Ezra pressed his fingertips to the shimmering gold script that flowed across the tome's fragile pages. His magic flowed through him in a rush — a rush of understanding, a rush of power — until the symbols began to lift off the paper, swirling in the space above him. The ancient tome was alive, its knowledge a manifestation of magic itself.
He whispered quietly, "Veritas per arcanum"—the unlocking chant Felton Harper had taught him. The gold script glimmered in response, slowly reorganizing into a complex cipher — a code within a code — that seemed to illuminate a path forward. His pulse pounded in his ears as he turned page after page, following its clues.
He noticed a repeated rune, a sigil that Felton frequently used in his notes — the rune for "confluence"— a moment when magic streams come together to produce something greater. This rune appeared alongside a set of numbers and initials: F.H. — Felton Harper — 1695, 302, 47. Ezra pressed his magic into these clues, letting them seep into his own understanding.
He recognized the numbers as a catalog code used within the academy's archive — a code meant to identify a tome, a scroll, or a magical artifact. His grip tightened. Felton hadn't gone into danger without a purpose; he had left a trail for Ezra to follow.
He carefully made his way through the labyrinthine stacks, following the catalog code to its corresponding shelf. His magic glimmered faintly to illuminate his path. The tome was a small, plain volume bound in black leather — a journal. Felton Harper's journal. Inside its fragile pages, Felton had recorded his growing suspicion that something was awry at Eldoria — something that struck at the very foundation of magic itself.
He turned the first page. Felton's hurried script flowed across it:
> "The artifact — I believe it's not what the Council says it is. The Eye of Felthurn isn't a relic; it's a key. A key to unlocking magic's true form. The Council must be stopped before it falls into their hands…"
Ezra paused. His breath faltered. The Eye of Felthurn — the artifact that Felton kept locked away — was not a curse, but a key. A key that could enable magic to become something greater… or something much more catastrophic.
He turned another page, following Felton's notes. Felton had suspected a conspiracy within the academy itself — a conspiracy that went all the way up to the Council of Magic — the highest governing body for mages. Felton wrote:
> "Some members have grown obsessed with power. They believe magic should be a tool for domination, not understanding. If the Eye falls into their hands, the balance will break, and chaos will reign…"
Ezra pressed his magic inward, letting the tome's words seep into his own understanding. His pulse pounded in his veins. Felton Harper hadn't been a victim — he had been a guardian. And now it fell upon Ezra to carry forward his work.
He slipped Felton's journal into his satchel alongside the box, then turned to leave the archive. His senses pricked. Some magical alarm had gone off somewhere above him — someone had opened the main gate — someone was following him.
He whispered an invisibility rune, letting magic wrap him in a shimmering, nearly transparent aura, and pressed himself against a nearby bookcase just as a group of figures entered. Cloaked in black, their voices a chorus of conspiracy, their magic glowering faintly in their hands, they began to search.
Ezra held his breath. His grip tightened on Felton's journal. Whatever the conspiracy was, whatever Felton had stumbled upon, he was now its unwilling, yet destined, guardian. The path forward was clear: unveil the truth, destroy the conspiracy from within, and protect magic from falling into the grip of those who would exploit it.