Oz stepped into the library as Fflyn, and immediately felt a weight leave his body. I’ve returned. I’m safe once more.

You were always safe! Fflyn protested.

Yeah, but now I’m really safe, Oz returned. Snapping his fingers, he canceled the possession spell and jolted back to life in his real body. Jumping up from the nook, Oz rushed to the door, where Sachairi waited politely, Aisling at his side.

“One moment,” Oz muttered, pulling open the command panel.

“Take as long as you need,” Sachairi said, swaying slightly in place, his hands knitted in front of him.

Fflyn looked up at Oz, then nodded to himself and fell in behind him. Oz didn’t notice, but Sachairi’s eyes followed the young man, and a small smile touched his face.

Are you done gallivanting about, then? Fenrir asked.

For now. Can you do the thing where the front door connects to the World Door again? Oz requested.

Already done. Close the door and open it again, and you’ll be there.

Oz nodded at Sachairi. “Once I close the door, go ahead and open it. I’ll see you on the other side of the World Door.”

Sachairi nodded.

The door shut. Oz waited a moment, then opened it, and found himself facing the familiar golden fields. Fflyn peeked out from beside him. “Can I come?”

“Sure,” Oz said. “No reason why not.”

Fflyn nodded. He jumped out into the field, and Oz followed after him. From the opposite side of the door, Aisling and Sachairi stepped out.

Immediately, Aisling knelt, opening the large sack she carried on her back. The neck opened wide, wide, wider. Wolves poured out, running into the golden field. They yipped joyfully and charged at one another, jumping and playing.

Oz nodded at Sachairi. “So, did I find your scandal?”

Sachairi shook his head. “I knew there was a strange wasting disease and odd numbers on the census from that region. I didn’t expect a full-on necromantic invasion. Firing the Mages’ Quarter’s weaponry is one thing, but cleaning it out completely is another. We mages will be busy cleaning up the undead in that camp for ages.”

“In the camp? What about the other villages in the region?” Oz asked.

Sachairi squinted at him. “The rest of the region was abandoned. The camp was the only part that was occupied.”

“You only flew over, so you might not have noticed—”

“I scanned the entire region as I flew over. It was completely vacant. No undead, no living mortals,” Sachairi asserted, a tinge of concern in his voice.

Oz tensed. He looked at Aisling.

Aisling shook her head. “Master, that’s not possible. Every village we passed on the way to the camp was infested with undead. Even the rivers and lakes were choked with corrupted fey and demons.”

Sachairi put a hand on his chin. He frowned. “That…then the camp, was it a distraction, while the true necromancer absconded with the most valuable undead?”

“There was another. Someone who killed Morag. Someone who spoke to the possessed Baltair,” Oz murmured, putting a hand on his chin. He looked up at Sachairi. “And we never figured out why Roan was out there, either.”

“Roan was—?” Sachairi asked, startled.

Oz nodded. “Baltair was possessing him. Roan himself…we have no idea. He might be long dead. His soul might be captured for something else. We never encountered him, so we don’t know.”

Sachairi put a hand on his chin, thinking. “Roan…that’s interesting. Cecil Daggarty’s disciple.”

Oz nodded. “And Cecil Daggarty manages the Lafayne Region. Someone was fudging the census numbers for the region. And Roan was there, too? It’s strange. Exceedingly strange.”

Sachairi turned, watching the wolves frolic in the distance. “I originally thought Cecil was behind the troubles in the Lafayne Region. He grew up there, and he seemed to bear a grudge against something in his past. I’ve suspected him since he volunteered to manage the area. When the census numbers turned strange, I thought it was him attempting his revenge. At worst, I thought you might encounter a mortal disease, or evidence of a targeted killing. I never meant to send you into something this dangerous.”

“No, no, it’s fine. It all turned out for the best. After all, I think we’ve succeeded at distracting everyone from the library for quite some time. But…is it that common for mages to return to their hometowns for murder? So common that it was the first thing that came to mind?” Oz asked.

“Not common, per se, but it’s not unheard of. Sometimes, mages remember slights from when they were mortal, and return to their birthplaces to enact petty revenge. But necromancy…” He shook his head. “I have no proof, of course. I could be entirely wrong. Still, we should keep an eye on Cecil Daggarty.”

“I agree,” Oz said.

Sachairi sighed. “On the other hand, the necromancer is an immediate problem, right now. They killed Morag, and we can’t question her bones without turning to necromancy ourselves…though I suspect the necromancer dissipated her soul, making revival or summoning completely impossible.”

Oz raised his brows. That’s a thing you can do? Terrifying. I was in more danger than I thought, possessing Fflyn!

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Well. Problems for another day. For now, you need to finish reading those books and get to the first realm,” Sachairi told Oz, grinning a little. He thumbed over his shoulder. “Aisling and I will tell those stuffy folks on the Mages’ Council about what you saw, so rest easy. As for Cecil Daggarty…I’ll keep an eye out. It’s the most any of us can do right now, unfortunately. He has too strong a hold over the Mages’ Council. And honestly, now that Naomhan is very, very obviously dead, he’s almost guaranteed to become Grand Magus.”

“Hard to see how corrupting Morag helped Cecil,” Oz muttered sarcastically.

Sachairi snorted. “Indeed. But circumstantial evidence isn’t going to convince the council.”

“No. It wouldn’t, would it.”

Sachairi rested a hand on Oz’s shoulder. “There are sympathetic mages on the council. It isn’t completely hopeless. But…Cecil is likely to become the Grand Magus, regardless of what we do.”

“If he’s the necromancer—”

“Well, of course. But do you have evidence?” Sachairi asked.

Oz sighed. “No.”

“Right. So focus on growing stronger. Let me handle the politics. I’ll do everything I can to warn the Mages’ Quarter of the dangers you saw, but, well, they’re a bunch of fucking idiots. They’ll probably put all the blame on Morag and the Severance Sect, and pretend none of this happened…once they finish cleaning up the undead.”

Oz nodded. “Typical.”

Sachairi gave Oz a nod. “Then, I’ll head out. Good luck, and grow strong.”

He stepped outside. Behind him, Aisling hesitated a moment, then nodded her farewell to Oz and followed her master outside.

The door shut. Oz sighed, exhausted. He sat down in the grass, staring up at the sky.

“So, I take it something happened,” Linnea commented, appearing suddenly between Oz and the sky.

Oz jumped, then laughed. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Behind him, Fflyn took off at a run without hesitation. Idly, Linnea gestured, shooting a string of silk after him. The silk caught his ankle and yanked him to the ground. She reeled him in, hand over hand.

“I see I have some new cellmates?” Linnea asked, looking at the wolves.

“Ah, yes. Linnea, meet Loup.” Oz looked at the wolves, then shrugged. “She’s one of them, anyways. A half-fey.”

“Pleased, I’m sure,” Linnea said. Having reeled Fflyn in, she twisted his body around expertly, winding the silk around him by second nature.

“Er, is there a reason you’re turning Fflyn into a cocoon?” Oz asked.

Linnea paused. As if realizing what she was doing for the first time, she stared at Fflyn. Fflyn stared back, giving her a hopeful look.

Linnea shrugged. She went back to cocooning Fflyn. “No, no reason.”

Silent tears streamed down Fflyn’s face.

“And, uh, the cellmates thing…you can return to the library whenever you like, now. There’s no reason for me to limit you, now that I’m back,” Oz said, rubbing the back of his head.

Linnea nodded. She continued wrapping up Fflyn. His shoulders vanished beneath the silk, then his head.

“I’ll remove the restriction on the World Door. And…see you on the other side?” Oz said, turning to go.

“Yes. I’ll see you,” Linnea said quietly.

Oz smiled. “It’s good to be back.”

He stepped through the door and into the quiet library beyond, making a beeline for the few shelves that remained. Tonight, I read all the books on the first floor. Tonight, I break through to the first stage!

--

“Master.”

Elder Silverfang stood atop the tower opposite the library, looking down at the library’s front door as Sachairi and aisling emerged. Hands tucked behind his back, he gave no indication that he’d heard the figure dressed in black crouched behind him.

The figure waited, quietly, without making a sound.

The wind blew. Silverfang’s hair flew with the wind, the single strand of silver dancing amid the inky black like a shooting star. “Have you ever thought that the Mages’ Quarter is a cruel place?”

“Master?”

“Needlessly cruel. A dark hole that devours everything that comes near it, eating talent and hard work alike, and spitting out those few who successfully navigate the changeable waters of its politics. An artificial test constructed by someone who wanted not to forget the strongest mages, nor reach ascension, but merely trap all those fools naïve enough to enter it, thinking they could progress within its confines, until they could no longer think of life without it.”

There was silence for a few beats.

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“Master, if not for the Mages’ Quarter, I would be long dead. I cannot hate the safety that keeps me alive.”

“Keeps you alive, yes. But destroyed Sachairi, a mage with thousands of time your potential.

“For whom does the Mages’ Quarter exist, then? Who does it benefit? The weak? The strong? Or perhaps no one, except those distracted by its pointless game. No one, except whoever set this trap, however long ago they set it.”

The dark figure said nothing. The wind blew, sending Elder Silverfang’s hair and robes flying once more.

“What do you have to report?” Silverfang requested.

The black-robed figure clasped his hands to Elder Silverfang. “Reporting. Fflyn is indeed not himself. Additionally, he was followed on his journey by Sachairi’s disciple. Given Sachairi’s fascination with the library, and Fflyn’s strange change of personality, I suspect he was in some way controlled or possessed by Ossian Vestal, the new librarian.”

“Within expectations. And what else?”

“The necromancer has entirely corrupted the region. They set traps on the scale of the entire region, traps meant to swallow up any living being that did not belong, mage or no. I barely escaped several myself. Whoever the necromancer is, they are at least at the sixth stage, if not more powerful.”

“Sixth stage…” Elder Silverfang frowned. “There are few within the Mages’ Quarter who have reached that stage. In the entire country, including the rogue mages and eccentrics who serve no master nor creed, there might be three. None of them struck me as likely to become necromancers.”

The dark-robed figure hesitated.

“Speak,” Elder Silverfang ordered.

“I fear to say these words aloud, for I have no certain proof. However, I suspect that this necromancer is no ordinary necromancer. Instead…they may be a lich. A long-dead soul, bound to this plane, given shape once more by some lesser necromancer’s hand.”

“You suspect this necromancer of being the Calamity?” Elder Silverfang asked evenly.

The dark-robed figure flinched. After a moment, they lowered their head. “I barely dare to speak it aloud, but yes. I do…I believe they may be the Calamity.”

“Impossible. The Calamity’s soul was dissipated. Their body, torn asunder. It isn’t possible for the Calamity to return to life, not even as a lich.”

Again, the figure hesitated. This time, they dared to speak, even before Silverfang granted them permission. “Respectfully, Elder, it is the records that say that. Few mages still alive personally saw the havoc the Calamity wreaked upon these lands, much less personally attended the battle at which the Calamity was finally destroyed. Can you say, for certain, that the Calamity’s soul was dispersed?”

Elder Silverfang gazed to the horizon. For a long moment, he said nothing.

At last, he nodded. “If there were any records of the Calamity, it would be within those walls.”

“Master?” The black-robed figure perched on their tiptoes to follow his gaze. They frowned. “The library?”

“Indeed. The library. If you’re so convinced this necromancer is the Calamity that you’d go so far as to question our records, why not seek out the records yourself?”

The black-robed figure glanced at Elder Silverfang. “Is this punishment?”

“Only if you, yourself, consider it to be. You have put forth an idea. Now prove it, or disprove it, but do not put forth ideas that you do not wish to pursue. I won’t waste my time with idle speculation. You, however, are free to do so.”

With that, Elder Silverfang vanished, leaving the black-robed figure alone on the roof. For a few seconds, they remained at a bow, before finally standing. They approached the edge of the roof and gazed down, taking in the towering library.

“So this is the one who might know,” the figure murmured, half to themselves. They pulled at the cloth hiding their face, revealing a pale, slack Erich. Dead eyes took in the towering building, the lips not quite meeting where his mouth shut. A cold laugh emerged from Erich’s throat, nothing like his actual voice. “I think it’s time I do a little reading.”

Taking a step forward, they dropped down toward the library.

--END VOLUME 1--