A dark, ominous cloud had hung menacingly over the Erion house since dawn, clinging to it as though determined never to let go. Rain spilled from its heavy folds, streaming down the crooked, leaky roof, drumming against the windows in a complex rhythm.

"Why did it have to pick our house?" Norbert muttered to himself, scowling out the window. Far off over the forest, not a single drop fell from the sky, and on the other side of the house, the sun was even shining on a nearby hill! It was the only proper cloud in the entire sky that he could see that day. "How annoying!" he grumbled, climbing down from his stool to tend to one of the many water-filled pots scattered around the room, capturing drops leaking from the ceiling of their dilapidated roof.

Norbert was home alone today. At only seven years old, he had to know how to take care of himself when his father was at work. His mother, sadly, had passed away three years ago from a disease known as "frostblight"—a rare illness that drains all strength from geomancers. Whenever he thought of his mother, he could almost smell her floral perfume and picture her smooth face. He was certain she still watched over him, keeping him safe, just as his father assured him. That’s why he sometimes spoke to her aloud when no one else was around to hear.

Mr. Erion, like his late wife, was also a geomancer and kept his son safe at home with protective spells. He was an honest, brave, and kind man, even though his work wasn’t particularly reputable. He belonged to a secretive group of conjurers, collecting magic stones used by geomancers to cast spells, which he would later use or sell. The challenge was that these magic stones belonged to the deceased, and he had to sneak into graves, summon their spirits, and detach them from their magical cores. Why were these stones so important?

The answer was simple, and most geomancers knew it. In ancient times, in Arcana—the world of geomancers hidden deep beneath the human realm—a man named Adular had appeared, driven by an insatiable thirst for power. From a mysterious substance, he forged a powerful scepter capable of controlling and weakening all magic stones worldwide. He intended to subjugate others and become the sole ruler of everything. Before his downfall, he wreaked havoc with the scepter, draining surrounding magic to the point where the scepter’s insatiable thirst consumed even Adular himself. With nothing left that could destroy it, a band of heroes entombed it in a massive sarcophagus to prevent it from drawing strength from others ever again. Since then, all remaining stones have been weakened by what geomancers call "Adular’s Curse." All, that is, except those buried before Adular's rise, and these were the very stones Alfred Erion summoned.

Today, Norbert was especially impatient. Not only because it had rained all day when he could have been outside, but mainly because he was full of anticipation. His father was going to take him on his very first adventure tonight. Just thinking about it made him tremble with excitement. Maybe they’d encounter Vulcorns—majestic creatures that rarely soar across the skies, with golden fur, fox-like faces, and powerful eagle wings. Or perhaps his father would take him to witness a summoning. That thought sent a shiver through him, as he imagined the restless dead fiercely guarding their treasures.

Just as he walked back to the window, a bright bolt of lightning shot down from the cloud and struck the ground right in front of their house. A deep thunderclap followed, making Norbert jump in surprise. And there, in the spot the lightning had burned, stood his father, as if out of nowhere. Tall and slender, with tousled brown hair and large, prominent ears that Norbert had inherited, he appeared worried, glancing around. The instant he looked up toward the clouds, the rain above their house suddenly stopped. He stepped inside, waved his hand to dry his coat with a spell, and called out, “Hey, Bert, you little rascal, I’m home! So, are you packed and ready?”

“Hi, Dad!” Norbert shouted, rushing to hug him. “Look how much water I collected!” he said, pointing proudly to the full pots.

A smile flickered across Mr. Erion’s face. He patted his son on the shoulder and said, “Hmm… well done, son! You bravely defended our home from the downpour! You deserve a medal! It’s a good thing the rain’s stopped now; otherwise, who’d empty these pots while we’re away? By the way, you didn’t see anyone around, did you?” His father’s tone grew serious at that last question.

“No, not a soul,” Norbert replied. “And, Dad? Where are we going tonight?” he asked, barely able to contain his curiosity.

“Oh, you’ll see, son! Just wait. But, tell me, where’s your suitcase? I don’t see it anywhere. We’re not going anywhere until you’ve packed it properly.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll have it ready in no time!” he yelled reassuringly and dashed off to his room.

In the middle of his small, cozy room hung a fishing net where Norbert slept. Below it stood a large chest where he kept all his treasures and clothes, with a few wooden toys scattered around the floor. He grabbed his small leather suitcase, opened it on the floor, and began hurriedly stuffing it with items he thought might be useful. He’d never packed a suitcase before, so this was his debut.

From the bottom of his chest, he took a small communication mirror, a camouflage cloak, and a few shirts—he grabbed five just in case, since he tended to get dirty easily. Of course, he couldn’t forget pajamas and socks. Then he hesitated, deciding between his sparking, unsolved wooden puzzle (a gift from Mr. Firewood and definitely a cure for boredom) and his homemade slingshot. How could he go on an adventure without his stuffed lizard, even if one of its button eyes had recently fallen off? “You wouldn’t see much anyway,” he tried to console it. In the end, he chose the slingshot to keep the suitcase light. Yes, that was the most practical choice. He just needed ammunition, and since his dad didn’t allow him to shoot small stones—something about not wanting anyone to get hurt—he went to the kitchen and grabbed a pouch of dried seeds; they didn’t hurt as much.

Much later, he realized he’d forgotten his undershorts, a handkerchief, and his mother’s portrait—without which he found it nearly impossible to fall asleep.

“All done!” he announced proudly as he marched back into the kitchen.

“Really? So, tell me, do you have a bit of space left in there? I’d like to tuck a small box inside if you don’t mind,” his father asked, focused as he sketched some complex lines on a piece of paper.

“What are you drawing, Dad?” Norbert asked, full of curiosity.

“We need a map! Without it, we could easily lose our way,” Mr. Erion explained, his face set in concentration. He tapped the paper with his finger. “See here? This is where we’ll arrive. The forest should be behind us, and a field should stretch out in front of us. We’ll take this route, walk straight ahead, and after about a quarter-mile, we’ll come to a stream. We’ll follow it until we see a bridge with long, glowing torches. Remember, when we reach the bridge, you’ll need to turn right along the bank and start counting the houses. You know how to count, right?” he asked, glancing at his son.

Norbert nodded, staring at the map, trying hard to memorize the route.

“So, it’s the seventh house on the left side, see? These little squares on the map are the houses. That one’s Mrs. Tomanová’s house! That’s where we’re headed.”

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“Um, right, Dad, but…you’ll be with me, won’t you?”

“Of course I’ll be with you, but I want you to lead us, so I can see how you do.”

“Are you serious, Dad?! I won’t let you down!” Norbert exclaimed determinedly.

“And Norbert, before we set off, there’s one more thing we need to promise each other.” Mr. Erion looked his son straight in the eyes and raised a finger. “The rules for our trip are clear! First, no one must see us; we must stay hidden the entire way. Second, don’t tell anyone we’re geomancers, especially not Mrs. Tomanová or her daughter. Don’t even think about showing off! And third, if anything happens, you have to reach the destination no matter what, and I’ll come for you. Is all of this clear?” He looked very stern.

“Clear!” Norbert replied with a serious expression, mimicking his father.

“If you find yourself in real danger, take this.” His father opened a small box and pulled out a tiny black stone on a string, which, when held in the palm, seemed to contain a sparkling night sky within it. “I know you’re still too young to have your own magic stone, but if it becomes absolutely necessary during our trip…”

Norbert nodded in astonishment, his gaze fixed on the stone his father held. Was he serious? Stones typically only bonded with their partners around age twelve; he had a few years to go. His father hadn’t received his stone until he was thirteen, right when he began training at the Larisa camp.

“Alright, you little rascal. Now, let’s see where you left that suitcase of yours,” Mr. Erion said, getting up with the box still in hand and moving to Norbert’s room. Then he packed some bread and other food, his own clothing tying itself into a neat bundle. He stuffed a few valuables into his pockets. Once it seemed they were ready, he sealed the windows with wooden planks in a way he’d never done before. A wave of excitement washed over Norbert. The real adventure was about to begin!

Finally, they stepped outside. Mr. Erion pulled a small vial filled with a strange, smoky liquid from his pocket and handed it to his son. “Here, take this. Drink it down to the last drop!”

Before Norbert could say a word, Mr. Erion explained, “With that potion, no one will notice you, even if you’re standing just a few steps away.”

“Wow!” Norbert gasped, having never tried a potion before. He took the vial, sniffed it, and detected a smoky, charred scent, like burnt wood. Taking two large gulps, he felt a cold mist settle beneath his skin. He looked at his body and nearly shrieked. “I’ve disappeared, Dad!!” He saw only a faint shimmer in the air where his belly button should be and faint outlines of his invisible form.

Mr. Erion grinned and poked him. “Well, would you look at that! You’re invisible!”

“This is amazing!” Norbert glowed with excitement.

As they departed, Norbert took one last glance at the house they were leaving behind. He had a strange feeling, as though he might never return. The cloud above them had disappeared, and the sun, in the stillness, was slowly being overtaken by the glowing night moon, lazily chased by foggy swirls of thick darkness.

The two of them walked at a brisk pace, Norbert stumbling now and then because he couldn’t see his own feet. They followed the foothills of the Cord Mountains—a sprawling range with countless peaks, surrounded by blooming meadows and edged with shadowy forests cut through in places by sharp rocks.

“Dad, where does Mrs. Tomanová live? My feet are starting to hurt. Are we almost there?”

“Hush, Bert, keep your voice down; you never know who might be nearby! No one should see us or hear us,” his father whispered, glancing around nervously. “Mrs. Tomanová lives on the other side of these mountains. She knows we’re coming. She’s a very kind lady, and I think you’ll like her… perhaps even as much as I do.” A faint smile crossed his face.

“She doesn’t have a husband?” Norbert asked curiously, casting a suspicious glance at his father.

“She does! Well… she did! He died in a fall while flying!”

“Did he fall off a Vulcorn? I thought they were quite gentle?” Norbert said, his voice rising.

“Not a Vulcorn! No, he fell from one of those giant iron birds—they call them airplanes.” Mr. Erion explained as they crossed over to a small clearing.

“Oh! Wow! And will I get to see an airplane, Dad?”

“Well, maybe… if you can keep quiet for a while,” his father replied.

Hidden in the shadows, they fell silent. Mr. Erion stopped and looked around carefully before taking some bread from his backpack and handing Norbert a bottle of water. “Do you have the map?” he asked.

Norbert took a few big gulps of water and patted his pocket. “Yep, right here!” he said, choking a bit as he spoke.

“Careful now, don’t choke yourself. That’s good; just make sure not to lose it.” They sat down on the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree, and Mr. Erion broke off a piece of the stale bread for Norbert. “Here you go—eat up!”

“Look! Over there in the bushes!” Norbert shouted, barely managing to take a bite before pointing to a spot in the distance.

Mr. Erion dropped his bread, leaping to his feet, ready for anything. Norbert noticed the vector—a small metal triangle on a strap around his father’s wrist—that Mr. Erion grasped firmly, directing its sharp point toward the bushes where the noise was coming from. A silent, dazzling beam of light shot from the vector, and instantly something collapsed from under the bushes into the fallen leaves.

“Oh no! Dad! You killed that puffcreep?!” Norbert cried out, scowling at Mr. Erion. The creature, now lying on its back with a swollen, shiny belly covered in scales, let out a soft groan and a long puff as its body gradually deflated.

“Oh, yuck! Those stinky things… Let’s go, Bert! As you can see, it’s just stunned, and now it’s given us a nice little ‘thank you’ puff!”

Norbert snickered and took a few steps back. The smell that reached him burned his nose, reeking like a dozen eggs gone rotten for months!

“Can’t we take him with us, Dad? I’m sure Mrs. Tomanová would like him!” Norbert asked, tugging on his father’s sleeve.

“No! Absolutely not! And don’t even think about getting close to it, or you’ll be sleeping in the shed all week! We’d never get rid of that stench, even with the strongest soap! And as for Mrs. Tomanová and her daughter, Sibyl—leave them out of your jokes. They’re two very respectable ladies who are kindly helping us with…well, this tangled situation of ours. And one more time, don’t reveal anything about us or our world! Do you understand? It’s one of Albin’s Laws!”

Norbert nodded with his eyes downcast.

“Say it aloud! I can’t see you right now, and I need to know you understand that it’s important! That it’s our secret!” Mr. Erion insisted.

“Yes, it will be just our secret, Dad, I promise!”

“Good. How’s the bread? Are you done? We can’t linger too long! We should get moving, as we can hardly see a step ahead.”

They set off again, and by now, it was completely dark. Norbert was still slowly nibbling on the dry bread as they climbed uphill through the trees until they found a trail winding along the ridge. The night forest was alive with rustling, hooting, and distant creaks. Norbert clung tightly to his father, not daring to imagine what might be lurking in the shadows.

They might only be crows on the hunt in the twilight. Or elder trees shifting for more space in their branches. But Norbert had also heard those old tales of demons and vicious creatures with sharp fangs that would rip you apart, leaving only torn skin behind. The very thought made him queasy.

“Ah, Erion!” called a hidden voice from somewhere nearby. “What brings you here at night?”

Norbert felt his father straighten up in surprise, grip his hand tightly, pull him behind, and then release him to step a few paces forward toward the man who had suddenly emerged from the darkness. It was Mr. Firewood.

“Hello, Corbin,” Mr. Erion greeted him, his voice slightly shaken. “You gave me a fright! I could ask you the same—why aren’t you home with your family?”

“Oh, come on, Alfred! Drop the chatter! They’re after you! I saw them! You need to get away immediately. Where’s your son?”

“He’s safe! Don’t worry about us and clear the way for us!”

“They know you took them, Fred! For heaven’s sake, they know! They’ve got your trail.”

“And who told them, huh?! Who kept snooping around?” Mr. Erion snapped at him.

“I... you don’t mean… I would never…!” Firewood suddenly froze. About fifty meters away, two cloaked figures appeared. Mr. Erion reacted so quickly that Norbert barely understood what had happened. A powerful, impenetrable mist suddenly enveloped the area, illuminated by a beam of white light. In the background, a rumbling noise echoed, and Norbert felt someone slip something over his head.

“Dad!” he cried out. He couldn’t see anything. He waved his hands around, hoping to grab hold of something. He felt his shoes lift off the ground, and then some force hurled him into the air. He was flying, the cold wind whipping at him. Someone held his shirt in a tight grip. In the distance, he heard his father’s voice calling, “Hold on! Please, hold on! I love you, son!”

He tried to shout, but a sudden, sharp pain overwhelmed him. The invisible hand let him go. He was falling. He couldn’t breathe, as though the air around him had vanished. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, and then, out of nowhere, a wave of warmth enveloped him, and everything around him fell silent.