Jean

Jean slashed downwards with a construct of astral mana, bisecting a writhing mass of centipedes vaguely shaped like a person.

Jean had trained for years in the precursor techniques for [Starlight Spear]. While his family’s spell was predominantly useful as a rather explosive piercing projectile, it also could be used for prolonged combat, in case of a battle of attrition.

What was currently going on was beyond a battle of attrition for Jean. It had been hours, and the trek was beginning to wear on him, but he kept going without complaint. Chandrika was still completely unconscious, and Gio was locked into a trance of some kind, so his only company was the Librarian.

Jean admittedly was unfamiliar with the giant owl. He always scored fairly well on his coursework, but he didn’t consider himself particularly bookish, so he didn't have much reason to spend time in the Owl’s respite.

“Why are there so many centipedes in the library? I know that they prefer dark, damp environments, but these seem… magical.” Jean asked of his only conversational partner.

He cleared the corpse of the unsettling humanoid mass out of Gio’s footpath, having observed that Gio was unable to deviate from his course currently.

“That is a long and unfortunate story. The short version is that they spring from what you might have heard referred to as one of the “bosses” of the dungeon. That boss was once a knowledge elemental like me, and its offspring attempt to gain access to areas rich in knowledge mana. As for the golems… we have no clue. Some quirk of the… situation, perhaps.” said the owl, using his smaller avatar to scout ahead.

Jean stopped for a moment, allowing a moment for Gio to reach him.

Jean regarded his silver-haired classmate, at the center of a whorl of purple mana. The wood of the bookshelves nearest Gio seemed to alight from within with a soft green glow, and the dust from their shelves stirred, as glittery purple motes joined Gio’s gentle maelstrom as he walked by, footfalls strangely hypnotic, almost soothing.

“Quite a sight, is it not? The first time the boy did this, it took me off guard.” The owl said, landing on Jean’s shoulder gently.

“When he described it to me… he said it was a useless technique that could hardly find a cup in a cupboard. I think I imagined some sort of low-powered divination, like the kind that hacks use in the silver circus after they charge you a handful of bits. This… I couldn’t do this. He’s been circulating mana for over three hours without pause.” Jean said.

“Yes, indeed. It’s a relic of the times before magic was studied like it is today. I was unaware that it was still being taught anywhere, even as a training tool. I would be interested to know where he learned it.” The bird noted.

This deep into the library, the shelves and their contents had become strange. Several times, Jean had noted curio cases, some empty, some full of odd specimens. There were antique swords, half consumed by rust, and incredible tomes, sealed by glowing glyphs. Jean could see why coming out here was alluring, if not for the danger.

“What even is any of this? You’re the keeper of the stacks, right? So you collected it?” Jean asked.

“In ancient times, before I became what I am now, I was dispersed in this place… I remember some of it. In the places where the light of the Manse touches, I know every single page. Out here… I feel remnants of my previous form, but I am not largely in control of these areas. I do some light housekeeping, ensure that the inkwraiths are culled periodically, and the like.” The Librarian said.

Jean heard a gurgling noise, and both he and the owl turned to the noise to find a black shape, it's silhouette barely visible against the backdrop of dimly lit bookshelves, cast in a purple glow by Gio.

“Speaking of inkwraiths, here’s one. Mister Castallane, let’s try something. Lure the inkwraith to the perimeter of Giorgio’s manifestation, but be prepared to intervene in case this doesn’t work.” The bird said.

“Should we be gambling with this process this far into it? I don’t know if I feel comfortable risking Gio’s safety like this.” Jean responded, quizzically.

“Inkwraiths are notoriously difficult to harm through conventional means and can escape by entering books in a… confusing manner. I do not believe that you will be able to harm one, and I am currently unable to do so either. I have a theory that… well, you’ll see. I promise to intervene before it reaches Mister deGloria.”

Jean reluctantly assented, luring the perturbing shadow closer and closer to Gio gradually.

The ghostlike shade began to screech as it entered the vortex of purple mana surrounding Gio. Jean, who was also in the radius, was shocked at how the ink construct appeared to be caught in some sort of turbulent field, ripped apart by the currents of mana. To Jean, the purple field felt odd, but otherwise like still air.

The purple field seemed to intensify as the inkwraith was reduced to piles of damp black dust. Gio stepped in a pile, drawing a wince from Jean, and then a shocked expression when the black material slid right off of him in a shower of white sparks.

“Mister deGloria appears to be unconsciously channeling a cleansing spell amidst this maelstrom. A bizzarity. Inkwraiths are mostly comprised of knowledge mana, and it appears that I was correct in assuming that this field would rip away that mana from its corporeal form. If you are able, that residue is valuable. I would recommend you collect it for Giorgio.” The owl stated.

After a long while, and several more encounters, Gio shifted down an aisle of curio cases. The glowing green wood and purple vortex lit up the cabinets, full of uncountable items of different sorts. One such cabinet was full of what appeared to be thousands of glass eggs, each filled with varying levels of dark fluid that responded violently to the mana, forming ropey black pseudopods along the surface of their tiny, fragile prisons. Jean recoiled, nearly knocking into the preserved head of some sort of goblinoid on the shelf opposite.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“I hope that we’re almost there,” Jean stated, unsettled.

_____

Gio

Gio stopped, facing an empty display of some kind. The swirl of purple mana dispersed, flowing along the floor and out into the dark hall. The green glow of the foxfire in the wood was still present, albeit fading slowly.

Emerging from his trance, Gio examined the cabinet in front of him. A tall obelisk of glass, lined by tarnished silver fittings stood, pointed at the top with several rings of metal. Inside the case was what looked to be a specially designed museum stand. the holder looked to be a hemisphere of polished metal suspended in the middle of the case by sturdy metal bars, designed to hold something with a rounded base.

The aisle erupted with bright light, as Chandrika awoke into a trance of her own.

The petite girl jumped down from the wooden owl statue, summoning a tiara of golden light atop her head. She grabbed hold of both Gio and Jean’s hands, speaking aloud. “Take it, Gio.”

“Take… what? It’s empty Rika. There’s nothing there.” Gio replied, clearly drained from his earlier working.

“Use your sight. Take it. Please.” she commanded, in a tense voice not entirely her own.

Gio tried to see what she was talking about. He cast [Detect Magic], looking into the empty curio case. His refined senses, still active from the divination, instantly picked up on notes of sparking arcane mana… with some other faint traces of… death.

Gio looked over to his compatriots. “Uhh… whatever is there is-” “Do not say that.” Chandrika interrupted.

“What is it?” spat the owl. “I perceive nothing.”

“I… don’t know.” Gio replied.

“Please, Gio. Take it.” Chandrika said, clearly in pain.

Gio looked towards his first friend at the academy. He grasped the space, and a shimmering black oblong, with a carved face appeared.

The Librarian screeched. “NO! PUT THAT D-”

The three students disappeared, in a flash of blue and black mana.

_____

Eudoria Vespertine

Eudoria sat across from one of her favorite faculty members.

She was rather proud of her study. Baubles of all shapes and sizes tittered and tottered about, bespelled to provide the perfect amount of delightful clicking. Better than a clock, and less annoying than a man. I should visit my husband.

She was surrounded on all sides but one by her ancestral color. A lovely shade of indigo. She was lucky that her family’s color was her favorite color. Her drapes, curtains, table runners, banners, tapestries- all of it a lovely sheen of indigo satin that positively submerged the room in color.

She surveyed the man in front of her. The privilege of age is leaving your company sitting in front of you in deeply uncomfortable silence while you think over what you want to say.

Alexander Anaximenes was a younger professor, at only 65 years old- but he cared. She loved the inventive lesson plans he came up with, his scores were fantastic, and he had an immaculate sense of style- an important facet for a professor of the mystic arts.

Ever since Alexander reached tenure more than 20 years ago, he had been an invaluable member of the college. His oneiromancy background had a profound effect on the way that the academy approached its decision-making.

His dream-prophecy, coupled with his visionary approach to ancestral hierophany utilizing psychopomps is just such a breath of fresh air.

So when he practically sprinted into her private office, she was inclined to hear him out before tearing him apart.

“So… you said the Chakraverti girl wanted me to… you said “find them”?” Eudoria said,

“Right.” Alexander said, sweating. Oh, relax. I don't make a habit of torturing my staff. Much.

“And did you in any way inform her of my specialty? My family’s arts?” She asked.

“To my knowledge, Headmaster, she has absolutely no way of knowing. Your abilities are clandestine, even among the faculty.”

An invisible, gauntleted hand pressing against her right shoulder let her know that he was telling the truth.

“Right. Well, if this turns out to be some sort of game of hide-and-seek, she’ll be having words with me. A shame to hear about the headaches, for sure. But then, the sages of Ujjbala Sūrya are all known to be a touch eccentric. Why, I should give her grandmother a call, if not just to catch up.”

Eudoria called upon one of her ancestral magics. The Vespertine lineage was rather deviously, or perhaps insidiously infamous among certain, tight-lipped circles.

A deep cerulean pool of liquid mana erupted forth on her desk, swirling and creating structures out of thin air. The undulating mass of liquid crystalline mana pulsed with intent, and Headmaster Vespertine plunged her entire head into the violent mass.

Blue. Black. Crystal. Death. Undeath. Faith. Rot. Decay. Silence. Vault. Dragon.

No images presented themselves to Eudoria, only vague feelings. Echoes of mana.

The aged woman righted herself in her recliner, fixing her hair from the magic. She pondered for a moment.

Occultation, the secret magical art of hidden things, was something that the Vespertine lineage did exceedingly well. Eudoria’s long-since dead father was something of a bastard and had been murdered. Thoroughly. The machiavellian man had something of a habit of raising families to the heights of wealth with his obscure powers. and then cheating them out of every last drop of it.

Eudoria was already 300 years old or so when he passed, and was unfortunate enough to have been the first to discover the sight of her father, naked on his bed, impaled by a hundred ceremonial swords of different styles.

In Eudoria’s opinion- style, while not always benevolent, was usually a good marker of power.

She had long since resolved to live an honest life. The art of occultation is great at hiding things, and the nebulous magic is equally, if not moreso, good at revealing things.

So when she didn’t find her quarry, she laughed. Nowhere in the school should be warded from her gaze. Even if they were out past the Manse.

Eudoria laughed a bitter, hysterical laugh, for quite some time.

Drying her mirthful tears, she turned to face her paled former student.

“Quite right then, Alexander! We have missing students to find!”