Lirael led Arion deeper into the hidden chambers beneath Lysander, the faint glow of the Blade of Ra’zien casting long shadows on the damp stone walls. The weight of the ancient sword on Arion’s back was heavier than any blade he had ever carried, not just physically, but mentally, as though the magic within it was testing his every thought.

The hooded man, their silent guide, had said nothing since Arion had claimed the blade. His presence was unsettling, and Arion couldn’t help but wonder who he truly was. Every time he glanced at the man, he felt an unnatural stillness, as though this figure wasn’t entirely human.

Lirael seemed unbothered by the man’s silence, her focus on the path ahead. After what felt like hours of walking through darkened tunnels, they finally reached another heavy door. Lirael knocked softly, this time in a slower, more deliberate rhythm.

The door creaked open, revealing a small, cluttered room lit by the warm glow of candlelight. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and strange artifacts that pulsed faintly with magic. At the center of the room, bent over a large wooden desk, sat an older man with long gray hair and a beard, his eyes sharp and intelligent beneath thick spectacles. He looked up as they entered, his expression one of mild curiosity.

"Thalric," Lirael said, her voice softer than usual. "We’ve come for your help."

The old man—Thalric—stood slowly, his gaze falling on Arion. He didn’t seem surprised, but his eyes narrowed as they took in the sword on Arion’s back. "So it’s true," Thalric murmured, his voice deep and thoughtful. "The Blade of Ra’zien has chosen a wielder once again."

Arion shifted uncomfortably under the scholar’s scrutiny. "Lirael said you could help me. That you knew about the rifts and… the power inside me."

Thalric approached slowly, his eyes never leaving Arion. "I know much about the rifts," he said. "And about the magic that runs through your veins. But the real question is—are you prepared to understand what that means? The path you are on is not one of simple heroics. The power inside you is ancient, dangerous, and it comes with a terrible cost."

Arion glanced at Lirael, who gave him an encouraging nod, then back to Thalric. "I need to learn how to control it. If I don’t, more people will die."

The scholar smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. "Very well," he said, moving back toward his desk. He picked up a small, glowing crystal and held it up to the light. "But first, you must understand what you’re dealing with."

Thalric placed the crystal on the desk and began to speak, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Long ago, before the realms were divided, there was only one world. A world where magic flowed freely, binding everything together. The people of that time—our ancestors—were powerful, their magic tied to the very essence of creation. But with that power came great danger. Ambition, greed, and fear led to a cataclysm, a war unlike any other. In the end, the world was shattered, and the realms were born—each one separated by the barriers we now call rifts."

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Arion listened intently, the words ringing with both awe and dread. He had heard tales of ancient magic, but never had he imagined the world had once been whole, connected by such power.

Thalric continued, his eyes darkening. "The rifts were meant to protect the realms from collapsing into one another again. But they were never perfect. Over the centuries, magic has weakened, and the rifts have begun to fray, allowing creatures from the Void Realm to slip through, causing chaos in our world."

He paused, his gaze fixed on Arion. "The magic inside you—the magic of the blade—is not of this world. It is a remnant of that ancient power, the same power that once held the realms together. But it’s also dangerous. It comes from the Abyss, a place of both creation and destruction. If you do not learn to control it, it will consume you."

Arion swallowed hard, the weight of Thalric’s words settling in his chest. "How do I control it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Thalric tapped the glowing crystal, causing it to float in the air between them. "You must first understand the source of your magic. It is tied to the rifts, yes, but more than that, it is tied to the balance of the realms. When you wield the Blade of Ra’zien, you are not just using magic—you are channeling the very forces that hold reality together."

Arion watched as the crystal began to pulse with light, shifting colors from blue to red to a deep, dark black. "And if I can’t control it?"

"Then you will be lost," Thalric said, his tone grim. "The magic will twist you, as it has twisted many before you. The Blade of Ra’zien has consumed every one of its wielders, save one."

"Who?" Arion asked, his heart racing.

Thalric’s eyes flickered with something—fear, perhaps, or caution. "The first wielder. The one who forged the blade. He was the one who tore the world apart."

Silence fell over the room, the weight of the revelation crushing the air between them. Arion felt a cold dread creeping into his bones. The blade, his magic, the rifts—it was all connected to something far older, far darker than he had imagined.

"But there is hope," Thalric added, his voice softening. "You can learn to control it, Arion. But it will not be easy. The power you wield is tied to the rifts, and to close them, you must understand the balance between the realms."

"How do I learn?" Arion asked, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him.

Thalric walked to one of the shelves and pulled down an ancient book, its cover worn and covered in strange symbols. He handed it to Arion. "This will be your guide," Thalric said. "It contains knowledge of the ancient ways, the magic that once bound the world together. Study it, practice the spells within, and you may find the control you seek."

Arion took the book, its pages heavy with the weight of centuries. As he held it, he felt the pulse of the Blade of Ra’zien resonate with the magic inside the book, a faint connection forming between the two.

"I will help you," Thalric said, placing a hand on Arion’s shoulder. "But you must be prepared for what lies ahead. The Shadow King is aware of your power, and he will stop at nothing to claim it for himself. He has already torn the realms apart once. If he gains control of your magic, he will do so again."

Arion nodded, his resolve hardening. The path ahead was dangerous, and the weight of the blade and the magic inside him was heavy, but he couldn’t turn back. Too much was at stake.

Lirael, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, stepped forward. "We’ll need to leave soon," she said. "The longer we stay, the more likely the Shadow King’s spies will find us."

Thalric nodded. "There is one more thing," he said, turning back to Arion. "There is a ritual, an ancient one, that will help you bind your magic to the Blade of Ra’zien. It will give you more control, but it is dangerous. If you survive, you will be stronger. If you fail… the blade will take you."

Arion’s hand tightened on the hilt of the sword. He had already made his choice. "I’ll do it," he said, his voice firm.

Thalric smiled faintly, though there was sadness in his eyes. "Very well. We will begin at dawn."