I stood at the edge of Briar Lake, my eyes fixed on the silhouette of Adrian Thane’s ominous mansion. The moon’s pale light cast a lonely shadow on the ground, and I noticed how silent everything was. Trees around me danced but made no sound. I’d expected walls, a fortification to keep this house under lock and key, but it was almost welcoming. The only thing that broke this illusion of peace was the constant, irritating hum.

Magic.

A spell protected this house, probably the first one of many. I could feel it, the radiating energy that hung in the air. I’d never been able to explain where my abilities had come from, but I felt this mansion’s heartbeat and how to stop it.

The closer I got, the clearer it all became, and when I got to the front door, I brought my hand to the knob and closed my eyes. I felt it first, and then I saw it in my mind—a kaleidoscope of colours. Blue and silver colliding, separating, encircling a core of bright red. Drawing a deep breath, I focused on the convergence of colours. They shifted and swirled, intertwining like ethereal ribbons. And then, with a touch of my finger, I began unweaving this tapestry of magic. My senses honed, and I pulled on red and blue strands, revealing a white kernel. There it was, the crack in this barrier, and I lunged through it.

The door unlocked, and I opened my eyes.

I stepped over the threshold and entered Adrian Thane’s mansion, the air heavy with a mixture of mustiness and lingering enchantments. The soft moonlight entered through the dirty windows. I moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridor, focussing on stealth at first, but then remembered that Adrian Thane was long gone, so I was utterly alone in this place.

The floor cracked with each step. I entered a large living room and faced remnants of the man’s former life—a painting of the ocean, now faded and worn, and shelves filled with old dusty books and trinkets. The mansion seemed frozen in time, trapped in a perpetual state of old mystery. I wasn’t going to go through every room. What got me my reputation was my efficiency. If the wizard wanted to keep a valuable document safe, it would be where the strongest magic was. I just had to follow my instincts and listen to the arcane whispers that lingered in the air.

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I walked past rooms until something did catch my eye. A portrait. A young wizard with an awfully familiar face. I couldn’t explain it, but he looked like someone I’d seen before. A client, a beggar, someone in Perlgate I must have run into that morning. I shook this eerie feeling off, focussing on the task at hand, and delved deeper into the mansion’s heart.

I made it to the room where I felt concentrated arcane energy. It was a secondary office, but the paperwork was all over the place. The dusty trinkets on the shelves were of another nature, something darker. The wizard had obviously been busy with artefacts other than licensed Academy possessions. I couldn’t understand much of the barely legible notes, but his thirst for unusual knowledge was apparent.

After my interview with Blackhand, I’d done minimal research into Adrian Thane. There were stories of a selfish man obsessed with his ambitions, a wizard whose thirst for power had ultimately earned him enemies. I wondered how they’d managed to kill him.

I’d briefly lost myself in the eerie stillness until a sound reached my ears—a groan. A frustrated grunt. It sounded like a woman.

My curiosity was piqued, and I followed the sound. The corridor led me to the adjacent room, where I discovered a woman with one wrist shackled to the wall. I stood in the shadows, she couldn’t see me. She struggled to get loose, attempting to reach for a wand on the ground. I stepped closer—she still wasn’t seeing me.

She was pretty, with long sleek black hair and a robe tight around her waist. She was obviously a magic user. This was the traditional Magi Academy uniform.

“Holy Morx!” she screamed. Now she’d seen me. “Who the bloody Underworld are you?”

Startled by my not-so-sudden appearance, her eyes widened with fear. Perhaps it was my outfit. The cloak and daggers never did very well in appearances.

“Well, don’t you just sit there,” she whined. “Help me!” She pointed at the ground. “Give me my wand.”

I heeded and kicked the wand towards her. She seemed offended and had probably expected me to bow and hand it to her, but she composed herself and whispered some words. Her wand’s stone lit up with a bright yellow glimmer, and her wrist was free. My question was: ‘What the bloody Underworld is she doing here?’