“Alright then.” Mustafá is standing behind me, arms crossed. I can feel her penetrating gaze on my back. “Define Transmutation.”

“In a practical or a theoretical way?” I ask, already understanding my teacher’s mind a little better.

“Good.” She nods. “In a practical way.”

“Transmutation is the process where we turn Mana into tangible objects.” My lips curl into a confident smile. “Both magical and mundane materials can be used as Components to reduce the amount of Mana required to bring an object to life, imbue it with characteristics, and in general raise its Presence.”

“Now define Presence.” The mage slowly walks around me.

“It is the property that defines how ‘real’ an object is in our plane, and how long it can remain without the constant applying of Astral and Mana.” I nod a few times. “It is measured in the Stradivarius Scale. Zero to Five stars.”

“You mentioned our plane. How many planes are there?” She turns towards me.

“Four!” I feel her finger poking my forehead. “Owie!”

“Five.” She corrects.

“Urgh, but one is only a theory! Does it really count?” It feels a little fun to be able to actually argue with her about magical matters for a change!

“It can be measured. Even if the theory is not definitive, it is still widely accepted. So, it counts.” She pokes me again. “Exemplify two types of materials you can use for Transmutation.”

“Organic materials like eggs and bones, and precious materials like gold and silver.” I take the chance to immediately add some more detail. “Curiously, Amber and Pearls are both organic in origin and are considered precious materials, so they are uniquely energetic and suited for magical work.”

“Mention materials that are magically neutral.” Her questions are fast and merciless.

“Uhhhhh…” Now that I don’t remember her mentioning, so this is probably something I need to deduce. “... I give up.” She pokes me again. “Ouch!”

“Chalk.” Poke. “Ink.” Poke. “Paper.” Poke. “Canvas.” Poke. “What do they all have in common?”

“Ow, ow, ow! They are, uh, materials you use for writing?” I pout.

“Is that a question or an answer?” Poke, poke, poke.

“A-An answer! Ouch!” My pouting turns to whining.

“Then you are correct. Raw materials known for their usage in the literary business are magically neutral. You can enchant them as you see fit with little resistance.” Mustafá nods slowly, while I pick up my notebook to start writing. “This only applies for white chalk, black ink and clear paper. The moment you change the colour from what’s been deemed ‘typical’ in the mind of the collective, you imbue it with meaning, and they immediately acquire properties accordingly.”

“Got it… I guess it makes sense… Although, black ink could be representative of corruption and darkness, right?” I tilt my head to the side.

“Correct. This is just to show how fragile and fickle ‘Magical Neutrality’ really is, or neutrality in every single aspect of the word if you want to get philosophical. A single slip and you lose it completely.” With that, Mustafá sits down and sighs. “Finally, tell me about Circles.”

“Ah, right! If a cluster of Runes is called a Glyph, then a system of Glyphs is called a Circle.” I get poked for that one. “Ow!”

“Wrong.” She shakes her finger in front of me.

“What!? Why?” My pout returns.

“All Circles are systems of Glyphs, but not all systems of Glyphs are Circles. A Circle is a system of Glyphs made specifically for transmutation.” I… hate to admit it but her logic is sound. “An example of a circle?”

“The pentagram inside a circle, right?” I tilt my head again. “I still don’t get how that one works without Runes inscribed on it.”

“That’s the advantage of branded spells, but we will talk about that later. That’s enough for now, well done.” Mustafá lays back on the floor.

“That was a loooot of stuff.” I lay back as well. “Has studying magic always been this intensive?”

“It used to be worse. In the times before Gato, we had to scour through entire libraries to gather what little knowledge we could find.” She closed her eyes as she remembered. “Terrible times, really.”

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“You were alive and going about before Gato did his thing?” I questioned. Mustafá looks me straight in the eye. “... Ah, right, no asking about your age. Sorry.”

“Never ask a lady her age. It is basic.” She closes her eyes and relaxes again.

Honestly, with all the interrogations and the reading, this has been quite the enjoyable trip. For an instant I even forgot about the reason we have been doing this in the first place! But then, I feel a change in the air. The temperature rises very suddenly, to the point where I can feel myself sweating. A warm, orange light dimly fights off the shadows, fading in slowly as we approach the very bottom of this apparently not-bottomless pit.

The mechanisms of the elevator begin to slow down, until we land in a huge cave, carved on the naked stone of the underworld. Spikes of brightly shining amber grew like teeth on the sides of the cavern, not only illuminating but also radiating an intense heat around us, like weak, highly inefficient lanterns.

Mustafá slowly got back up, stretching and helping me back to my feet before guiding us both deeper into the cave. Swallowing some spit I walk slowly behind her, looking around and above us. This cavern is tremendous, I barely see the ceiling…!

“So… now we’re not only under the city, but also under the Tower.” I say, stating the obvious first and foremost. “How are we going to deal with this dragon exactly?”

“We aren’t.” My teacher turns off her headlamp, no longer needing it.

“What do you mean ‘we aren’t’? Why are we here then?” I feel the need to complain rising within me already.

“We are here to check if it is still sealed. That is all. If it isn’t, then we are here to check if it is sleeping.” Mustafá cracked her knuckles “If it isn’t, we run like hell to Bisontia.”

“To The Empire of Bisontia? Wait. So this is related to the thing that happened there after all? You know, the terrorist attack?”

I want to keep asking but Mustafá suddenly takes a finger to her lips. We stop walking right at the end of the cavern, in front of a huge, round stone slab, mounted to block the cave’s way completely. Runes, Glyphs and entire systems had been carved on the stone and then painted with amberine colours that had faded with the time, forming beautiful webs of interlocking patterns all converging into a ‘Rein’ symbol in the very center.

“...The seal has weakened with time.” The mage says, putting her hands on the stone and carefully inspecting it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… how is it that dragons have survived, if apparently everything else in the magical world was wiped out?” I walk to stand beside her, pretending I understand what I see.

“Inaccurate. Not everything was wiped out, most of them just left. Also, you can’t truly kill a dragon without destabilizing the life system of the entire planet.” She moves from one side of the stone to the other, her hands still tracing it. “They are the angular stones of conceptualization.”

“Okay, I will pretend I understand what that means and ask you about it later.” Sigh.

“Well… everything seems to be just f– what is that?”

The woman suddenly turns and points at a tiny, miniscule crack in the stone. I look at it too and freeze. For a moment I think of asking ‘That’s not enough for a dragon to fit through, right?’, but judging by the way Mustafá rushes over there to check it out, it’s probably not that simple. In a lot of works of fiction, dragons are capable of incredible feats of transformation and magic, so maybe…

“Is… is that bad…?” I manage to ask, frozen by sudden, abject fear.

“We are going in.” She suddenly says. “Come to me. We are going in now.”

I jog over to her as the woman starts to trace a circle light around herself, her finger guiding the lines that appeared on the floor. I stand right in front of her as she works, trying not to stand directly on the lines… when suddenly a voice roars with such an intensity, that not only does the cave tremble in its entirety, but Mustafá breaks concentration and the lines of her spell completely disappear.

“COME TO ME.”

We both look at each other. That was exactly what we were about to do anyways, right? But now that we know for a fact that whatever the Hells was in there was awake? Hells no. We immediately turn around without another word and begin walking in the exact opposite direction.

“OI. I SAID COME TO ME.”

We ignore it. We ignore it and we only walk faster, not daring to really run but just trapped in a sort of awkward, panicked powerwalk as we try to reach the elevator.

“STOP IGNORING ME. I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME.”

I am so afraid my face has frozen into a grimace of pain. Looking at Mustafá, her face is stiff and stern, probably trying so hard to keep her cool in front of me. A violent, gurgling roar shakes the cavern once more as we step back on the elevator and Mustafá activates it. The mechanisms groan, apparently needing a moment to warm up before starting… and that’s when suddenly it grabs me. A long, huge, undulating and red scaled arm ending in (surprisingly) five clawed fingers. The thing was big enough to grab me by the torso and suddenly lift me.

I yelp.

Mustafá immediately moves a finger to point at the creature and casts something I don’t have the time to decipher.

“HAEIPHET!”

There’s a sudden gust of wind, guided by the witch’s finger, that immediately cuts through the creature’s arm before it can pull me. Blood as blue as the vibrant sky splatters everywhere as the clawed hand is suddenly severed, and another loud, pained roar shakes my world. The hand doesn’t let me go, it simply falls limp to the side, its entire weight pushing the air out of my lungs as I am squeezed with its last strength

“URG! YOU INSOLENT LITTLE BASTARD!”

The woman turns to me, ready to free me, when another clawed arm comes and grabs her from behind. I can only see her face barely above the fingers of a closed, gigantic red fist. In the few seconds she has, she yells.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

I do so by instinct, wondering what the plan was.

There was no plan.

All I hear is the terrifying, cacophonous crack of two hundred bones breaking at once.

There’s splashing too, a sloshing sound, a disgusting gurgle of air… and I hear Mustafá no longer.

I don’t dare to open my eyes, only feel how suddenly the arm that’s holding me regains its mobility. Did the thing regenerate or something? I hear more roars, lower this time, as the thing drags its limping hand across the cave floor. Breathing heavily, I gather the bravery (or stupidity) to look out.

I see a bloodstained turban on the floor. A pool of scarlet red. Something akin to a pulp of flesh and cloth tossed on the side.

I close my eyes again.

As the thing pulls me further in, I start sobbing, not really knowing what else to do or try right now. I know I should be casting, I know I should be trying to escape somewhere, somehow, try anything to get out of this situation. But this… this is just…

I feel the hand squeeze me tighter than before and I hyperventilate. This is it. Will I fight? Will I resist? Will inspiration come and save me like before?

No. Not this time.

Not like this.

In the middle of one last gasp for air, I fall unconscious…