After finishing Anchor’s Stability, I found myself looking for the next quiet corner of the worlds I’ve already built, somewhere familiar, but not recently explored. That search led me back to the Academy, a setting I hadn’t visited in a while. A brief refresher was all it took before the rhythms of that place returned: study rooms, old tomes, and the ever-present sense that learning there is rarely as harmless as it seems.
Some lessons at the Academy are delivered through chalk dust and carefully measured lectures. Others are learned in quieter moments, when curiosity drifts just a little too far and finds something waiting in the margins. This story begins with the idea that not all magic announces itself with spectacle. Sometimes it starts as a question asked too late, or a page opened with too much confidence.
This short piece explores the fragile space between knowledge and assumption, where preparation can look like arrogance, and caution often arrives a heartbeat too late. It’s a story about mismatched study partners, an ancient book that refuses to remain inert, and the uneasy realization that sometimes the act of reading invites something to read back.
What follows is the opening of that tale. Some messages aren’t meant to be answered, but that doesn’t stop students from trying.
Come, sit down and allow me to give you a mini-escape and kindle your imagination.
Aiden rubbed his eyes. “Didn’t Leodor mention that this book contains a powerful magic spell that predated the council?”
Romona batted his arm off the book and opened it to a specific page. “Pay a little more attention to this section?”
“How’d you open it to the right page?”
“I’ve already studied this book while you’re just starting.”
Aiden’s eyes rolled as he shifted. When he resumed reading, the page shimmered. A single line of text slithered across the parchment, undulating as it formed letters.
Help me.
Aiden grabbed her wrist. “Did you do that?”
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