadow between them, he wondered if things could have been different.

As Alesyn’s form diffused back into the void, T’amery regarded the portrait of his departed lover, Ry’lynn. She had been a part of their youthful group of Sylph students, and her ideals had once aligned with his own. But Ry’lynn’s death on the battlefield had shattered those dreams. Her loss had ignited the fire of his ambitions, fueling his hunger for power and control.

He studied her unwavering eyes, a wisp of nostalgia passing through him. For a moment, her features blurred as if his indecisive conscience sought to reshape them. With determined effort, he regained composure, the portrait settling into stern appraisal.

“I do this for us, my dear,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For your memory and justice.” The die was cast; he would allow no disruptive thoughts to undermine his determination. Now back to his current snag, Paige Connatis.

T’amery positioned his hand above a distressed piece of parchment. With a twist of his wrist, he summoned ethereal ink, guiding the quill across the page. Arcane secrets and directives for Andre Prodetor flowed—Paige was a loose thread that could unravel everything if mishandled. Prodetor must watch her, employ any means to keep control.

Sealing the letter with his sigil, T’amery reflected on all he’d set in motion. This tide could lead to salvation or utter ruin. He dispatched the parchment into the magical void, planting seeds of a bitter harvest.

His leer turned back to the cityscape below, the populace unaware of the slaughterhouse gates soon to close behind them. “When the storm breaks, the world will be reshaped in its wake. I will stand at its center—architect of ruin, catalyst of rebirth.”

His words cut through the air like a shard of ice. “Those who defy the winds of change will be swept away into oblivion. All will obey the tempest’s fury in the end.” His fingers traced an arcane symbol, capturing a spark of power from the ether.

“Even if destiny itself dares to stand in my path... I will shatter it with inexorable force.” The shadows twisted and writhed at his words, alive with dark intent. “The Void will consume any who dare stand against me.”

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, T’amery felt a surge of determination. He would wield the dark magic of the Codex Oblivora, manipulate the Cinquain Henten, and control the fate of the Boven Naturals universe. Paige Connatis might have gained the power of the Tome, but she would soon learn that power alone was not enough to thwart his designs.

T’amery’s eyes fell on the shattered Oracle Prism, once a symbol of insight, now nothing but broken glass and forgotten visions. He no longer needed it. The Codex, his resolve, and the web of plans would be enough.

As he left his office, his mind turned to the next steps. The pieces were in motion, victory already within his grasp. His enemies had their schemes, but none as ruthless, none as far-reaching as his. The battle for the Boven Naturals universe had begun, and Grant T’amery would stand at the center of it.

~~~

The suffocating atmosphere of the detention center seeped into Bordon Pottworth’s marrow, the air thick with swirling dark magic that clung to his skin like oil. Every breath was a struggle, the foul, damp cold leeching life from his bones. The ancient stone walls whispered secrets, twisting the air with arcane tongues no creature should utter aloud. Bordon’s eyes watered as the magic distorted the air, causing the dim corridors to twist and undulate before him.

This grim task was a small price to pay if aiding T’amery could restore his family’s legacy. Once esteemed Sylph leaders, the Pottworths had been reduced to menial roles in the Boven Naturals governing body after a scandal orchestrated by ruthless rivals. Destitute and deprived of their ancestral manor, Bordon’s parents suffered in squalor while his sister, Alyssondra, toiled as a tavern wench to support them.

T’amery’s promise to clear the Pottworth name and restore their station fueled Bordon’s resolve. He would secure a better life for his son, Newel, regardless of the sacrifices required. Yet, as he navigated the shadowed halls, doubt whispered at the edges of his mind. What example was he setting for Newel? He pushed the thought aside. This was for Newel’s future. The end justified the means.

Bordon’s footsteps echoed, the walls’ guttural secrets growing louder with each step. Arcane orbs flared and dimmed erratically, greeting him with malevolent twists. The jingle of his cursed keys sounded like harbingers of doom, each clink a reminder of the burden he carried.

“Levaux, have the guests been fed yet?” Bordon’s voice, thin with discomfort, broke the silence.

Levaux, his youthful expression tense, his scaled Naiad skin shimmering, replied, “No, Majister. We’re still waiting on the breakfast trays.”

“Inform me when they arrive. A crucial package must reach its intended inmate.” Realizing he’d said too much, Bordon added, “Actually, just ensure the trays are on time. Forget the package.”

Annoyance pricked at Bordon, but he kept his expression neutral, refusing to reveal T’amery’s plan to aid Rottner—not to a new recruit, no matter how earnest Levaux seemed. His attention lingered on the younger man for a moment, cold and calculating, before Bordon withdrew into the shadows, leaving without another word.

Levaux stood frozen in place, watching Bordon disappear. A troubled feeling settled in his chest, and his fingers instinctively reached for the talisman beneath his uniform. The amulet, a cherished gift from his mother, was meant to protect him.

As his fingers brushed the smooth surface, a familiar calm began to settle his nerves. The intricate sigil etched into the other side seemed to repel his anxieties, offering comfort in the oppressive silence. This small ritual had become a habit for Levaux, a way to center himself when the weight of his duties and the eerie atmosphere threatened to overwhelm him. The talisman was a tangible reminder of his mother’s love and the life he had left behind to join the Order of Mystics. ‘Stay safe, Bynbac,’ he heard his mother whisper, a fleeting prayer in the oppressive silence.

With a final, gentle squeeze, he dropped the trinket on his uniform and hurried off to continue his routine, the momentary respite giving him the strength to face the challenges ahead.

Deep within his carved cell, Rottner sat on his bed, his sunken eyes straining to catch a glimpse of Bordon’s retreating form through the narrow bars. The stone walls surrounding him were etched with protective sigils, their intricate patterns glowing faintly with suppressive magic. Even with the anti-magic handcuffs clinging to his gaunt wrists, Rottner could feel the sigils’ power pressing against his skin, a constant reminder of his captivity.

As Bordon’s footsteps faded into the distance, Rottner’s imagination filled in the gaps. He pictured Bordon’s face, a mask of frustration and unease, his brow furrowed as he navigated the treacherous path he had chosen. Rottner could almost see the burden of Bordon’s secrets pressing down on him, the burden of his family’s fate driving him to take risks he might not fully understand. The burden of being beholden to the Chief Supreme looming large on his oafish face.

 twisted smile played across Rottner’s lips as he imagined Bordon’s shoulders hunched, reflecting the internal struggle between his ambitions and the dangers ahead. Rottner relished the thought of Bordon’s discomfort, knowing that the man’s desperate gambit would soon lead him down a path from which there was no return.

Though Rottner’s appearance was ragged—his clothes torn and his body thin from months of imprisonment—his aura crackled with barely contained magical energy and seething fury. His sunken eyes gleamed with malice, a stark contrast to his gaunt frame. As he sat in the dimly lit cell, his mind raced with visions of the chaos he would unleash upon his release. He savored thoughts of revenge, imagining the screams of those who had wronged him—a symphony to his ears.

The narrow view through the cell bars was a temporary obstacle, a fleeting hindrance on his grand designs. Soon, Rottner knew these walls would crumble, and he would reshape the world to his twisted desires. And Bordon, the unwitting pawn in this game, would be the key to his triumphant return.

Rottner seethed in anticipation. The overheard conversation signaled his impending liberation. With T’amery’s promised aid, these cursed restraints would fall away, and no walls or spells would contain his wrath. The fools who had caged him would learn to fear the name Goran Rottner once more.

The distant jingle of keys whispered of destiny teetering at the abyss’s edge. Dark schemes converged in the intricate tapestry that had ensnared Bordon, yet he remained unaware of the true perils that lay ahead. Rottner’s lips curled into a cruel smile. Soon, very soon, the world would tremble, and all who stood against him would be crushed beneath the force of his vengeance.

~~~

 The detention center beneath the High Consul building, bathed in the faint glow of enchanted orbs, radiated malevolence. Shadows flitted across the stone walls, which pulsed in an unsettling rhythm, exhaling centuries of pent-up malice.

Bordon Pottworth returned to the guard station, his insides roiling with moral uncertainty. His thoughts drifted to his mentor, Majister Melian, a man who had guided him through countless ethical dilemmas over the years. Melian’s wisdom and unwavering moral compass had been a constant source of guidance for Bordon, helping him navigate the complex landscape of right and wrong.

As he faced the most challenging decision of his life, Bordon yearned for Majister Melian’s counsel. The thought of betraying his mentor’s teachings and aiding Rottner’s escape pressed down on him, threatening to shatter his very soul.

Memories of their philosophical discussions flooded his mind, each one a testament to the deep bond they shared. Majister Melian was more than a teacher; he was a father figure, a steady light in a world shrouded in shades of gray. The thought of disappointing him, of straying from the path of integrity, filled Bordon with an overwhelming sense of guilt and uncertainty.

As he wrestled with his conscience, Bordon couldn’t help but envision Majister Melian’s reaction to his current predicament. He could almost see the disappointment etched upon his mentor’s face, the concern and sorrow in his eyes. The imagined confrontation played out in his mind, a silent battle between his loyalty to his family and his commitment to the principles he had always held dear.

The stakes had never been higher. His loved ones’ future hung in the balance, dependent on his choice. Could he prioritize his moral code over their survival? The enormity of this decision pressed on him, threatening to suffocate him.

Bordon closed his eyes, desperately seeking clarity amid his ethical dilemma. He knew that whatever path he chose, it would forever alter the course of his life. The consequences would be his to bear, a burden he would carry forever.

With trembling hands, he pulled a nondescript key from his pocket. The cold metal bit into his skin, a tangible reminder of the line he was about to cross. As he placed the key under the bread of Rottner’s tray, Bordon felt a part of himself splinter, the fragments of his once-unshakable moral foundation crumbling to dust.

There was no turning back now. The die had been cast, and Bordon could only hope that his mentor would one day understand the impossible choice he had been forced to make. In the end, he had chosen his family over his own integrity, a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“I shall take Professor Tulmin his tray; Levaux, you shall attend to Majister Rottner and the others,” Pottworth announced, his words cleaving through the dungeon’s stagnant air, leaving Levaux visibly nettled.

Levaux navigated the labyrinthine corridors, his uniform hanging loosely on his lithe frame, as if tailored for someone bulkier. His fluid, almost graceful movements hinted at his Naiad heritage, a natural elegance that contrasted with the ill-fitting fabric. As he moved cautiously, each step was heavy with the sense of impending doom. Reaching Rottner’s cell, he cleared his throat and declared, “Majister Rottner, your sustenance.” With a swift motion, he thrust the tray through the feeding slot, then immediately pivoted to scan the corridor, ensuring it remained clear.

Rottner’s fingers brushed the hidden key within the loaf. He unlocked his magical restraints, the cuffs clicking open as faint, ethereal whispers filled the air like a chorus of unseen spirits. Levaux turned back, and Rottner offered a fleeting glance laden with hidden truths.

In his final moments, Levaux touched the protective talisman from his mother, regret punctuating his life’s closing notes.

Rottner smirked, his words dripping with disdain. “Good riddance to the worthless water creature.”

Bordon stepped from the shadows, his face a storm of doubt. Torn between loyalty to his people and growing unease with T’amery’s vision of Sylph supremacy at the cost of subjugation, he hesitated. Then, with deft movements fueled by this tempest, he unlocked Rottner’s cell, setting the wheels of fate into motion.

“Your skill is as sharp as ever, Rottner,” Bordon muttered, casting a wary glance at Levaux’s lifeless body. “T’amery expects you at the grove behind Arcana Academy at midnight. Be neither late nor foolish.”

Rottner’s eyes gleamed like obsidian. “Fear not; ‘foolishness’ is now a relic in my vocabulary,” he retorted. He murmured an incantation, the spell rendering Pottworth temporarily incapacitated—an alibi for anyone questioning Rottner’s escape.

Rottner’s footsteps echoed through the corridors, each step a note in a dark, unwritten symphony—a prelude to the vengeance that would soon ignite His escape was a defiant gauntlet hurled at T’amery’s despotic vision—an opening gambit in a complex, high-stakes game.

“T’amery, your gamble will soon crumble,” Rottner whispered. “My chains are broken, and when the day of reckoning comes, your dominion will fall.” Broken ambitions, he knew, never healed.

~~~

Chief Supreme Grant T’amery strode into the dining hall like a storm, commanding immediate respect. “Ms. Connatis, I’m pleased to see you’re up and about.”

“Grant, your concern is appreciated,” Paige said casually, dropping his title and first-naming him, sending ripples of shock through the assembly. Referring to the Chief Supreme—the authoritative head of the entire Boven Naturals universe—by his first name bordered on blasphemy.

T’amery kept his expression calm, though irritation and curiosity simmered just beneath the surface. He acknowledged her comment with a slight nod. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your discussion.” Masking his annoyance, T’amery took his seat, maintaining an expression of polite interest as Paige recounted a story inconsequential to his grander plans.

T’amery sat, feigning interest as Paige Connatis rambled on about destiny. Meanwhile, his scheme with the Pottworth family and Goran Rottner quietly unfolded. His presence at the Academy provided plausible deniability, a safeguard against any involvement in the plot.

As more people chattered on about various matters, he inwardly sighed at the irrelevance of their discussions to his plans. Just when he believed he had reached the limits of his patience, Andre Prodetor interjected, “What role do you play in all this, Paige?”

“And again, what of the Void you mentioned yesterday?” T’amery asked, his words carefully measured to conceal his true intent. Though well-versed in the Void, he was determined to gauge the others’ understanding. The obscurity surrounding this enigmatic realm grated on him, and he needed to learn whether Paige or anyone else had gleaned insights that could potentially undermine his carefully laid plans.

 T’amery’s mind raced to piece together fragments of the Void’s nature, much of which still eluded him. The Codex Oblivora had hinted at the existence of the Void, yet its cryptic passages and enigmatic references left T’amery with more questions than answers.

He knew that the ancient Tome of Obscurities held the key to fully deciphering the Codex’s secrets. The Tome was said to hold detailed information about the Void, its nature, and its role in the intricate workings of the universe. T’amery had been searching for the Tome for years, desperate to uncover its knowledge and gain a deeper understanding of the Void.

Paige’s revelation about the Ankh of Zephyria within the Void, T’amery’s need for the Tome of Obscurities’ knowledge had grown even more urgent. He knew that he must find the Tome at any cost, for it held the missing pieces of the puzzle that would allow him to finally unravel the Codex Oblivora and unlock the power he sought.

A mental click, and his thoughts flitted back to the glowing Codex Oblivora on his desk. Specifically, to a spell labeled ‘Voidsong.’ Perhaps his time at the Academy hadn’t been a waste.

The towering doors, carved with protective runes, creaked open, releasing a draft of enchanted air that prickled the skin of all present. The Majister’s entrance wasn’t just an interruption—it was an omen.

“Majister,” T’amery greeted, his voice imbued with an unsettling sense of premonition as he rose to meet the unexpected guest.

“I regret this intrusion, Chief Supreme.” The Majister’s voice was drenched in urgency. “A pressing matter at the High Consul requires your immediate attention.”

“Please proceed,” T’amery prompted. “We are among trusted company in this hall.”

“Goran Rottner,” the Majister continued, his voice dropping to a sobering cadence, “has escaped the High Consul.”

The name struck the room like a peal of thunder. A collective shiver rolled through the crowd, each person draped in a cloak of apprehension. Gatlin and Evland Caelum exchanged a look of sheer astonishment. No prisoner had ever escaped the High Consul’s clutches before. Evland suspected that Rottner must have had help from within the Boven Naturals Government itself.

Grant T’amery gave the Majister a brief nod before turning on his heel. With a flourish, he swept his robe, releasing the room’s pent-up energy. AAs he vanished into the dim corridor, a serpentine smile curled his lips. His intricate plans were falling into place; the real game was just beginning.

~~~

After T’amery’s departure, the group resumed their discussion, the room weighted by Paige’s revelations and Rottner’s escape. Paige raised her hand for calm, her gaze moving across her friends with balanced authority and warmth. “Sagesse has given us knowledge, but now we must act. Our task is clear: we must find the Ankhs of Zephyria.” She scanned the group. “Rottner’s escape is troubling, but our mission remains: we must locate the Shadow Ankhs.”

Paige’s words settled over the group, heavy with their shared destiny. “We must face this together,” she urged, her tone steady despite the storm within. “Our unity is our greatest strength, and only by standing together can we hope to overcome the trials ahead.”

The challenge was daunting, testing not only their strength but also their unity and courage. Yet, in a world where prophecies and quests were as natural as the seasons, the expectation for them to undertake such a journey wasn’t entirely surprising. As Paige finished, renewed determination stirred among the group. The end of one journey heralded the beginning of another, an odyssey more significant than any before.

The atmosphere remained tense after Paige’s revelations about the AliMaji, NullMaji, and the Void. Doubt and contemplation flickered across every face. Sensing the cloud of uncertainty over the group, the Caelums proposed a strategic retreat. “Perhaps,” they ventured cautiously in unison, “we require time to absorb these staggering developments.” The irony was not lost on anyone, as Paige had absorbed the Tome of Obscurities, sending shockwaves through the group.

After a long debate, and with their families’ blessing, the group agreed it was best to return home. Given all Paige had endured and the responsibility of being chosen as the Cinquain Henten, a brief retreat would give them time to process the revelations. They would reconvene in Mordial’s chamber in two weeks, on the eve of the new semester, to prepare for what lay ahead.

~~~

The fire crackled softly in the hearth of the first-year common room, casting wavering shadows across the stone walls. The group had returned to the dorm after their intense discussion about the Ankhs and Rottner’s escape, their minds heavy with Paige’s revelations as they packed for their two-week break. Avril sat cross-legged on the thick rug, the Comprehensive Guide to the Order of Mystics open in her lap. Evan leaned back against the sofa, idly spinning a pebble between his fingers. Ethan stood near the doorway, arms folded, his expression unreadable, while Ceyonne quietly observed from her seat. Paige was absent, leaving the group alone with their thoughts.

“I know we have been chosen, and that’s important, but we cannot afford to jump into this without thinking,” Avril said, her focus firmly on the Guide. The words felt more like a warning to herself than to the others. “Our quest isn’t like the stories where the hero charges in and everything magically works out. The Void, Rottner’s escape, the Shadow Ankhs—it’s all too dangerous to rush into blindly.”

Evan glanced up, his hands now still as he held the pebble. “So, what’s the plan then? Sit here and read until we feel ready? Sounds like we’re doing nothing.”

Avril’s fingers stilled on the pages. “No,” she said, lifting her eyes at last, “but we can’t rush into locating the Void without knowing what we’re up against. The stories in this book—they’re full of heroes who were tested, and many failed because they weren’t prepared. If we don’t prepare, we’ll fail too. We need to study, to understand what we’re facing before we even consider the Void”

Ethan nodded firmly. “Avril is right. Rushing in unprepared is not bravery—it is folly. We must know exactly what we are dealing with before we try to enter the Void and find the Ankhs.”

Evan sighed, dropping the pebble into his lap. His frustration was clear. “Guess I’m just not used to all this prophecy stuff,” he muttered, glancing at Avril. “Where I’m from, they were just local myths, mostly to scare little kids. Nothing like this.” His voice lowered as he added, “You all come from families that attended the Academies, that believed in this kind of legacy. I just wanted to run our herb business after school, not forge some new path. But my parents sold everything and left me here, deciding my future for me. And now, I’m stuck in this prophecy without even understanding what it means.”

“I see your point,” Ceyonne leaned forward, her voice calm. “We all grew up with these stories, Evan. It’s why we’re not afraid of a prophecy. We know what it means, and we know how important it is to be ready. You’ll have the time you need to catch up.”

Avril’s fingers traced the edges of the worn pages, though her thoughts veered sharply to Paige. Paige had absorbed the Tome, and now she was more powerful than any of them. That kind of power... it wasn’t fair. Paige hadn’t earned it, not like the rest of them. One moment, she was just part of the group, and the next, she held strength beyond anything Avril could imagine. What did that make the rest of them? Worse, what did that make Avril?

She swallowed the thought, pushing her envy aside and forcing her attention back to the Guide. It didn’t matter. Power wasn’t everything. Paige might have strength, but that didn’t mean she would be the one to come out on top.

Avril closed the Guide gently and extended it toward Evan, her tone soft but firm. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand, even as Paige’s image flashed through her mind—how effortlessly she now carried her newfound power. “The Guide is full of stories of people chosen by prophecy, tested in ways we can barely imagine. But they didn’t succeed just because they were brave. They succeeded because they were prepared.”

Evan hesitated before taking the book from her, his brow furrowed. “So, we just sit here and study until we’re ‘ready’? What if we never are?” He thumbed the edge of the Guide but ultimately set it down next to him, his expression hardening with doubt. “And what if preparing doesn’t make a difference? What if no amount of studying gets us ready for what’s coming?”

Ethan’s voice was steady. “It is not about waiting until we feel ready. It is about not rushing in blindly. The Void is not a door we can simply walk through. If we do not understand it, we will never get close to the Shadow Ankhs.”

Avril glanced at the book as it sat untouched, her tone sharpening as she turned back to Evan. “The heroes in these stories... they didn’t survive by being reckless. They studied, they learned, and when the time came, they acted. That’s what we need to do.”

Evan chuckled, though without real warmth. “‘Avril Irroro, the Naiad Who Planned Her Way to Glory.’ Sounds about right.”

Avril allowed herself a small smile, though something darker lurked beneath it. Her eyes remained on the fire, and thoughts of Paige’s power gnawed at her resolve. “It’s not just about glory,” she said softly. “Paige might have the power now, but being a hero isn’t just about strength. It’s about how you use it. And I don’t intend to fail.”

Ceyonne nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Power fades, but the choices we make—how we prepare, how we act—that’s what endures.”

Ethan spoke with quiet authority. “Paige may be the strongest now, but strength alone will not determine the outcome. Our decisions will shape what happens next.”

Avril’s thoughts ran deeper than her words revealed. The room fell silent again, but this time, the quiet carried more weight—a sense of unspoken resolve among them. “I know this prophecy is our test,” she murmured, her voice edged with determination. “In the end, only one of us will be remembered as the hero. And I intend to make sure it’s me.”

The fire crackled softly. No one spoke, but the decision hung heavily in the air. Evan shifted uncomfortably, his attention moving between Ceyonne and Ethan. No one questioned Avril’s words, but the unspoken doubts loomed like the prophecy itself. Avril’s ambition burned as fiercely as the flames, and though the others remained silent, what lay ahead settled over the room like a gathering storm.

~~~

In a secluded grove behind the silent Arcana Academy, Grant T’amery and Goran Rottner stood beneath the twisted branches, moonlight casting them in stark relief. Light and shadow danced over them, as if the night itself held its breath.

T’amery’s eyes locked onto Rottner’s, cold and unyielding. “Goran, old friend, I need you to find Redionne, the NullMaji who lingers in the Void.”

Rottner’s eyes narrowed; skepticism was tinged with growing unease. “And how exactly do you expect me to locate this being?” 

“As any Maji enters that forsaken realm.” T’amery’s lips curled into a wide, unnerving smile, the kind that oozed sinister anticipation.

Defiance clashed with dread in Rottner’s rigid stance. “You seriously intend to cast me, unarmed and bereft of my magic, into that perilous abyss?” hollow laugh echoed through the grove. “You’re a madman, Grant. A twisted puppet master playing with forces beyond your comprehension.”

T’amery’s grin stretched wider, the moonlight accentuating its malevolence. “Precisely. Yet I have all faith in you, Goran. A lone wolf like you, always one step ahead of the looming darkness.” 

As Rottner stepped farther into the grove, his foot struck an object hidden in the underbrush. Glancing down, he saw the Codex Oblivora lying open on the ground, its pages fluttering in an unseen breeze. In that moment, Rottner realized he had walked into a carefully laid trap, orchestrated by none other than T’amery himself.

As T’amery stepped closer, his presence oppressive, his hands wove an invisible net of magic around Rottner. “The darkness beckons, and you, my friend, are the perfect candidate to grip its cold embrace. That forsaken realm hungers for a soul like yours, yearning to strip away your façade of power and lay bare the raw, trembling essence beneath. All for the betterment of the Boven Naturals universe.” 

Rottner felt invisible bonds constricting around him, his limbs heavy with an unseen force. Panic clawed up his throat as he grasped the extent of T’amery’s power. 

T’amery’s words coiled around Rottner like a serpent, the binding magic pulsing in rhythm with his speech. His eyes gleamed with feverish intensity, his voice hypnotic, seeping into Rottner’s mind. “You will enter the Void and find Redionne. Not because I ask it of you, but because it is your destiny. A fate written in the stars that mock us from above.” 

The repressive magic intensified, weaving a cocoon around Rottner, sealing his fate. He struggled against the arcane bonds, but it was like fighting against reality itself. Desperate to escape, Rottner frantically searched for a way out, but T’amery’s meticulous planning left no room for hope. As the binding magic reached its crescendo, Rottner felt his very soul being torn from his body. The world faded, replaced by all-consuming darkness. With a final, sickening lurch, Rottner fought the pull of the Void, his body and mind bound by T’amery’s inescapable binding spell. 

Memories cascaded through Rottner’s mind—battles, triumphs, and the first thrills of magic. All could be reduced to naught in a heartbeat. Yet a counterthought emerged: was his magic not a chain itself, binding him to a destiny he never fully controlled? 

T’amery’s words sparked a cauldron of discord within Rottner, a blend of dread and hope. The Void represented oblivion, but also change—a gamble for undefined freedom. The Shadow Ankhs loomed over his thoughts. Could he, stripped of his magic yet armed with newfound knowledge, turn the tables and snatch victory from defeat? 

His mind a cacophonous warzone, Rottner met T’amery’s expectant gaze. He had made his decision, born not just from a lack of options but from a redefined sense of purpose. He let go and gave his will to Grant T’amery.

T’amery’s hands navigated an intricate ballet in the air, each twist dictated by the arcane formulas of the Codex Oblivora. Magic was a dialogue with the cosmos itself, and as he traced ancient spells, the Codex’s pages pulsed, alive with his dark intent. Forbidden words became a haunting Voidsong spell, weaving an ether capable of draining magic from one’s very soul. 

A maelstrom of magic erupted, tendrils lashing like whips of raw energy. The grove shimmered in a kaleidoscope of ethereal hues, the air crackling with their clashing essence. The earth quaked beneath them, as if reality itself strained under the pressure of their battle magic.

Amid the chaos, each pulse of T’amery’s spell was a violation, a theft of Rottner’s very self. It was a cacophony of dread and unyielding resolve, begging the question: who would Goran Rottner be if stripped of his magical essence? 

With a resounding crescendo, T’amery’s spell surged to its climax. Rottner’s form quivered, ensnared by an invisible vortex. A mournful symphony erupted, marking the fraying and tearing of his magical essence. 

And then, profound silence. 

Rottner staggered before T’amery, his magical prowess reduced to mere whispers. T’amery’s cold smile deepened, a hint of false benevolence reflecting in his gaze. “Have no fear, Goran. Your sacrifice shall not be in vain. As you venture into the Void, stripped of your power, know that your actions serve a greater purpose.” 

He placed a hand on Rottner’s shoulder, a gesture almost comforting—if not for its icy touch. “When you locate Redionne and the Shadow Ankhs fall into my grasp, I shall wield a power beyond imagination. And in that moment, I promise to restore your magic, elevating it to heights you’ve never conceived.”

T’amery’s words hung in the air, a tantalizing offer that seemed to shimmer with possibility. Rottner’s eyes, dulled by the loss of his essence, flashed with a faint spark of hope. The promise of his magic restored, perhaps even amplified, was a siren’s call he couldn’t resist. 

“You have my word, Goran,” T’amery continued, his voice a velvet purr. “Serve me well in this endeavor, and you shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams. Your magic shall be a force to be reckoned with, eclipsing even the most powerful Maji in the realm.” 

But even as the allure of restored power filled his mind, a flicker of doubt pierced through his desperation—a faint warning that perhaps this promise was yet another chain.

Yet he silenced it, swallowed it, driven by a need too strong to deny. T’amery’s promise was the only hope he had, and he clung to it, choosing to believe, even as a shadow of suspicion gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Rottner’s lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as he clung to T’amery’s promise like a drowning man to a lifeline. In that moment, the Void became less a sentence and more a path to potential redemption, a trial he must endure to reclaim what was rightfully his. 

T’amery’s smile never wavered, but beneath the surface, a wave of ruthless pleasure danced in his eyes. He knew the allure of power, the desperation that could drive a man to cling to even the faintest glimmer of hope. And in Rottner’s case, that desperation would be his undoing. 

For T’amery had no intention of fulfilling his promise. Rottner’s magic, once stripped away, would never be restored. The false hope he had planted was merely another tool, a means to ensure Rottner’s compliance and unwavering dedication to the task at hand. 

As Rottner stared into the Void, his mind clung to the promise of restored power, blind to the beautiful lie. T’amery’s machinations had ensnared him completely, and the path ahead would be one of darkness, deceit, and ultimately betrayal. 

With a choked cry of desperation and despair, Rottner collapsed, his essence fracturing and coalescing into a small pile of dust. Severed from his magic, his existence shifted irreversibly; he was now a shell of himself. T’amery’s gesture sent Goran Rottner’s hollowed, magicless form into the Void, swept away by a merciless wind. As Rottner’s physical form disappeared into the abyss, his magical essence remained behind, inexorably drawn to the Codex Oblivora that lay open at T’amery’s feet.

The ancient tome pulsed with an eerie light, its pages rustling with an unseen energy as it absorbed Rottner’s raw magical power. The Codex seemed to come alive, its arcane sigils glowing with a newfound intensity, as if reveling in the infusion of Rottner’s essence.

T’amery watched with a mixture of fascination and triumph as the last wisps of Rottner’s magic were consumed by the Codex, forever bound to its pages and subject to his control. The tome had become a vessel for Rottner’s power, a conduit through which T’amery could wield the fallen Maji’s abilities as his own.

The Codex Oblivora closed with a thud, T’amery’s lips curling in dark satisfaction. Rottner’s body may have been cast into the Void, but his magic now existed within the pages of the Codex, ready to be unleashed at T’amery’s command. The true power of the Codex Oblivora had been revealed, and with it, T’amery’s path to dominion over the Boven Naturals universe seemed clearer than ever before.

As the grove swallowed Rottner’s absence, T’amery couldn’t shake a lingering thought: Power, true power, was a double-edged blade, demanding a price in blood and sacrifice. 

The grove lapsed back into its moonlit serenity, its eerie light sketching a tableau of triumph and defeat. T’amery’s visage was an impenetrable mask of victory. The cosmic scales had tipped; destiny hung in delicate balance. 

One final thought crystallized in Grant T’amery’s mind: You’re not the only one with newfound power, Ms. Connatis; sooner or later, you’ll have to reckon with me. With that, he disappeared into the night, his path wrought with dark intent and boundless ambition.