Raymond ran his fingers over the crystal vessels on the table, examining everything in the basement with careful attention.
The whole room puzzled him.
The books on the shelves were written in the common tongue—which meant nothing to him. He could speak it, understand it, but read it? Not a word. Fortunately, many of the volumes were illustrated. The crisp, printed-looking text remained a mystery, but the pictures told their own stories.
He had the chip record every page of every book. Then he pulled the bell cord.
The pretty maid appeared at the door moments later. Raymond didn't bother getting up from where he sat behind the long table—just told her to bring his dinner here.
The basement stayed cooler than his upstairs rooms. After eating, he closed the heavy bronze door and settled in. The comfortable temperature made this a good place to work. To study.
To memorize.
Ten symbols mastered now. The book had opened to its fifth page. The eleventh symbol waited there—more complex than any before, more tangled, harder to hold in his mind.
He immersed himself in the work. The chip monitored, as always, the slow absorption of active compounds from the air. Subtle changes in his genes. Gradual improvement.
Ding. Ding-ding. Ding-ding-ding...
A sound like a bell? He frowned, pulled from his concentration.
"WARNING! WARNING! Unknown energy field detected. Evacuate immediately!"
Raymond was moving before the second alert finished. He lunged for the door—
And found it locked.
The bronze portal that hadn't been fully closed now refused to budge. Sealed tight. Immovable.
The candles guttered.
No wind in this sealed room, no draft, nothing—yet the flames swayed and flickered. Shadows crept across walls that moments ago had been fully lit. The surgical brightness that had seemed so deliberate now became something else. Something threatening.
Raymond pressed his back against the door. The hair on his arms stood straight up. Gooseflesh crawled across his skin.
"Source of energy field," he commanded silently. "Analyze."
"Task initiated. Beginning analysis..."
His gaze fixed on the wall clock across the room. Midnight. The pendulum swung—tick, tock, tick, tock—each beat louder than it should be, filling the space.
The candles steadied. Their flames froze, unmoving.
But the clock...
Shadows bled from it. Seeped from behind its face like liquid darkness, spreading across the white wall, indifferent to the candlelight. They pooled on the floor. Gathered. Rose.
A mound of shadow, featureless black, lifted itself from the stones. It grew. Shaped itself. Torso. Arms. Legs. A head.
All shadow. All flat. All wrong.
The face remained blank—no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just darkness in the shape of a person.
"Ha. Haha... HAHAHA..."
Laughter filled the room. Not from the shadow—from everywhere. The walls. The ceiling. Behind him. Inside his head.
The chip reported: "Unknown energy field detected. Radiation output: moderate. Slowly decreasing."
Useless. Completely useless information right now.
The shadow-thing moved to the table. Its flat head tilted down, hovering over the book Raymond had been studying. It stayed there for long moments, examining, considering.
Then it raised that blank face toward him.
The laughter stopped.
A woman's voice—old, worn, but clear—spoke directly into his mind:
"Little one. You were reading the wizard's book?"
Raymond's voice came out rough. "Yes. I was."
"The most basic text. You've just reached first-level apprentice, then. Decent potential."
"Th-thank you."
The head tilted on its impossibly thin neck. Studying him. The chip's data scrolled—radiation levels dropping, but Raymond felt no safer.
"If you're here, you must be family. Tell me your name."
He swallowed. Lied? Told the truth? The truth felt safer with something that could probably sense deception.
"Raymond. I'm not family. I'm just... staying here."
The shadow's head tilted further. Its blank face somehow conveyed scrutiny.
Long seconds passed.
Then: "You're telling the truth, little one. Tell me about the Torrie family."
Raymond blinked. The shadow had pulled out his chair—his chair—and settled into it, legs crossing on the table like it owned the place. Like it had all the time in the world.
He exhaled slowly and began talking. Everything Havinsson had told him. The dwindling bloodline. The bedridden father. The shy younger brother. He even explained his own presence—the forest, the tree, the caravan, the invitation.
When he finished, the shadow let out a laugh—wild, cracked, delighted.
And Raymond understood nothing.