The silence of the ruins was suffocating. Mel’s heart pounded in her chest, the echo of her own voice—calling for Sam and Leo—fading into the void. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she spun around, taking in her surroundings. The walls of the crumbling structure stretched high above her, thick with moss and vines, their grandeur long forgotten. Ancient stones lay scattered at her feet, the remains of what once might have been a grand civilization, now reduced to eerie stillness.

Mel stood alone beneath the yawning arches of the ancient ruins, her breath shallow and her pulse racing in the eerie quiet. The cool night air caressed her skin like a whispered secret, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and moss. Above her, an impossible but wondrous sky unfolded, dominated by two moons that painted the world in their surreal glow.

The larger moon was a deep, rich shade of purple, its surface marbled with swirling nebulae that seemed to shift as if alive with some hidden energy. It hung low on the horizon, massive and imposing, its violet light wrapping the landscape in a strange, otherworldly twilight. The purple glow cast the ruins in a haunting, almost dreamlike quality, as though the night itself had come alive with magic.

The second moon, smaller but far more radiant, gleamed high in the sky, a brilliant yellow that burned like molten gold. Its fierce brightness contrasted sharply with the gentle purple, cutting through the night with a piercing glow that threw sharp, silvery shadows across the crumbling stone. The two moons together transformed the ruins into something ancient and mystical, their combined light both awe-inspiring and unsettling.

Above her, an impossible but wondrous sky stretched out, and Mel’s heart sank as the realization hit her. This is definitely not Earth...

Mel glanced around again, the ruins stretching far into the darkness, swallowed by shadows where the moons couldn’t reach. The stone structures, once tall and proud, were now broken, their walls blanketed in thick moss and vines, their once intricate carvings eroded by time. A dense silence hung in the air, the kind that made her feel like even the ruins were holding their breath, waiting for something.

As beautiful as it is, I can’t stay here... She thought again of Sam and Leo, a pit forming in her stomach. Her friends were nowhere to be seen, and her attempts to call out their names earlier had been met with only the soft rustle of leaves, as if the very air swallowed her voice.

Wiping her dirty hands on her jeans, she scanned the darkened landscape once more, her eyes catching a soft glow emanating from deeper within the ruin. It was faint, like the pulse of a distant star, almost hidden beneath the veil of creeping vines and crumbled stone. Her heart quickened. Slowly, cautiously, Mel moved toward the light, her footsteps soft on the debris-laden ground.

The glow grew brighter as she approached, revealing itself in the heart of what must have once been a grand hall. The ceiling above her was cracked, letting the soft light of the two moons filter through. There, in the center of the space, stood a solitary stone pedestal. The pedestal was cracked and worn by time, but atop it lay an object that seemed untouched by the decay of the world around it.

It was a book.

Not just any book. The cover was thick, wrapped in dark, weathered leather that looked as though it had withstood centuries, yet its intricate patterns of gold leaf and silver inlay shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Symbols, which she couldn’t recognize, swirled across the leather surface in delicate arcs, curling and weaving like vines made of light. They pulsed gently, casting soft shadows around the pedestal, as though the book was alive, breathing in the quiet of the night.

Mel’s breath hitched. She took a hesitant step closer, drawn to the book like a moth to a flame. The air around it seemed warmer, filled with an energy that hummed softly in her bones. Her fingers hovered over the cover, trembling slightly as she reached out. The symbols pulsed brighter for a moment, as if acknowledging her presence, but then dimmed again, waiting.

She hesitated. Everything about the book felt sacred, ancient—too important to touch. But there was a pull, an invisible force urging her forward. She swallowed her nerves and finally let her fingers brush the leather. It was warm, far warmer than it should have been, as if it held a hidden fire within.

With a deep breath, she flipped open the cover. The pages crackled softly under her fingertips, their texture rough and ancient, like they might crumble if handled too roughly. Mel’s eyes scanned the first few pages, her heart sinking. She couldn’t make sense of the language. The letters were strange, unlike any alphabet she had ever seen. They twisted and curled in alien forms, some looking more like runes than words.

But the illustrations—those she could understand. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned the pages. Vivid, detailed drawings filled the book, etched with stunning precision. Each page was like a window into another world, showing beings of immense power, creatures with impossible forms, and landscapes that defied imagination.

One drawing depicted a towering figure with elongated limbs and glowing eyes, draped in robes that seemed to swirl like the wind. Around it, smaller figures knelt, their hands raised in reverence. Another image showed a vast tree, its branches twisting like veins across the sky, with strange, ethereal fruits hanging from its boughs. Mel’s eyes lingered on a creature that resembled a dragon, but unlike any dragon she had ever seen in stories or movies. It had multiple heads, each one adorned with a crown of shimmering crystals, its wings spreading across the sky, leaving a trail of light in their wake.

Her fingers traced the lines of the illustrations, the sheer artistry mesmerizing. Whoever had created this book had done so with care and purpose. The drawings told stories of magic, of battles, of rituals beyond her comprehension. They were beautiful and terrifying all at once.

As she turned the page, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Mel froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The sound was rhythmic and deliberate, the steps of someone—something—approaching. She quickly snapped the book shut, her pulse racing as she looked toward the shadows as her body tensing as the footsteps drew nearer. The soft crunch of leaves on stone sent a chill down her spine, and she took an instinctive step back. Her heart raced as a figure appeared in the doorway of the ruin, silhouetted against the dim light.

A figure emerged from the darkness, cloaked in a long robe, its silhouette imposing and otherworldly in the dim moonlight. The figure’s face was obscured by the deep hood of the cloak, but the glint of silver runes etched across their staff caught her eye. Whoever it was, they were tall, much taller than her, and their presence filled the room like a tangible force.

Her stomach twisted with dread. Mel backed up instinctively, her hands gripping the edge of the pedestal. The figure stopped, its gaze—or what she imagined was its gaze—settling on her. A masculine voice, low and commanding, echoed through the hall, but the words were foreign, unintelligible. Mel’s chest tightened with fear, her body trembling as she tried to form words, to explain herself.

“I-I wasn’t trying to steal anything,” she stammered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. “I just... I don’t know where I am.”

The figure stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. He spoke again, his words sharp and commanding, but they meant nothing to her. Foreign, garbled sounds, like a language she wasn’t meant to hear. The air around her seemed to thicken, growing colder with each syllable he uttered.

“I don’t understand!” she cried out, panic rising in her throat. She tried to back further away, but there was nowhere left to go. The wall pressed into her back, cold and unyielding. “Please, I’m not here to cause any trouble!”

Mel took a step back, her spine pressing against the cold, jagged wall of the ruin. The stone bit into her back, but the pain barely registered. All she could focus on was the robed figure advancing towards her. Every nerve in her body screamed danger.

Say something. Explain. Run!

But the words wouldn’t come. Her legs felt like lead, her mind blank with fear. She could hear her own ragged breathing, faster now, more frantic, as if the air itself were being pulled away from her.

The figure raised their staff, and for one terrifying moment, Mel thought he was going to strike her down. Her body seized with panic, her vision blurring with tears. The runes on the staff began to glow, softly at first, then brighter—too bright, like staring into the heart of a flame.

This can’t be real... Mel’s thoughts raced as the light from the staff intensified. The glowing symbols looked like something out of a fantasy novel, the kind of thing that belonged to stories, not reality. It’s some trick. It has to be. She backed away, pressing herself against the cold stone of the ruin. Her breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. I’m hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head. There’s no way this is happening. Magic doesn’t exist!

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t hurt me”

Her chest tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever was coming. The figure raised their staff, and for a moment, Mel’s mind went blank with panic. A soft glow emanated from the runes on the staff as the figure began chanting, the words flowing like a melody, full of power.

Suddenly, Mel felt a sharp, burning pain in her left wrist. She gasped, her hand instinctively flying to the spot. Her skin was glowing, searing with heat, and she cried out, her body curling inward as the pain intensified. The light from the staff grew brighter, illuminating the entire hall in a blinding glow

Mel cried out, clutching her wrist as an unbearable heat tore through her skin. She doubled over, her body convulsing in agony, tears spilling down her cheeks. The pain was blinding, white-hot, burning through her wrist. Mel gasped even louder, her mind barely able to process the searing pain as it tore through her wrist, burning with an intensity that left her breathless. It wasn’t just the physical agony—the world itself seemed to warp, the air thickening with an energy she had never felt before. She blinked through the tears that blurred her vision, her gaze falling to her wrist where her skin glowed beneath her trembling fingertips. The sight was impossible, yet there it was—symbols she couldn't understand flaring to life in the very fibers of her flesh, etched by something beyond comprehension.

No... this can't be real!

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The thought struck her like lightning. For years, she had daydreamed about spells and enchanted worlds, but she had buried those fantasies beneath the practical weight of school and life. Now, with the unbearable heat branding her skin, the reality of it hit her—magic wasn't just a fleeting dream. It was here, alive and undeniable. The runes glowed brighter, their ethereal light casting strange shadows across the ruin, and Mel could no longer deny what her mind screamed to reject.

Is magic real? The thought came unbidden, a cold shock to her system. Her mind reeled against it, trying to find some logical explanation, but nothing made sense anymore. Not the glowing rune. Not the figure’s chanting. Not the energy that was still humming through the air around her. Not the searing pain that emanated on her wrist.

Magic is real... The revelation settled in, both exhilarating and terrifying, as if she had just unlocked a secret too dangerous to be known. She could barely breathe, her vision narrowing to a pinpoint as the world around her seemed to tilt and spin. Mel gasped, her eyes flying open as she clutched at her wrist, her vision blurring from the intensity of the pain. Her skin burned, glowing beneath her fingertips. It felt as if her wrist was being branded from the inside out, as if the very fabric of her being was being altered.

She cried out, the sound raw and desperate as she collapsed to her knees, clutching her wrist. The light from the man’s staff intensified, wrapping around her like tendrils of fire. Tears blurred her vision, but through the haze of pain, she could see the symbols from the man’s staff glowing on her skin. They twisted and curled, burning their way into her flesh, leaving behind a delicate but permanent mark.

“Stop! Please stop!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, her words swallowed by the power surging through the air.

The man’s chant grew louder, his voice resonating in the eerie silence of the ruins. The air crackled with unnatural energy, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, every muscle in her body rigid with fear. It felt like the very air was vibrating, humming with magic that threatened to rip her apart.

Just when she thought she couldn’t bear the pain any longer, the light faded. The burning sensation ebbed, leaving her breathless and trembling. Mel slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, her body shaking uncontrollably.

She dared to open her eyes, her vision still blurry from tears. On the inside of her wrist, the searing pain had left its mark. A small, intricate tattoo—a rune, glowing faintly before settling into her skin—now branded her. The skin was unblemished, but the mark itself was unmistakable, as if it had always been part of her body.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she stared at it, heart hammering in her chest. What had just happened?

Fear twisted in her stomach, turning it to knots. She forced herself to look up, her gaze locking onto the tall figure standing before her. He was still, unnervingly calm, his robes shifting slightly in the soft breeze that cut through the ruins. The shadows seemed to cling to him, the faint moonlight casting his features in sharp relief.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she cried out, her voice hoarse, filled with raw terror as she cradled her burning wrist, the fresh rune still throbbing on her skin. She pushed herself further against the cold stone wall, her body coiled with fear, ready to flee if she could muster the strength. Her vision blurred with tears, and the man in the hood remained a dark, looming figure, unyielding in the face of her pain.

He stood still for a moment, his gaze flickering from the mark on her wrist to her pale, trembling form. There was no warmth in his eyes, only a distant calculation, as if he were considering his next move carefully. Slowly, almost mechanically, he reached inside his robes and retrieved a small vial, shimmering with an ethereal glow. The liquid inside swirled like captured stardust, an unnatural beauty that sent a cold shiver down Mel's spine.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. What was he going to do now? Her mind raced with frantic thoughts, fearing more pain, more burning, another spell that would tear through her body like fire.

“I… I don’t want this,” she stammered, her voice trembling as she shook her head, pressing harder against the wall. "Stop it!"

But the man said nothing in return. His expression remained calm—too calm—and without uttering a word, he uncorked the vial and let a single drop of the shimmering liquid hover above his gloved fingers, suspended as if by unseen forces. He made no move to touch her; instead, he raised his free hand, and Mel felt a strange pull in the air, a soft hum of energy gathering around them.

The drop of liquid drifted through the air toward her wrist, slow but inevitable.

“No!” she shouted, yanking her arm away, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. But it was no use—the shimmering droplet moved with an unnatural precision, as though bound by invisible threads, until it hovered just over the rune engraved in her skin. Mel tried to swat it away, but it slipped past her hand as if it had a mind of its own.

When the drop touched the rune, the marking on her wrist flared to life, pulsing with bright, otherworldly light. The pain returned in a sharp, biting wave, and she cried out, collapsing back onto her knees, clutching her wrist. She squeezed her eyes shut, fearing that the liquid would burn, that it would sear deeper into her skin. Her mind screamed for it to stop, her body bracing for more agony.

But instead of the fiery torment she expected, the sensation shifted. The burning subsided into a strange, tingling warmth, a vibrating energy coursing through her veins. She gasped, her breath shaky and uneven, as the light from the rune dimmed slightly, its glow settling into a faint shimmer beneath her skin.

Mel’s body still trembled from the aftershock of the magic, her wrist throbbing beneath the strange, glowing mark now etched into her skin. She backed away, eyes wide and full of uncertainty. She didn’t know what to believe, or what the robed figure’s true intentions were. The shimmering liquid had felt like fire, and yet, here she stood, breathing, alive—but different.

She looked down at the rune, its faint glow still pulsing. “What… what did you do to me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with accusation. She didn’t move any closer, still pressing her back against the cold stone wall. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to flee if needed.

The robed figure, still standing tall with the mysterious staff by his side, tilted his head slightly, studying her as though her question amused him. His cloak rustled faintly in the night breeze, casting him in an even more ominous light under the twin moons.

“I did not mean for you to suffer, I gave you understanding,” he said, his voice measured, as if stating a simple fact. “Without it, our words would remain foreign to one another. The rune I marked on your wrist is a spell of comprehension—one of universal translation. You can now understand any language spoken to you, and you, in turn, will be understood. I had to bind the rune to your soul, for this is not a place where strangers are welcome. And yet, you are here, in the heart of a forgotten realm. That... should not be."

Mel’s hand instinctively tightened over the mark on her wrist. She didn’t care how useful it was; it still felt invasive, like he had taken a part of her without her permission. The pain, the burn—it was too fresh in her mind to be grateful. The rune felt like a shackle rather than a gift.

“Why couldn’t you just ask?” she spat, her voice shaky with a mixture of anger and fear. “Why did you have to hurt me?”

The robed figure’s expression remained unreadable beneath the shadows of his hood. “Magic,” he said calmly, “is rarely without pain. Consider it a necessary cost for knowledge.”

Mel’s heart pounded harder, her distrust deepening. She didn’t know if he was telling the truth or simply justifying his actions to get what he wanted. But before she could challenge him further, he spoke again, his voice taking on a sharper tone.

“I’ve answered your question,” he said, his gaze now fixed intently on her. “Now it is your turn. Why are you here?”

His question cut through the night air like a blade, and Mel froze. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her, and the way he asked, as if the answer was something he expected to be clear, made her stomach churn.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet.

Her mind raced, trying to think of something that wasn’t quite a lie but vague enough to keep her safe.

“I… I don’t know how I got here,” she said cautiously, her words slow, deliberate. She kept her eyes on him, watching for any shift in his expression. “I was at home. Then everything changed, and… I was here. In these ruins.”

She paused, hoping her explanation would be enough. “I don’t know where ‘here’ is.”

The robed figure regarded her in silence for a long moment, the air between them thick with tension. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her face, her posture, as if weighing the truth of her words. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her pulse quickening with the fear that he might not believe her.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “Where is home?”

Mel swallowed hard, her pulse still racing. She couldn’t let him know the full truth. Not after what he had done to her, not after the magic that still thrummed in her skin like a warning.

“I… I live far from here,” she said, choosing each word carefully, keeping her answer deliberately vague. “It’s a place you’ve never heard of.”

The robed figure’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. He stepped closer, his robes brushing the ground, his imposing figure looming over her. “I have traveled farther than you can imagine,” he said, his voice dark and edged with power. “Tell me the name of this place.”

Mel’s breath hitched, and she fought to keep her composure. She couldn't risk saying too much. “It’s… just a small town. A place that doesn’t matter.”

The robed figure’s stare bore into her, as though trying to strip away the layers of her words, to pry the truth from her. But after a beat of silence, he straightened, no longer pressing her for details.

“Where you come from is of little consequence,” he said, voice steady but cold, “but if you do not understand where you are now, then you are more lost than you think.”

He tilted his head slightly, his pale eyes narrowing with subtle curiosity. “Tell me, did you arrive here alone?”

Mel’s breath caught in her throat. Sam and Leo. She had been so disoriented—so consumed by pain and fear—that she hadn’t even thought about them until now. They had all been there, in the room with the console, when everything changed.

“I...” She hesitated, searching the robed figure’s veiled face for any hint of intent. He was her only source of information, her only chance to figure out where she was and how she might get back to her friends. But he was also dangerous, and her mind urged her to tread carefully. “I was with two others before. My friends. We were together when it... happened. I don’t know where they are.”

The robed figure’s expression remained inscrutable, but he gave a small nod, as if absorbing her words. He raised his staff, the strange symbols on it flickering with a pale, ghostly light. Slowly, deliberately, he waved the staff through the air, and Mel could feel the energy shift around them, a subtle but undeniable hum that seemed to ripple through the stones of the ruin itself.

She instinctively braced herself, pressing against the wall, her heart pounding as she watched him. The air trembled, vibrating with unseen force, and the ruins around her seemed to resonate with the energy of the spell he cast. It was like the very stones were whispering, sending waves through the earth, probing for signs of life.

After a few long, agonizing moments, the vibration subsided, and The robed figure lowered his staff. His eyes met hers, calm but cold. “There are no others here.”

Mel’s heart dropped. “What... what do you mean? Are they—?”

“They are not within these ruins,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “The spell I cast is a detection spell. It searches for the presence of life within a certain range. If your friends were here, the stones would have spoken of them.”

Mel felt a wave of nausea rise in her chest. Sam and Leo weren’t here. She was alone in this strange, crumbling place, and the robed figure standing before her—this unsettling, cryptic figure—was the only one she could rely on, whether she wanted to or not.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “But where are they? What happened to them?”

The robed figure’s eyes flickered, but his expression remained distant. “That... I do not know.”

Mel clenched her jaw, her mind racing with thoughts of Sam and Leo, wondering if they had been pulled to a different place—or worse, left behind entirely. She couldn’t bear to think of them lost, as lost as she was.

But the reality was sinking in fast: she had no one else here. Only this strange, dangerous stranger with his magic and his cryptic words. For now, she had to play along, had to keep her guard up, and yet somehow, she needed answers.