The dark pressed in from all sides, thick, choking. No light could penetrate its oppressive weight. She hoped it was not what she thought it was. From all sides, grinding, wrenching sound echoed from behind brick and stone, accompanied by a thin wet dripping noise that was difficult to identify. Kel could barely make out her own hand with her arm outstretched. The room was filled with broken junk, as far as she could tell—each moment a new rusted-out old artifact, pile of shattered runestones, or dusty stack of rare materials solidified before her out of the murk. Down here in the school’s deep belly were the bones  of a hundred hundred failed experiments.

Zerentim had once spent a lot of time here, that much was clear. If she could remove the enchantment that  kept the place so dark, she thought there must be at least a dozen lifetimes’ worth of knowledge, of riches here. A dozen lifetimes for those who weren’t an Archmage. And all of that simply cast aside, thrown to time’s marching column, like a great colony of ants, consuming all in their slow-moving path. Kel might have even laughed at the absurdity of it, were she not desperately holding herself slow and silent to avoid tripping any alarms.

The pathetic lamp she held before her had now painstakingly combed over every table and surface in the dark laboratory. Yes, much down here was possible to study, perhaps to refurbish, maybe to relocate… but still nothing close to what she knew must be here. The walls were sturdy—no obvious signs of hidden chambers, no echoing sound or odd layout or difference in the level of dust. Not yet. 

 As she checked the edges, the corners, the spots she hadn’t missed but told herself she could have, Kel felt a wave building and building within. She knew and refused to know. No secret intact runes, no recently-used objects, nothing, nothing, nothing. Kel blinked away a tear—it had to be, she had to face it. There was no delaying any longer. With a hand that seemed far too steady, Kel reached into the small pocket inside the upper lining of her cloak. Her fingers touched the icy cold, the impossibly smooth, and grasped, tight. The small stone was too heavy for its size, heavier even than it had always been before. For the first time, it did not seem out of place—the total darkness, the almost flat appearance of the stone was harder to distinguish from the room around her. Just as she’d thought, just as she’d known as soon as she came down here. She raised the stone in her hands, held above her head.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Heat. Searing heat. Pain, ice and fire. Kel dropped the stone, staggering back and falling into a mess of bronze gears and discs that fell about with a cacophony of jarring crashes. Too loud, too loud. She had to hurry.

Then the darkness moved, and Kel screamed, any thought of sound alarms forgotten. The little black stone was on the ground before her, and she could see it, or rather, she could see  where it must be, for the darkness gathered, swirled, and came together with the stone as its nexus. It was cold now, colder than anything. A soft velvet touch brushed Kel’s cheek and she jumped again, kicking a pile of broken stones and cursing. Brought down by a stubbed toe? Ridiculous. Somehow, that thought gave Kel something onto which to hold, a stable dock from which to assess the waters before her. Another touch came, then another, then more, the darkness swirling around, solidifying, wrapping itself around her, pressing, touching, invading—her breathing was in her ears, in her stomach. The tendrils of darkness felt like violent hands and she did not own her skin. Kel did not know if she was screaming anymore; it was silent, or maybe it was the loudest it had ever been. She did the only thing that came to mind. Closing her eyes, clasping tight her fists, Kel jumped to the place where she knew the stone must be. She landed directly atop its smooth surface and stamped her foot down. All around with whip-crack speed, reality shattered.

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