The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestones of The City of Cities, casting long shadows that did little to disguise the city’s filth. Krungus strode through the bustling streets with a scowl etched so deeply on his face it could have been mistaken for a permanent feature. His staff tapped against the ground in rhythmic discontent, and his robes swirled around his feet as though caught in a perpetual storm of irritation.
Behind him, Eugene lagged, wide-eyed and gawking at everything around him. Where Krungus saw degradation, Eugene saw wonder—or at least, something close enough to distract him from the existential crisis brewing in the back of his mind.
“This is...wild,” Eugene said, stopping in front of a vendor’s stall. The merchant was hawking glowing baubles that floated just above his wares, their light pulsing faintly in an array of colors. “What are these? Like, magical Christmas ornaments?”
Krungus glanced over his shoulder, his expression dripping with disdain. “Levitation trinkets,” he said curtly. “Cheaply made, poorly enchanted, and utterly useless for anything beyond impressing simpletons.”
Eugene picked up one of the baubles, marveling as it hovered just above his palm. “Dude, this is amazing. We don’t have anything like this on Earth.”
“Yes, well,” Krungus muttered, continuing down the street, “I imagine Earth must be a terribly drab place if this is enough to astound you.”
Eugene jogged to catch up, still clutching the bauble. “Okay, so if this is junk, what kind of magic is real magic? Like, what makes a spell, you know, good?”
Krungus sighed, his pace slowing. “Magic,” he said, “is not about baubles and parlor tricks. It is the art of imposing one’s will upon the fabric of reality. A true spell is a tapestry—woven with precision, imbued with purpose, and crafted to resonate with the essence of existence itself.”
“That’s...pretty deep,” Eugene said, genuinely impressed.
“Of course it is,” Krungus snapped. “I said it.”
They walked in silence for a moment, Eugene turning the bauble over in his hands while Krungus scanned the crumbling buildings around them, his expression growing darker with every step.
“You want wisdom?” Krungus said suddenly, his tone softening just enough to suggest he wasn’t entirely uninterested in teaching. “Here’s something for your tiny Earth brain to ponder:
‘The meaning of meaning is nothing at all,
For what meaning we give is what meaning will fall.
The wizard who seeks it, the fool who despairs,
Both stand as equals—no meaning is there.’”
Eugene blinked. “Is that, like, a wizard poem?”
Krungus smirked. “It’s a reminder. Magic, like life, is shaped by intent. If you cannot impose your meaning on the world, you will forever be at the mercy of others’.”
“That’s...weirdly inspiring,” Eugene admitted.
“It should be,” Krungus said. “I wrote it.”
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As the day wore on, the city revealed more of its secrets—and none of them pleasant. Krungus led Eugene through what had once been the grandest districts of The City, describing their former glory with increasing bitterness.
“This,” Krungus said, gesturing at a dilapidated building whose roof sagged like a drunkard’s hat, “was once the Hall of Illumination. The brightest minds in the realm gathered here to push the boundaries of magical knowledge.”
“What’s it now?” Eugene asked, peering through a broken window.
“An drug den, apparently,” Krungus muttered, wrinkling his nose. “How fitting.”
Further on, they passed a grand archway that led into a sprawling market. The arch was cracked and faded, its intricate carvings worn smooth by time and neglect.
“This was the Arch of Emporia,” Krungus said. “Merchants from across the continent would meet here to trade goods, ideas, and diplomacy. It was a hub of culture and innovation.”
“Looks like a flea market now,” Eugene observed, watching a vendor haggle with a customer over what appeared to be a bundle of mismatched socks.
Krungus groaned. “A flea market with socks. Nine thousand years, and this is what they’ve done.”
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As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the city, Krungus and Eugene reached their destination.
The building loomed ahead, a relic of a bygone era. Unlike the other structures in the city, it had not crumbled under the weight of time. Its walls were smooth and seamless, reinforced with layers of enchantments that still thrummed faintly with magic. Towering columns flanked its entrance, their surfaces etched with runes that glowed faintly in the twilight.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“This,” Krungus said, his voice heavy with emotion, “was the headquarters of the Number.”
“The Number?” Eugene repeated. “What’s that?”
“The greatest organization of magical minds the world has ever known,” Krungus said, his chest puffing with pride. “We were not merely scholars and innovators; we were revivers. For centuries, magic was lost—forgotten, buried beneath the weight of ignorance and decay. The Number rediscovered it, piece by painstaking piece. Everything you see—every spell, every enchantment, every magical trinket sold by the charlatans in the streets—exists because of us. We brought magic back from oblivion.”
Eugene’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you mean there was no magic before you guys? Like, none?”
“None,” Krungus said firmly, his voice tinged with reverence for the accomplishment. “The world was a dull, lifeless husk, ruled by superstition and mediocrity. But we...we breathed life into it. We found the old tomes, deciphered the forgotten runes, and reignited the spark that made it all possible.”
“Wow,” Eugene said, genuinely impressed. “So, like...you invented wizards?”
Krungus gave him a withering look. “We resurrected the possibility of wizards. Do not confuse us with the gods with whom all magic flows, timeless and unchanging. We were architects of a new age.”
Eugene looked impressed. “So you founded...the wizard version of NASA?”
“I have no idea what that means,” Krungus said, “but yes, probably.”
As they approached the building, however, Krungus’s pride turned to horror. Large sections of the outer walls had been defaced with crude paintings—brightly colored advertisements and lurid images that left little to the imagination. The once-pristine columns were wrapped in garish banners that flapped lazily in the breeze. Above the entrance, a glowing sign proclaimed in gaudy script: The Velvet Veil—The Finest Delights in The City!
Krungus stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.
“Oh,” Eugene said after a moment. “Oh no.”
Krungus’s voice, when it came, was quiet and venomous. “They turned it...into a brothel.”
Eugene scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to respond. “I mean, it’s, uh...resourceful?”
“Resourceful?” Krungus hissed, rounding on him. “This was a temple of knowledge! A sanctuary of intellect! And they’ve desecrated it with...with carnal commerce!”
“Hey, everyone’s gotta make a living,” Eugene said defensively. “I mean, it’s not great, but—”
“Not great?” Krungus’s voice rose to a near-shout. “It is abominable! The depths to which this city has sunk are beyond comprehension. This is a mockery—a grotesque parody of everything we stood for!”
Eugene held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay! I get it. You’re mad. What are we gonna do about it?”
Krungus narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “We are going inside.”
“What?” Eugene looked alarmed. “Why?”
“To see just how far the rot has spread,” Krungus said, gripping his staff tightly. “And perhaps...to remind them of what this place once was.”
Eugene hesitated, glancing at the garish sign above the door. “Yeah, I don’t think this is gonna go how you think it will.”
Krungus shot him a withering look. “Your pessimism is noted. Now, come along.”
With that, he strode toward the entrance, muttering under his breath. Eugene sighed and followed, wondering for the hundredth time that day how he had gotten himself into this mess.
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The inside of the building was worse than Krungus had feared. The grand foyer, once a sanctum of scholarly brilliance, was now an explosion of bad taste. Velvet drapes hung from the walls like overripe fruit, their garish red fabric clashing horribly with the gaudy gold trim that adorned every surface. The air reeked of perfume so strong it could have stunned a wyvern, and sultry music wafted from somewhere deeper inside.
Women and men dressed in revealing outfits lounged on plush couches, their laughter punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. Krungus stood at the entrance, staring at the debauchery before him, and muttered, “Well, at least they didn’t use glitter paint. That’s...something.”
A man in a too-tight suit that could have doubled as an iron maiden approached, his smile as slick as his greased-back hair. “Welcome to the Velvet Veil!” he said, his voice a saccharine drawl. “How can we make your evening unforgettable?”
Krungus gave him a long, appraising look, then said, “You can start by putting on a looser suit. I can hear the buttons screaming for mercy.”
The man blinked, momentarily thrown off his script. “Uh...right. So, are you here for a drink? A companion? Or something a little more...exotic?”
“I’m here for answers,” Krungus snapped, gripping his staff like he might use it to smack the man’s smug grin off his face. “Who owns this place?”
“That would be Master Orvec,” the man replied, recovering his composure. “But I should warn you, he doesn’t take kindly to interruptions.”
Krungus’s eyes narrowed. “Neither do I. Point me to him.”
The man hesitated. “Look, Orvec’s busy, and I don’t think—”
“Clearly, thinking isn’t your strong suit,” Krungus interrupted, brushing past him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick. Like ripping off a bandage. A very large, very stupid bandage.”
“Hey!” the man called after him. “You can’t just—”
“Complain to your tailor,” Krungus called over his shoulder. “They’ve done enough damage already.”
Eugene hustled to catch up, glancing nervously at the patrons who had turned to watch the commotion. “Do you have to antagonize literally everyone we meet?”
“If they insist on being antagonizable, then yes,” Krungus replied without missing a step. “Besides, I’m saving my best insults for Orvec.”
“This is a terrible idea,” Eugene muttered as they ascended the staircase.
“Correct,” Krungus said, his voice dry. “But if Orvec thinks he can turn the cradle of magical rebirth into a bordello without consequence, he’s about to learn a very important lesson.”
Eugene sighed, muttering to himself. “Sure, because nothing teaches important lessons like storming into a pimp’s office…” he paused. “WAIT what are you gonna do?
Krungus smirked. “Who knows! Let’s see how well his business survives after I pull out one of my brother’s old scrolls. These things are uh…WOO!” Krungus makes a gesture with his hands of his head blowing up.