Meanwhile, deep beneath Embershade...

Haldo tumbled into a hidden chamber, lit by clusters of glowing torches set into blackened stone walls. He wore layered robes now, far richer than his usual librarian attire. Around him, scattered on the floor, were twisted, grotesque bodies—odd creatures drained of life. Strange, he thought, “it seems we have a visitor.”

He rose, settling into a stone chair, and poured himself a cup of tea from a carved, wooden urn. The rich aroma mingled with damp earth and ancient spell-ward incense.

Moments later, a blood-red flywheel of magic whipped toward him—faster than the eye could follow.

Haldo didn’t flinch. He lifted a finger to touch the air, and the sawdisk froze, hovering.

“Your attack cannot bother me until I finish my tea, Ms. Runeswell,” Haldo said without looking up. “It’s too early for this silly game you play.”

From across the gloom a blood puddle sat. It sighed heavily before forming into Verla Runeswell, crimson robes brushing the floor as she stepped toward him.

“‘Velra,’* please. One of these days I will discover your keyword.” She paused, studying him. “It seems what people say are true. Your control over magic is extraordinary—not normal. Being able to halt an attack in mid-air... that screams some form of temporal manipulation.”

She shook her head. “But that’s too obvious. My instincts say your power lies deeper—more intrinsic than time alone. And then there’s your perfect control of mana. It’s unnatural for humans like us.”

Haldo sipped, unfazed.

“I assure you,” he said, curling his lips into a polite but condescending smile. “You will not guess it. But if it makes you feel better, continue speculating, my dear."

Sitting back, he set the teacup down.

“It seems my tea is empty.” He said, eyeing the cup.

Without warning, his other hand flicked, and dozens of translucent mana hands erupted behind him. They snatched the disk out of the air as soon as it blinked back into motion. The dozens of mana hands overwhelmed the disk crushing it.

Blood dripped from the shattered edges onto the stone, pooling at Haldo’s feet—and then the crimson liquid spiraled upward, streaming back into the orb atop Velra’s staff. Its red liquid core glowed brighter, fuller.

“Hmm. It seems you’ve learned a few things since we last talked, Velra,” Haldo murmured, rubbing his chin as he studied her.

Velra smirked and twirled her staff idly. “Yeah, well... the path of magic is a never-ending quest for power. But it’s an interesting quest nonetheless.”

“That it is,” Haldo said with a knowing grin.

Her face grew more serious. “There are many things changing beyond your dusty hole, Haldo. Beasts are becoming more rampant. More of the Vitia have begun to reveal themselves. And someone’s been dipping their magic into things that don’t belong to them.”

Haldo’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. “I see. I’ve noticed the same... subtle changes. Actually had a few meetings with my cabal in these very halls. So yes—I’m aware.”

He raised a brow. “I assume you didn’t come all this way just to kill my poor undead door guards and toss blood saws at my skull. But then again… maybe someone like you would.”

Velra’s expression flared. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean!?”

With a lazy motion, Haldo conjured a fresh teapot from the air and refilled his cup. “Think nothing of it,” he waved her off.

Velra folded her arms with a huff. “For the record, those monsters at your door attacked me. I was just defending myself.”

“Mmhm,” Haldo replied flatly, not even bothering to look up as he savored another sip.

“But anyway,” she continued, “this isn’t about your dusty tomb or my combat prowess. This is about the potion maker’s kid.”

At that, Haldo finally raised an eyebrow.

“Ah—Audree, I assume,” Haldo said carefully, stirring his tea. “What about him? He hasn’t pestered you with dreams of magecraft, has he?” He sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

Velra shook her head. “Actually, it’s something else.” She pressed her lips, recalling the incident. “It seems the boy may have a future as a mage... or something like it.”

Haldo’s eyes narrowed. “Really now? What makes you say that? The boy has no mana pool—I saw it myself.” He tapped his finger on the cup. “Without mana, his future as a mage—keyword or not—isn’t justunlikely, it’s impossible. He’s just a dreamer. I pity him, in a way.”

Velra leaned forward, voice low. “That’s just it... he doesn’t need a pool. Somehow, he draws mana from other spells and channels it into himself. He actually did it to me when I was healing him.” She paused, the memory still cutting deep. “It felt like… like a beast pulling at my essence, consuming as much mana as it could. Unsettling, Mr. Haldo. Truly.”

Haldo paused mid-stir, his demeanor shifting as concern crept into his eyes. “Unsettling indeed,” he murmured. “I know of a few rare cases where someone can leech magic—but never from a living source, and never passively. Usually it takes complicated rituals or artifacts. But for him... it just happened.”

He cleared his throat and sipped his tea slowly. “Has this left you weakened?”

Velra shook her head firmly. “No—my mana eventually recovered. But he did slow it. It was like my mana… paused, waiting to be refilled. It took nearly a day to fully recharge.” She looked down at her staff. “It was disconcerting.”

“I see... are you sure it’s not witchcraft?” Haldo asked, raising a skeptical brow over his glasses.

Velra shot him a sideways glance. “Quite sure. This didn’t feel borrowed or bound. It felt like his. Like a dormant power finally nudged awake—though whether it was his tampering with runes, a connection with that slime, or something else entirely, I can’t say yet.” She tapped her staff thoughtfully. “But I know this much—he connected with his soulspace.”

That made Haldo lean forward slightly.

“He entered it,” she added. “And within it, he was given a choice. I won’t divulge the specifics—sharing another mage’s soulspace revelations is... dangerous business—but the fact that he was able to access it at all proves something’s there. Power, perhaps. Maybe even potential.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her next words. “Have you ever heard of a woman with a massive axe... wings, horns? Divine, maybe.”

Haldo blinked, thoughtful. “That does ring a bell. Old stories—fragments, really. Half-mad ravings from survivors of the Gracken raids. They called her the Endbringer, the Mother of Calamity. Said her axe could split mountains, her wings roar like storms, her gaze turn cities to ash.”

He scoffed and waved his hand. “But that’s ancient drivel. Myths of broken minds and drunk scribes. The kingdoms said to have fallen to her? Still standing. No records. Just hearsay and hallucinations. You aren’t looking to follow in some force scribes nonsense are you Miss Runeswell?”

Velra frowned. “No, I wasn’t hunting myths. Audree described a statue in his soulspace—horns, wings, axe. I was curious if you’d seen or heard anything similar. Thought your dusty archives might offer more than mine.”

“I see...” Haldo said slowly.

Just then, a faint magical chime rang through the air—a ward alert. Someone had entered the library.

“Well, duty calls.” He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Seems I have a guest.”

Velra stepped back, giving a polite nod. “Right. I’ll take my leave, then. But Haldo...” she paused. “Whatever this is—this boy—he might be something new. Or something forgotten.”

Haldo gave her a look. “Indeed. But let’s hope he’s not something lost for good reason.”

As she turned to leave, she called over her shoulder, “And for the last time, call me Velra, old man.”

Haldo smirked faintly, waving her off without a word as he vanished into the twisting stone paths of the underground library. Soon after Velra rolled her eyes before disappearing into a pool of blood.