Ahrden had thought long and hard about whether or not to return to the dungeon that had almost claimed his life, but he could never give a definitive answer to the question. He put off answering it time after time, trying not to think about it for as long as he could. His progress did not slow; his power only increased, and his skills only grew sharper. He knew how much he would improve from whatever book he could claim from that library, but at this point, it was no longer a quest for knowledge. His failure was a stain on his pride—something he could not overcome. Beating that dungeon had become a personal vendetta, yet he dared not return.
He started having nightmares about that place—rare at first, but as time went on, they came more and more frequently. One particular night, he awoke with a sweat-drenched body, panting hard and staring into the darkness before him. In his dream, he was helplessly flying backward from that cave, just as he had when he was last there—but this time he didn't lose consciousness. He saw himself falling through that hole in the ground until he hit a tree that stood behind him, pulverizing every bone in his body. He knew it was time to go back, yet he didn't dare.
In the Valley, where steel ruled everywhere, things tended to yield to Ahrden. Not the underground library. That place had made him kneel. He was rational enough to see that what lay down there was beyond him, and he wasn't sure when, if ever, that would change. Time went on like this, and Ahrden could not once gather the strength to return, nor could he imagine anything that would change it. Then came Inferno.
Kartesta Malitez had spoken the truth about the wards he had placed, but they were so far from the city that it could barely be said they surrounded it. Most of the Polenteus nation had survived, but a large part of it was gone. No city or village had been destroyed, but vast portions of forest, farmland, and crops had gone up in flames. Everything around Beletendor was gone, and one had to walk for a day to find something living. Work had begun to recultivate the lands around the city, but it would be many years before the unnaturally scorched soil would nurture life again.
The landscape beyond the city limits served as a constant reminder of what had happened—something people saw every day. Yet nothing changed.
Ahrden had been cared for and praised for weeks, but afterward, things went back to how they had been before. He could not fathom how fast he had been thrown back into his old role. This bothered him deeply, but what angered him most was that even a simple discussion with the Nethedral nation wasn't proposed by the leaders. It couldn't have been more clearly shown that the Evil King was willing to do anything to gain control of the Valley. It was also plain that, being the largest nation in the Valley, neither of the opposing nations stood a chance against him alone—especially since they fought fairly. Despite all these facts being clear as day, pride and blind hatred still overpowered any notion of forming a pact with the Nethedral nation.
It appeared that Inferno had changed only one person's mind, and that was Ahrden's. He had suffered a deep scar that refused to fade. He had felt emotions he could not rid himself of since, and he had gained a resolve that matched the pull he had felt ever since being cast out of that cavern. This newfound confidence rivalled his fear of going back to the underground library—until it overpowered it.
Ahrden materialized at the edge of the clearing he had co-created with an honest, hardworking, and kind man. He saw Lucy, the little daughter, helping her mother, Candice, in the garden, while Bernard worked on extending their old shed to house the massive amount of firewood Ahrden had helped produce. The whole family seemed happy, for which Ahrden was thankful, especially because he felt he had been able to contribute to their well-being as they had to his. After one last look around, Ahrden teleported to where he originally intended to go.
Everything was familiar, as if he had been there a thousand times, though in truth he had come only once before. He walked up to the door that required his blood, but this time it didn't take more than a second to pass through. Faster than he would have imagined, Ahrden was back at the solid stone part of the large cavern—from where he had so cowardly fled last time.
Much time had passed since he had been there, but the cavern greeted him with the same impassive, foreboding silence. He looked around the peaceful chamber and remembered how dangerous it had become during his previous visit. He had taken its creator for a fool, but it turned out that it was he who had borne that title. He had thought a journal would lead him through the dungeon with ease, but he was grateful for the lesson that foolish mistake had taught him. Nevertheless, the failure had lingered at the back of his mind long after his injuries had healed. It hurt him so much because he could not bear the thought of having been outsmarted—especially in the very place where he had wished to be the one doing the outsmarting. Ahrden didn't like being bested in any manner, but until now, he hadn't dared to return and correct the stain on his pride. But now he was back.
After banishing this place from his mind for so long, he hadn't made a plan for how to beat the cavern—not even after deciding to return. Now that he stood there, an idea came to him, one nothing short of mad, but it brought an ominous grin to his face. Ahrden sat down cross-legged and sank into a deep meditation. The clarity to understand that getting into the right mindset was crucial proved how much wiser he had become since his last visit—but the plan itself lacked anything that could be called intelligent.
What Ahrden was about to attempt required every bit of his strength and will, even though he knew there were many smarter ways to approach the task. The real reason he chose to do it in such a reckless way was that, if he succeeded, he could rest knowing he had truly conquered the challenge that had once defeated him.
When Ahrden finished focusing his will and thoughts, his whole body was enveloped in a thin layer of bluish arcane power that emitted a faint glow in the cavern. The whites of his eyes turned blue, not in raging flames but in a faint simmer. Ahrden stood up and fell into a casting stance. His plan was to press down each and every tile in a row—skipping none—until he reached the other side.
With his power, Ahrden reached out and pushed down the first tile before him. He could feel a powerful spell being triggered and released. It was one he hadn't experienced before, but he felt ready for whatever came.
In the distance, he saw a long spear materialize in the air, made of pure arcane energy. The spear was long, and it kept growing both in size and in the amount of arcane compressed into it. It soon became more than twice Ahrden's height and about as thick as his thigh. As it grew, Ahrden prepared for it to be launched at him; he brought up his shield and poured immense amounts of energy into it.
When the spear stopped growing, it turned from vivid blue into a dark shade of purple, and the next second it shot straight at Ahrden—faster than an arrow could fly. He had his hands up when the spear crashed into his shield. Its tip pierced through the blue barrier, but the momentum broke. Ahrden focused on closing the shield around the spear so it could advance no further, but despite the loss of momentum, it still pressed forward with great power. The invisible pressure wouldn't let up, and Ahrden didn't know if he could hold it much longer. Slowly the spear began slipping through, and with every bit of ground it gained, it became harder to keep it at bay.
Changing tactics, Ahrden readied himself and leapt sideways, rotating his body to move faster out of the spear's path. Small stones showered him—broken off the wall from the impact as the spear crashed into it. The arcane weapon dug into the stone cavern wall as though it were wood, and it had long vanished by the time the sound of cracking rock ceased.
Ahrden straightened up and wasted no time. He walked back to the edge of the solid rock and, with a spell, pressed down the tile that came after the first. This time, a familiar spell was released, and Ahrden welcomed his old foe. Now, he could pay full attention to how the arcane dragon came to life—how it took form from a swirling cloud of energy as it flew in elegant circles. The dragon grew, becoming mightier and more powerful as the spell ran its course. Ahrden considered striking the beast while it was still forming but decided against it. He was here to reclaim what this cavern had taken from him, and his unwavering trust in himself wanted this to be a fair fight.
The dragon circled twice more in the cavern before it reached full size. On the third round, it lunged at Ahrden with a deafening roar that shook the rocks. The dragon started its attack with its talons again, just as it had last time. Ahrden had hoped for this, and he was ready. He had conjured two arcane blades, which he now threw at the dragon with impeccable aim. One hit the beast in the neck, the blue blade digging deep into the blue dragon, while the other struck its chest.
When it opened its mouth to roar in pain, Ahrden had already unleashed an arcane bolt that shot straight into its maw. He braced himself as an explosion rippled through the cavern, marking the spell's death. Ahrden hadn't put up a shield around himself, knowing he could endure the blast of the exploding dragon, but he did cover the tiles with a fine layer of shielding to keep them from triggering.
Ahrden allowed himself a moment to marvel at the death of the magnificent beast as its condensed energy dispersed in a spectacular display. He fully understood that he had only bested it so easily because it was made of blue arcane, allowing his own attacks to pierce it effortlessly. But before the blue mist had even fully receded, he pressed down the next tile.
This was also an attack he had experienced before—small orange arcane missiles coming at him from all directions. Ahrden crouched low to reduce the surface of his shield, strengthening it with his open palms and continuously fuelling it with power. The arcane bullets came crashing into the shield, and although they were orange-level power, they didn't carry much energy behind them. His shield couldn't destroy the small, round bolts, but they bounced off its flexible surface. He waited the spell out, and when no more attacks came, he ended the shield and stood up. The floor around him was covered with orange balls of arcane, and he was about to pick one up when they all evaporated into nothing.
Remaining on the solid rock, Ahrden pressed down the next tile, which hid a new spell. Clouds began appearing at the top of the cavern, and instead of arcane ones, they looked like normal clouds. Ahrden watched with curiosity, wondering what kind of attack would come from them. The first cloud started shrinking into a ball, the fluffy vapour condensing into water. When it became a solid sphere, it began to fall. At first, Ahrden was confused—it was descending far from him—but then he saw the sphere of water freeze into a solid block of ice in a heartbeat.
Ahrden instinctively reached out with his power, wrapped it around the horse-sized chunk of ice, and slowed its descent. As he did, another started to fall, and he seized that one too. It was straining to stop them from reaching the tiles, but with great effort, he succeeded when they were just above the deadly traps. Then a third one began falling. Ahrden couldn't maintain his hold on both blocks and stop the new one—or dispose of the two in time—so he had to think of another way. What he came up with was to lift one of the ice blocks and direct it beneath the falling one. He controlled the lower block with his right hand while his left kept its grip on the first.
The two ice blocks collided with incredible force high in the air, shattering into hundreds of smaller pieces. Ahrden could have risked letting them fall and hoped the fragments weren't large enough to trigger any tiles, but he didn't dare. Shouting a spell, he sent a giant burst of flame from his palm, intercepting the falling shards. All of them vaporized before they could reach the ground.
Ahrden sighed with relief and was about to direct the remaining block over to the solid rock when he noticed a fourth block of ice coming down. He didn't have time to move the one he still held, nor could he vaporize the entire solid block. In his desperation, he literally threw an arcane bolt at it and hoped for the best. When his attack hit the ice, it wasn't a collision but an explosion. The result was a million tiny fragments, so small they had no chance of pressing down a single tile.
Not daring to move the one remaining block, Ahrden waited for more to come. When nothing happened, he brought it to safety and placed it on the rock.
Keeping his momentum, he pressed down the next tile. He recognized the spell—and it wasn't good news. Darts began forming along the cavern wall, ready to launch. Ahrden had thought about this one before but still couldn't figure out why he hadn't been able to block even a single dart last time. He knew that no matter how much he strengthened the shield, it wouldn't work. So he needed something else.
Ahrden's eyes fell on the giant ice sphere nearby, and the idea was born. With a motion, he yanked it toward himself. As it rolled closer, he conjured an arcane blade, and when the ice block reached him, he thrust the blade into it, pushing arcane energy through and shattering it to pieces. He quickly melted the smaller chunks into water, and just as he started directing the liquid around himself, the first darts came flying. The first few passed effortlessly through the water dome, but when Ahrden froze it into ice again, no more could penetrate. It was satisfying to hear the high-pitched rattling of the darts as they bounced off the physical obstacle they could not pierce. Once the spell was over, Ahrden broke apart his protective dome and pulled the few embedded darts from his flesh. It was painful, but far less than what the spell had been capable of delivering.
Ahrden went back to his reckless tactic. The next tile was the first that hid no spell beneath it, but the one after held something new. The first thing he noticed was the temperature rising—so fast it was astounding, even for magic. It reached a point where the rock beneath him began to burn his feet through his leather boots. When they started smoking from the heat and the ground began to liquefy, Ahrden realized that it wasn't everything heating up—only the floor beneath him. This was happening all around, except where it couldn't: the tiles.
Pointing his palms downward, Ahrden cooled the ground around him until the rock solidified again and stopped glowing. With the pain fading from his feet, he wasted no time and started walking toward the tiles a few steps away.
When Ahrden reached the first tile he had already pressed down, he sighed with relief—but was disappointed to see that the spell hadn't stopped. The floor around the entrance and exit remained liquid, so the troubles caused by this magic were not yet over. Uncertain why, this development made him want to continue by physically pressing down the remaining tiles. Focusing on what awaited, he started walking toward the last tile that had caused the current situation and stepped on the one that followed.
The spell was familiar, though he wasn't sure which one exactly. When he saw no change in his surroundings, he looked up—worried—and saw what he feared. Sure enough, the stalactites above were growing fast, waiting to become too large to support their own weight. During his last visit, he hadn't had time to examine them, but now he did. They were of varying sizes, from dagger-length to as big as himself, but it seemed all would eventually grow to a critical size before breaking off. For the first time since beginning his insane plan in this cavern, Ahrden's face twisted in horror, and he cursed himself for not skipping a few tiles between each.
Ahrden exploded his energies outward, spreading them as fast and as far as he could. His mind was processing events faster than usual, allowing him to locate and envelop the already falling stalactites with arcane power. The sharp rocks were smaller and lighter than the ice blocks, but their numbers made up for it. He couldn't stop them from falling once caught, but he began slowing their descent. Ahrden kept channelling power outward as more stalactites broke from the ceiling. After a point, he could no longer maintain the spell silently and began bellowing from the strain and effort.
The stalactites slowed but none stopped entirely, hanging merely at arm's length above the tiles. The slower-growing ones came later, but after the first wave, there weren't many. The challenge was not to falter with the ones he already held while locating and halting the new ones. Ahrden went silent for a moment, then, with a powerful burst of energy, sent the floating rocks violently toward both ends of the cavern, where they collided with the stone walls before sliding into the boiling lava and vanishing within seconds.
Ahrden sank to the floor, panting, still in shock at what had just happened. He took out his flask of water, drank, and rested.
He was glad to have succeeded so far, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up. Looking at what lay ahead, he estimated he could leap over the rest by pressing down only one more tile.
Ahrden didn't like the idea of giving in to the easier route—the one he had rejected at the beginning—especially after how much he had accomplished.
Here, Ahrden could not be as rational as he normally was, but he tried his best. He knew he was playing with his life, and so he had to rise above his pride. This was unexpectedly hard, but imagining the tremendous knowledge awaiting him in the library helped him make the decision. It would have meant a great deal if he could defeat the cavern in a way that clearly proved his dominance over it—but he began to see that, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't worth it.
Besides all he had considered, there was another thing to keep in mind. Remembering his last visit, he recalled triggering a tile that created a magical barrier around the solid rock near the exit. While Ahrden was confident in his power and knowledge, he couldn't be sure he would be able to counter such a defensive spell. If he couldn't get past it, then all of this would be for nothing—again.
Ahrden finished his short break and stood. Despite his change in approach, he had to press down the next tile to ensure he wouldn't fall short with his jump. So he stepped on it, only wishing it didn't conceal the barrier spell beneath. As if the place had a mind of its own, Ahrden watched in disbelief as a purple arcane wall erupted from the ground, covering everything beyond the tiles. Not wanting to believe his eyes, he cursed loudly and, with no more doubt in his mind, continued forward—now determined not to skip a single tile.
The next tile proved harmless, as did the one after. But the one following hid a spell Ahrden recognized from his last encounter. The devilish green gas began seeping from under the tile, and it needed only an instant before diving straight at him. The half a heartbeat was enough for Ahrden to jump back two tiles and raise his shield. This time, he had more time to observe the gas—and to his utmost horror, he saw it was eating through his shield.
Thinking back to his last encounter with the toxic cloud, he didn't remember it having such an effect—only that it could get through the holes the darts had created. He had to admit that he'd been under a lot of pressure last time, so he might have overlooked this detail. In any case, there was nothing to do now but continuously strengthen the shield, which was, fortunately, enough to maintain its integrity; even though the gas ate through it, it did so slowly enough that a constant flow of arcane reinforcement could counter it.
Ahrden started to see the elegance and genius of the cavern. The spells under the tiles could be divided into two categories: one group served to beat the challenger, and the other served to split his attention. The ones meant to beat him outright tried to take his life, or they posed an indirect threat by trying to trigger more tiles. The other group was designed to create a problem that couldn't necessarily be solved. As such, they remained a constant threat the mage had to deal with, thus occupying valuable resources that could have been used elsewhere. The molten floor, the magical barrier, and now the gas were all there so that Ahrden couldn't fully concentrate on what lay ahead, because these problems remained unsolved. He could momentarily cool the lava or keep the gas away—maybe even punch a hole in the barrier—but all of these would require his continuous attention merely to keep them at bay.
Ahrden began seriously doubting that he would be able to overpower the barrier. Now that he had to endlessly maintain and strengthen a shield around himself, success became considerably less likely—not to mention that cooling the lava also needed to be done while under the arcane dome.
Worried but not disheartened, Ahrden walked to the next tile and stepped on it—after which there was only one more. Another problem he had just noticed was that, due to the violently swirling, sickening green gas, he could barely see what was happening around him. He knew this was a severe problem, because he could not prepare for what awaited now that his vision was confined by the gas. On top of that, jumping over tiles was something he no longer dared to try, leaving him with his original approach.
Ahrden could sense the evil spell as it was released by the pressure on the tile. He could barely see past the fog surrounding him, so he focused inward, trying to feel what was going on around him—trying to gain a better understanding. He felt something forming ahead of him, something made of pure arcane energy. Then he felt something else too, then another a little farther on. Ahrden lost track of how many had formed, but he sensed tremendous power in these things, and he wasn't confident he could withstand their combined force when they unleashed it upon him. He couldn't see anything through the mist, but he had to have at least a peek to stand a chance.
With a quick burst of power, Ahrden sent a wave of energy toward the forming things. The shockwave was enough to blow a path into the swirling toxic mist, if only for an instant, before it closed in on his shield again.
Ahrden immediately made out figures standing—or rather hovering—above the molten ground just behind the barrier. There were several, and they looked completely lifelike. He couldn't get a good look at any of them, but he sensed something strange about the first one he saw, as if he were someone Ahrden knew. Someone he knew very well. But that could not be the case for obvious reasons.
Before Ahrden could think further, he heard the unmistakable voice of his father.
"Son, is that you?"
Ahrden's heart sank, his legs wavered, and he almost couldn't hold up the shield surrounding him.
"Ahrden, are you in there? Sweetie, come out, we miss you," his mother said.
Ahrden felt the toxic cloud closing in as he failed to keep his shield from shrinking. The green gas was eating his arcane shield away, and he wasn't mentally focused enough to reinforce it in time, so the shield shrank and the gas came closer and closer.
"I never had a doubt, kid," Felinda said kindly.
"Boy, I couldn't be prouder of you for that shield you've got going. Is that purple I see in there?" Berton asked.
"Oh, stop it, scholar. You know nothing about magic," Kadelinas spoke in a deep, calm voice that wasn't overly mean but demanded attention. "Ahrden, this is what I've been waiting for. What you are doing now is what separates you from the rest of the magi. Come with me; I'll take you in as my apprentice. My only apprentice."
Tears ran down his face and dripped onto the tile. Ahrden's whole body shook. He was not prepared to handle something like this. He hadn't even considered that something like this could be done with a spell—let alone by a mere dungeon. He was on the brink of giving in. His mind flooded with emotions he couldn't control. He wanted to meet the people behind that barrier. They were the ones he loved, though they had all rejected him in some ways. Not now. Now they all praised him for what he was—his deepest desires come to life. He could not say no to that.
"Ahrden?"
Even the green gas seemed to pause for that voice.
"Are you in there, love?" Alia asked again.
Ahrden snapped. He dropped his shield, and the suffocating gas rushed toward him—but it never reached him. He erupted in a furious, desperate, painful roar that shook the very tiles around him. Pure, bright purple arcane shot forth from within, shoving everything away.
No tiles remained unpressed. No spells remained untriggered. But for Ahrden, none of that mattered. His very skin flared with bright purple light, and his eyes were now a deep purple flame that danced like never before.
The light faded, but there was no shortage of brightly shining arcane. The air buzzed loudly with the unnaturally strong forces at play. The gas had been shoved so far that it was still rushing back toward him, so nothing obscured his vision. Spells were forming everywhere, yet it was peaceful now—a brief window before all hell would break loose.
Ahrden started walking toward the barrier. The tiles didn't matter anymore, and when he reached the purple arcane wall, he didn't stop. He reached out with his right hand—covered in a fine layer of his own arcane that still had traces of blue—and when it touched the barrier, he was flooded with information. He knew he couldn't break the spell, but neither could it keep him from passing through. It was similar to how the small darts could penetrate his shield without destroying the shield as a whole. He pushed his hand through the barrier, then his body followed. It was an odd, painful sensation—like being struck by lightning, burned by fire, and frozen by a spell all at once. Ahrden got through, and he welcomed the pain that took his mind off the voices he had heard.
As he stood on the lava that could do no harm to him in that moment, he felt death pressing in from all directions. But all he could do was stare at Alia.
"Don't leave me," Alia said.
Ahrden leapt, passing over the rogue and hoping he would reach the exit before the already incoming attacks reached him. When he crashed into the floor of the corridor, he felt all the spells behind him die that instant. He knew from the mage's journal that the spells followed you if you fled, but they stopped if you reached the other end.
He had beaten the first cavern.
Not wanting to lose the state he was in—and, more importantly, not wanting to face the emotions the illusions had dredged up—he got up and started down the corridor. The arcane surrounding him provided illumination in the tunnel. Ahrden cleared his mind as he walked and hoped the next cavern would arrive before his thoughts began to wander.
Fortunately, the corridor was not long, and Ahrden quickly found himself in the next chamber. Despite his best efforts, he was no longer emitting arcane light, and the fires were gone from his eyes, but even in their absence, he felt ready for anything.
Ahrden remembered reading about this cavern in the journal, and he had always been confused by what the mage wrote. It seemed as if the mage couldn't—or rather didn't want to—describe what had happened to him there. It was as if the challenge wasn't something one could prepare for, and, as such, Ahrden wasn't overly worried about it. If nothing specific was needed, then what lay within would come down to his skills and wits—and those were things he had been building his entire life.
The final thing the mage wrote about the cavern stuck with Ahrden as he stood at its entrance:
This you cannot cheat to pass. Here you can only be allowed to pass.
Ahrden had no idea what to expect when he walked into the cavern. He was alert; he was calm. The cavern was about the same size as the other, but there was nothing in it. It was totally vacated. Ahrden walked carefully, paying attention to everything but trying to hurry, because he didn't want to spend more time here than he absolutely had to. Only when he reached the middle did he register that there was no exit on the other side. Turning around, he was shocked to see that the entrance he'd come through had been sealed so perfectly he couldn't even find where it had been. He reached out with his senses and felt around the cavern, but sensed no concealed doors, traps, or even awaiting spells to be triggered.
Before Ahrden could use a more powerful spell to probe his surroundings, he felt something move in front of him. He looked and focused on it. Out of nothing, light started forming in different locations, and they all floated toward one spot where they merged into one. This spherical light grew both in size and brightness as more of the smaller ones came crashing into it. The light became too bright to look at—not like the sun, but in a more psychological way.
Ahrden felt the light pierce him, both physically and mentally, revealing everything he was, without him being able to do anything about it. He felt the light enter his thoughts, his memories, his everything. Ahrden relived the moments the light revealed, from his childhood to recent events. He not only re-experienced the moments he remembered but also the ones he didn't remember, all the way from being an infant.
The light saw when Ahrden first encountered magic in his village, how he chose that path, and how everyone shunned him for it. Just after having a spell mimic his parents, he had to relive their deaths again. Ahrden felt anger, fury, and rage within him, and the oath he swore never to fail again. Ahrden knew the light saw all these things, along with his desire to become more powerful and the deeds he wished to do once he was capable of it. The light saw the moments Ahrden caused harm with his power and the moments he used his might to do good.
Ahrden didn't know if this light was sentient or not—if it was a manifestation of someone or purely arcane and without a conscience—but he felt naked before it. He was so immersed in the moment that only now did he realize he had been lifted off the ground and raised high in the air as the white light enveloped him.
When Ahrden felt the light leave his body, he immediately started falling. He didn't panic; he didn't act; he was still under the sensations the light had given him. When he was about to hit the floor, he slowed his descent with ease and landed gracefully on his feet.
Not knowing what would happen, Ahrden waited patiently. He understood that he had no secrets before whatever he was up against and that this was an entity he could not overpower or outsmart in any way. Strangely, the impression of this all-powerful and all-knowing entity was quite close to the sensation he got from the Arcane Agent when it gave him a taste of its gift. The purity of the light was unquestionable, so whatever this was, Ahrden believed it to be the opposite of what the Arcane Army was. Why the world demanded symmetry even on this elevated level was beyond him, but he could not argue with the evidence.
Without warning, the next second, the wall in front of Ahrden started shimmering a little, then disappeared right before his eyes. He had passed the test and was free to go on. After a moment of hesitation, he started walking, smiling at the mage's description of the place, which finally made sense to him.
Besides the fact that it felt good to be approved of by a higher power, it did make Ahrden think. If this was an official approval of an entity that was—or that represented—justice itself, then that meant that what Ahrden did, what he stood for, was righteous. This would have instantly washed off all the blood he had on his hands, which would have been an enormous relief, yet it didn't feel right. He was far from being pure; at the very most, he could believe himself to be more good than bad. If that was what this cavern was for—to eliminate those who were more bad than good—then passing it was no longer such a huge feat. Initially, besting this second challenge felt sublime, but as he walked down the corridor, it birthed so many questions that his success dwarfed next to the confusion.
One thing that became clear was that the forces in this cavern were beyond Ahrden by quite a large margin. He suspected that if the arcane deity had found him unworthy, there would have been nothing he could have done about it.
The author of the journal was even more cryptic about the next challenge. Based on the writing, it appeared to Ahrden that something dreadful had happened to the mage, which shook him to the core. Although it wasn't spelt out, Ahrden got the impression that the immensely potent mage almost didn't make it out of there. This meant nothing good for him.
What worsened the situation was that here, too, the mage had failed to mention any kind of detail about what awaited. Ahrden wanted to believe that if there was anything that could have helped, the mage would have written about it. This must have been similar in nature to the last cavern, although he couldn't imagine how that could be the case. The only real clue in the journal was a single sentence:
Use your head, but do not outsmart it, be humble and always stay vigilant; when you wake, remember what put you to sleep.
When Ahrden entered the next cavern, he immediately sensed something strange. The air in the cavern felt dense with arcane, but other than that, nothing else was there. Feeling around with his extended senses, all Ahrden could make out was dense arcane power. He was focused and prepared, yet not ready for what came. Bracelets made of stone snapped around his wrists and ankles so fast that he couldn't react, and so tight that they bruised his skin. In the next second, he was raised up by the shackles, and once he was halfway up in the middle of the cavern, he stopped.
Ahrden hung in the air, waiting for the rest of the attacks to come, but nothing followed. The bracelets on his ankles and wrists seriously hurt him, and soon blood started trickling down his arms, but he didn't dare address it before he was sure nothing else was going to come at him. He waited; he extended his senses, but nothing happened. Although it should have been good news that all he had to deal with were his bonds, the daunting realization that this was what shook the powerful mage so much made him more worried than if he were to face a hundred arcane dragons.
Fully understanding the challenge, Ahrden focused on it with all he had. He gathered vast quantities of arcane to him and used it in a multitude of different ways. He heated his bonds, froze them, tried to speed up their aging to erode them, but nothing happened. Nothing made even the slightest mark on the seemingly fragile and rigid stones that formed the bracelets.
The spell that created and protected the shackles made of ordinary stone was what he needed to beat, but he was unable to. Being in the position he was in limited his movements and, consequently, the spells he could cast, which didn't help his efforts. A greater and ever-growing problem was that each movement sent jolts of pain through his arms and legs, where his bonds had already cut through his skin and were digging into his flesh, but Ahrden didn't slow his efforts.
Ahrden hung in the air, straining from the immense struggle as he endlessly wrestled to get out of the ties that held him. As time passed, it became ever more evident that the challenge of this cavern was indeed to overpower the binding spell that held him, which sounded a lot simpler than any of the attacks held under the tiles. Yet it turned out to be more daunting than the combined might of the first cavern.
Minutes turned into hours, and hours passed faster than Ahrden wanted to admit. In the first hour, he struggled without pause to somehow weaken his bonds, but it was all to no avail. No matter what he tried, what spell he used, or how much power he fed into it, not even the slightest sign of progress showed. Ahrden focused his will tirelessly, but it mattered little in the face of the challenge.
Ahrden was not delusional when it came to his abilities to control the arcane forces. This was his life; he dedicated himself to it, and even with such a close connection to it, he could measure his power level objectively. His progress at the beginning was sluggish—probably slower than what was expected from a mage, based on the books he read. But there came a point after which it seemed that nothing was able to slow his growth. He had been to magical dungeons before, faced Kadelinas, and saved his nation from Inferno. Ahrden knew he was powerful and wickedly skilful, but maybe he had misjudged it all. It might have been for lack of reference, because he indeed had never really had any other mage who could provide him with an indication as to where he stood. Meeting Kadelinas was something of the sort, but he simply deemed Ahrden not ready, without much explanation. Yet Ahrden had gained his attention in the first place by triggering a trap when he met the beast, and he stopped the Inferno alone. He beat the first cavern—somewhat alone—was accepted by the second, and despite all of that, he hung in the air now, unsure if he would ever be elsewhere.
With each second Ahrden spent up in the air, he was being beaten. He couldn't fathom how such potent arcane power could be stored over such a long time. His mind was overclocking, trying to calculate how much arcane he would need to command to set himself free.
After another hour had passed, Ahrden stopped his struggles and considered other options. Looking around, he saw nothing that could aid him or be used against the magic holding him hostage. Assessing what he had on him, not surprisingly, he had nothing that could be of assistance. He decided to rest before going back to what he had been doing so far, since he could not think of any other means to escape.
Ahrden still had some food and water strapped on him, and with a spell, he was able to levitate them so he could eat and drink. Afterwards, however, tiredness suddenly overcame him. All he had been through weighed on him heavily. With great effort, he kept himself from falling asleep—but only barely, and he was in no shape to cast powerful spells. He figured some rest would aid him later on, so, in that exposed and painful state, Ahrden fell into a deep slumber that lasted longer than he would ever have thought it would.
--
When Ahrden awoke, he instantly noticed that far more time had passed than he would have wanted. Thinking back, he remembered that after being caught in this simple yet powerful trap, he had spent a few hours battling his bonds before falling asleep. Before that, he had also spent some time in the first two caverns, but after focusing inward, he estimated that more than a full day had passed since he entered the dungeon. He wasn't sure if mere exhaustion had caused him to slumber for so long or if it was another spell woven into the many that existed here. Based on the state he was in when he decided to take that quick nap, it could have been either—but it mattered little now. He was awake, and he felt energized, ready to tackle the problem he faced.
Before beginning, he ate the remaining food he had and drank most of the water, confident that he would get out of here.
Dried blood lined his arms, and every movement was pure agony. Ahrden did his best to heal the wounds and soothe the pain before beginning again, but the constant contact with the stone bracelets made it impossible for the wounds to properly heal or for the pain to subside.
Once Ahrden attacked the shackles again, he did so with full force. He tried every spell he knew that was even slightly relevant and could be cast from such a position. He spent all his time conjuring spells, intensely focusing to construct them carefully and feed as much power into them as he could. None yielded any results—not even the faintest sign of progress.
After hours upon hours of casting without pause, Ahrden had drained himself again and was on the brink of fainting. He didn't understand why he acted the way he did. He didn't know what made him charge headfirst into the problem without thinking, especially after seeing countless times that his efforts proved futile. He didn't know what drove him to mindlessly repeat every spell he knew until he had no strength left but to pass out from exhaustion—only to wake up a day later and start the whole process over.
The cavern was so saturated with powerful magic that Ahrden couldn't trace or sense the one making him behave this way, but he was confident that he was being compelled by a spell. Before he lost consciousness, he wished only to remember this realization when he next woke. He didn't want to continue this mindless struggle to the point where he'd have no strength left and die hanging there.
In the next second, Ahrden was asleep again.
--
When Ahrden came around, he felt desperation slowly creeping upon him. His slumber had again lasted longer than it naturally should have, but it brought no rest this time. His body was aching, his wrists disfigured beyond recognition. Pain had become a sharp, constant part of his existence. He was hungry, thirsty, his body shaking, and his mind anxious, desperate, and not far from crumbling. Ahrden levitated the flask—which still had a few gulps of warm water in it—toward his mouth with gestures made by a trembling hand. When he twisted his hand to tilt it toward his lips, a stronger-than-usual jolt of agony shot through his arm. A single tear formed in his eye as he watched the flask fall to the floor and the water spill out. He could have caught it as it fell—it would have been easy in any other circumstance—but he didn't dare move his hands.
Ahrden closed his eyes and focused on gathering arcane to pump into the bracelets. As he concentrated, he remembered that he had already tried the spell he was about to attempt. Anger rose within him, and he thought of a different one—but that, too, had already been tested. Ahrden cursed and thought back to the journal, hoping it might aid him, and sure enough, the first thing that came to his mind was the following line:
Use your head, but do not outsmart it, be humble and always stay vigilant; when you wake, remember what put you to sleep.
Ahrden felt the urge to disregard the advice and continue his mindless siege on the bracelets, but he did not give in to the temptation—not after doing so countless times before. Not this time.
He focused inward and spread out his senses, feeling around the cavern. He had done this at the beginning, but now he possessed a new kind of determination that drove him and gave him a sharper focus and clarity. He knew that if he fell asleep again, when he woke, he wouldn't even have the strength to walk out of there, let alone defeat what he had failed to so far.
The magic saturating the air was as strong as ever, but his renewed focus allowed him to detect something strange within it. Examining it closer, he felt a fine line of arcane energy in the air—a concentrated string of power he could trace from the bracelets to the walls. It made sense that such a connection would hold him in place, though he couldn't fathom why he hadn't thought of it before. Continuing his search, he located all four strings and where they connected to the walls.
Having learned the hard way that he could do nothing about the bracelets themselves, Ahrden hoped another part of the trap might be weaker. After finding the arcane strings, he suspected the base of the spell embedded in the walls might be less fortified, since the strings themselves were sturdy by nature. He followed one seam of energy to the cavern wall and sensed that it continued deep into the mountain. With great effort, he dug into the base of that string using destructive arcane missiles, hoping to reach the foundation of the spell. No matter how much rock he cleared or how hard he tried, he didn't even come close to finding where the strings were anchored. Wherever the stream of arcane originated, it was deep within the mountain—hidden from him and beyond his strength to locate in his current condition.
That left Ahrden with nothing but the fine stream of arcane itself. He focused on it, and it reacted immediately. This first sign of progress in days filled him with hope—but it was short-lived. After many tries, Ahrden learned that all the stream could do was evade his magic. No matter how he approached, the elusive line of power always slipped away. He could not seep his own arcane into it, could not stretch it, nor tear it. This left him only one option: cutting it.
Ahrden's entire body was either aching or numb, and he was close to being unable to cast a single spell. His mind was foggy, but he could still think—though he wasn't sure for how long. Every movement brought agony as the bracelets dug deeper into his torn flesh. He knew he didn't have much strength left, so he focused only on the next step, because otherwise, this would be where he died.
Not rushing, Ahrden conjured a blade made of pure arcane and fed a great deal of power into it. When he felt it was strong enough, he prepared to test it on the stream of arcane. Directing the blade with trembling fingers, he positioned it above the thread and slashed down. The sudden force on the fine cord was too much for it to handle—the connection severed. Ahrden should have cheered in triumph after finally finding a way to rid himself of the bonds, but instead, what he experienced was the most excruciating burst of pain he had ever felt.
The way he had severed the fine cord was both by cutting and tearing it with the impossibly sharp arcane blade. The sudden yank rippled through its length and sent Ahrden's nearly lifeless arm flailing wildly. When the connection broke, his limp arm fell like a rag—but his victory was short-lived. In the next instant, the fine cord reconnected, and his falling arm was snapped back up, sending him into another wave of unfathomable torment.
Pain blossomed anew, and ruby-colored lines of blood flowed down his arms again. Ahrden cried out in anguish, his scream stretching on as the pain refused to subside. Tears filled his eyes, and he could barely keep himself from fainting. Ahrden had been close to death before, but this was the first time he wished for it.
The cost was too high—yet at least he now knew what he had to do. He didn't rush. He couldn't endure another disaster like that, and staying still seemed to ease the pain somewhat, so he remained there for a while, dangling like a lifeless doll.
When Ahrden finally gathered enough willpower to try again, he knew this would be his last attempt, whatever the outcome. He took a few deep breaths and concentrated on a spell he knew well. Slowly, Ahrden began forming a shield around himself—an egg-shaped sphere that enclosed his body. He needed to sever all the connections at once, and this was the only way he knew to do it. The question was whether his shield was strong enough. Cutting the string with his arcane blade had been only a partial success, relying more on force than the blade's qualities. There was no motion in his action this time, so the spell alone would have to do the work. He couldn't see the cords, nor could he gauge their power level, but no other option remained.
As the shield formed, Ahrden saw the interaction between the two arcane forces. The shield flared brightly where the four strings pierced it, and he now had to patch those points to sever them. Ahrden fed the shield more power, which by now was second nature to him, even in his weakened state. His limbs rocked under the strain, the pain almost unbearable, but he kept the spell going. The flares grew blindingly bright, and he closed his eyes, forcing out tears.
Time lost its meaning. Ahrden couldn't tell whether he was making progress or merely maintaining his state. He knew that if he stopped, he'd never start again—so he didn't. He just kept feeding the spell with arcane energy as if his life depended on it.
When he started falling, he didn't understand what was happening, what the sensation meant. Slowing his fall was an easy spell he'd used before—but not here. Here, he could do nothing but continue what he was already doing. He reinforced the shield as he fell, doing nothing else to stop the coming collision. He kept the shield intact as he hit the cold stone below, and though the shield wasn't meant for that purpose, it was enough to keep him alive.
When Ahrden opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling only pain. There was no shield, no bracelets, no flaring light.
For long, agonizing minutes, he couldn't move his arms or legs—they were too drained of life and blood. Slowly, strength returned, along with a new kind of pain that came as his senses reawakened in certain parts of his body. He took his time pulling himself together, but he knew he needed to get out of there as fast as possible—to meet the needs of his worn-out body and tend to the wounds he'd suffered.
Once he was staggering forward through the tunnel, Ahrden wanted to collapse, but he knew that if he did, he might not get up again, so he hauled himself onward. Without the strength to turn back and knowing any further challenge would surely kill him, he was relieved that nothing else awaited him.
When Ahrden saw the next cavern in the distance, a strange familiarity stirred in him—it looked like the ones that came before. As he got closer, it became evident that this wasn't the library but another challenge. It felt like a personal betrayal that the mage had not mentioned it in the journal. Ahrden couldn't put into words how he felt about the discovery. He knew he couldn't defeat whatever lay ahead, but he also knew he couldn't turn back.
The urge for mindless struggle—the same one that had consumed him in the last cavern—was gone, which only reinforced his belief that a powerful spell had driven that obsession. Now, with no spell holding him, his actions were his own—and somehow, that made it worse that he still kept shuffling forward into the next trial.
The journal hadn't detailed how the mage left the library, but for Ahrden, the only thing that made sense was that one could teleport out from there. That hope drove him forward. He knew he couldn't drag himself back through everything he had survived. But another challenge lay in his path. The only kind he could possibly survive was one like the second cavern's trial—but there was no way such a test would appear again. Another question also lingered: was this truly the final challenge, or had the mage failed to mention more than one?
With what little wisdom he had left, Ahrden knew the odds of surviving the next cavern were close to none. Still, he stepped through the entrance.
The first thing that hit him was the stench of foul arcane magic—but not the kind he'd felt when facing the Arcane Agent, or at least not quite the same. This was more primal, more savage, more hungry—less delicate, less intricate, less cunning. It reeked of demonic arcane, something Ahrden knew very little about.
When Ahrden entered the cavern, he did so without hesitation. Feeling the demonic presence slowed his movements, but only briefly; he kept dragging himself forward. He didn't flinch when the tunnel sealed shut behind him, nor when he saw there was no exit ahead. All his attention was on the ground at the cavern's center, where a summoning circle was drawn—its lines flaring bright red.
Ahrden was utterly spent—drained, weak, and in such pain that he was unprepared to face even the smallest foe. Whatever would crawl out of that circle would be a greater enemy, perhaps equal to the toughest he had ever faced. As the thought crossed his mind, the humming red lines flared violently, shrieking as an intense gale tore through the confined space.
Ahrden could smell, feel, and taste the foul arcane at play—the twisted, evil energy that fuelled such magic. He knew very little about demonic magic; none of the books he had read contained more than a few pages on the subject. As he stared at the flaring red summoning circle, straining not to be blown away by the wind, he doubted that any knowledge could have saved him in the state he was in. He still couldn't understand what had driven him to walk into the chamber, but he knew it would cost him his life.
The circle's outline glowed even brighter as black mist began forming in its center. From it, a huge paw slammed onto the ground, cracking the stone beneath its weight—then another followed. Ahrden knew that whatever small chance he had was now, while the beast was still between worlds, yet he could not move. This dungeon had shown him time and again what it meant to feel utterly powerless, to experience how outmatched he was by what awaited him. He had not been prepared for this—but no book could have ever prepared him anyway. The malice, the evil, the sheer spite that filled the air rendered his already frail body useless. The foul magic was so dense that he felt life itself draining from him. All he could do was stand and watch as a terrible demon-hound was summoned into the world to destroy him.
When the demon-hound fully emerged, the black mist dissipated, revealing the entire beast. It was larger than a horse, built of pure muscle, and its body was as black as midnight save for the two flaring red orbs that served as eyes. It reeked of tainted, foul arcane. The power radiating from it was suffocating, and the deep, guttural growl it let out sent chills down Ahrden's spine.
Ahrden wanted to believe that under normal circumstances he would have been skilful, powerful, and resourceful enough to take on such a creature. Those were the comforting thoughts he wanted his life to end with—but despite his efforts, another thought overtook him. He didn't understand why he was so calm. He felt no regret, no sadness, yet he knew there would be no escaping this. Even as death loomed, he stood on the brink of collapse without fear. Perhaps fate had stopped him the first time he tried to conquer the dungeon—and perhaps fate had brought him this far for a reason.
The demon-hound let out one last growl before leaping at him. It closed the distance in two massive strides and soared through the air, its jaws wide open, ready to tear out his heart. Ahrden didn't focus, didn't raise a shield, didn't move aside. He simply couldn't imagine dying there. Then Alia came to his mind.
His heartbeat spiked, sweat rolled down his forehead, and his body began to shake—but not for the same reasons as before. His careless indifference would be the reason he'd never see her again. Wrath—an emotion rarely present in him—took hold completely, but it was too late. Too late to do anything.
All Ahrden could do was focus on the oncoming, impossibly wide jaw that filled his vision. Its teeth were as large and sharp as Alia's daggers, lining the mouth all the way back into the beast's throat. The jaw stretched wider than any natural creature's, yet it kept expanding. It reached a point that should have been impossible even for a demon, yet it didn't stop. Ahrden watched as the rotting tissue of the hound tore at the base of its mouth and split further down its body. The beast twisted helplessly in the air as the tearing continued, exposing decayed organs while its spine was severed clean in half. The two halves of the now-dead creature flew past Ahrden, crashing into the stone floor behind him with such force that they slid across the ground until colliding with the far wall.
Ahrden didn't turn to look. His eyes were fixed on the figure now standing in the center of the summoning circle. The figure didn't move—it stood like a statue—but the power radiating from it was immeasurable, dwarfing even that of the demon-hound. Ahrden recognized the figure instantly.
"Do not think that we'll aid you again, foolish young one. The prophecy foretold that a time would come when we could choose to aid the one who would become our greatest weapon—or let it perish. We have been watching you. You prove a promising candidate for the one we seek; thus, we chose to intervene. But make no mistake, the prophecy speaks of no other such case. When the time is right, pay with your blood. We will be waiting for you. Thy power. Thy arcane. Come to me."
The Arcane Agent extended his gnawed right arm, palm upward, and a small, black, wicked-looking dagger materialized in his hand. Without a single movement, the blade shot toward Ahrden at a speed beyond comprehension—yet he caught it easily by the hilt. The dagger felt both light and heavy, as though burdened with memory, and Ahrden could sense the tremendous power within it. As he turned it in his hand, the blade began to dematerialize, fading into nothing within seconds.
When Ahrden looked up, the Arcane Agent was gone.
He stood motionless for several moments, trying to digest what had just happened. He was alive. He had survived. He shouldn't have—but he did. He should have felt lucky, but he didn't.
He had passed the test of the all-knowing light, yet now the Arcane Army had marked him as one of their own. Ahrden had come here seeking knowledge, but what he found was nothing like what he'd bargained for. Pain, anguish, and the threat of death he had expected—but the endless questions and the chaos of emotions now raging inside him were something he could have done without.
Nothing came without a price. His victory felt undeserved, and deep down he knew the true cost would one day come—and it would be more than he could bear.
He might have stood there thinking longer, but his knees wavered, and he nearly collapsed. Forcing himself upright, he began toward the newly formed exit. Moving around the summoning circle, unwilling to tempt fate, he left the cavern.
Not long after entering the next corridor, Ahrden arrived at another vast chamber. With little effort, he knew this was the final destination—the library he had been seeking all along. When he stepped inside, he found himself surrounded by an immense hall filled with more books than he had ever seen. The mage's words in the journal had not been exaggeration: towering shelves stretched up to the ceiling, disappearing into shadow. The air smelled of old leather and arcane power, thick yet soothing—a calm, pure energy that seeped from the books themselves.
The shelves fanned out in a half-circle, and as Ahrden peered down each aisle, he was awed by their endless depth. At the center of the hall stood a massive marble tombstone inscribed with writing. Ahrden approached and read it:
Reaching this place was no easy feat, yet you overcame what stood before you. Do not be fooled by the perceived power you think you wield.
The rules of this place are carved into this stone, and breaking the rules will always remain beyond you, so do not tire yourself by trying.
Choose what you wish and choose it well, for only with one can you leave this place. Open it you cannot, but wisely you must choose regardless, for there is no returning. That of which you are, this place forever remembers, and to return you might try, but it will be like opening a book in here.
The text was exactly as the mage had recorded in his journal. Reading it again offered no new knowledge—but standing there, after all he had endured, was vastly different from reading it at his desk in comfort.
He had often imagined spending hours here, studying the shelves and carefully selecting the tome that would offer the greatest wisdom. But now, exhausted and barely conscious, that dream was impossible. He was at the end of his strength; choosing blindly felt reckless, yet after everything, it seemed his only choice.
As he stood there, reading the words he already knew by heart, an idea struck him. Looking up, he noticed the ceiling was covered in stalactites. With great effort and pain, he raised his right hand and began casting a spell.
"The rules of this place are carved into this stone, and breaking the rules will always remain beyond you, so do not tire yourself by trying," Ahrden repeated aloud. "The rules are carved into this stone... and although I cannot break the rules, I can break that which holds the rules."
Even with his overstrained body, he managed to cast a spell strong enough to break one of the larger stalactites. Then, guiding it with precision, he dropped it onto the tombstone. Ahrden watched with grim satisfaction as the stone monument shattered into a thousand pieces.
When the dust settled, silence reclaimed the library. Ahrden didn't expect much to happen—and indeed, nothing did. So he decided to test his plan by reaching for two books on the shelf.
Before Ahrden could start toward the aisle closest to him, he felt a stir in the arcane energies of the place. He turned toward the broken tombstone and, to his greatest surprise, a man stood there. It was not the first unexpected thing that had happened in this dungeon, but it was the one that surprised him the most.
The man before Ahrden was old—very, very old—yet potent power surrounded him. Ahrden surmised that he was the one who had created the dungeon, the one who had come to protect its rules, the one responsible for all of its spells, including the summoning of the demon. Reaching this conclusion meant that, once again, Ahrden was in a situation where the outcome was not in his hands.
The man wore a long brown robe with elaborate golden lining. He did not seem like someone who would stand out in a crowd, but on closer examination it was obvious he was no ordinary old man. His eternal eyes bored into Ahrden much like the light in the second chamber had, and Ahrden knew there was little he could hide from this mage.
"Clever, I must say. Not the first, but the youngest to have done that. But your encounter with the Arcane Agent... most troubling, I must say. If you are who they think you are, perhaps killing you now would do the world a great service. But perhaps they are wrong... although they rarely are... But you did pass the second chamber, so indeed, this is an odd phenomenon. Don't mind that now, boy—good work you did in the dungeon. The first from the Valley to beat it in eons, though we both know you had more than one party helping you. You must have guessed that I cannot allow you to come and go as you please, just as those who thought of this before you could not do so either."
With a wave of his hand, the million pieces of stone lying around came to life. Almost instantly, the stalactite reformed and shot back up to the ceiling, taking its original position, and by the time Ahrden looked down again, the tombstone was as good as new. The old man motioned again, and seconds later a book flew to him, followed by another, and moments later a third.
"You have great potential, Ahrden, and I want to help you stay on the right path and not become a claw of the Arcane Lord."
The ease and elegance with which the man spoke deeply amazed Ahrden. He had no idea who this man was, but he made a solemn vow to find out whenever he could.
"Times are changing, and the threat that is coming is something this world has not faced in a very long time. We have forgotten what it is like to fight for what we take for granted—to face an enemy older than our world itself. Every good mage is needed, and I believe you can be an invaluable addition to mankind's forces in the war that approaches. Unfortunately, the enemy believes the same thing. I give you two choices. You may either search for a book on your own—which will yield nothing worthy of your struggles—or you may take these three. If you choose the latter, you will join a very small group who have left with more than one book, and I personally guarantee these three will be worth your trouble."
Ahrden felt a huge relief.
"I'll take the three books."
"Very well, then. I advise you to take these and teleport back to your capital before exhaustion gets the better of you. From here, you will be able to—and I'll make sure you have the strength to properly execute the spell."
With that, the old man waved his hand for the third time, and Ahrden felt a renewing surge of energy and strength—just enough to guarantee a safe casting of the teleportation spell.
"But I have so many questions," Ahrden began.
"In time. You'll get answers in time."
Ahrden ignored the answer.
"Kadelinas said the same thing, and I haven't seen him since," Ahrden said, somehow certain this man would know Kadelinas. "Where was he when Inferno assailed my capital? Where was he when the Arcane Agent approached me? He left me alone—just as you're about to."
"He was wise to do so, and he will deliver on his promise."
"What about the Arcane Agent? What if I am the one their prophecy speaks of? What if all this waiting makes me become the very thing Kadelinas wants me to fight—if he even wants me to? And what about Kartesta Malitez? What if next time he kills me and my entire nation while you and Kadelinas sit idle, waiting for a convenient moment to talk to me?"
Ahrden was breathing hard. When he stopped, he could not believe how he had spoken to this mage.
"It sounds flattering to be the one the ancient prophecy speaks of. But don't worry—I can tell you with confidence you are not the one the Arcane Lord seeks. As for when Kadelinas will contact you: again, when you are mature enough to understand that some things require time. There are things you cannot force..."
"Shouldn't he aid me while I'm not mature enough to handle these things on my own?"
"If you can't handle them alone, you are not worth contacting."
"You know that is not true."
"Are you sure? You became a mage without aid from any other. That shows you were meant to be a mage. If you require help to join the small circle at the top, then you do not belong there—and we both know your aim is not to be merely another mage among the many. The talk will come if you are already ready to be in the club. But if you are waiting for Kadelinas to put you there because you managed a little purple in your shield, then you are sorely mistaken, my boy."
Ahrden looked to the ground, thinking—but not ashamed, for clearly nothing was hidden from this mage.
"The Arcane Army—I know nothing about them."
"The first book I chose for you will aid you there."
"And who are you, exactly? Did you create this dungeon?"
"I'm so old that the second ancient tome will tell you all you need to know about me. As for the dungeon... I'll pretend you didn't ask."
"But why?"
"This place is not about the books; it's about those who seek them. This place is like the beast Kadelinas created—it is meant to test the mage."
"All these books, all this knowledge, just sitting here—to see who is strong?"
"Not strong—worthy. Most of the books you see here are illusions. As I said, it is not about the books. All who reach this place take what I want them to take. And I want them to take what will aid them most in joining the club you now seek to join."
"These books will make me more powerful?"
"Not the first two, but the third might guide you along that path. I can see I chose well for you."
The old man teleported directly in front of Ahrden. He placed the books in Ahrden's hands but did not let go yet. The old mage looked directly at him. His eyes held immense knowledge; they sat deep in a lined face that was old yet hid his true age. His presence filled Ahrden with the overwhelming sense that this mage possessed enough power to make an Arcane Agent afraid—perhaps even an Arcane Knight, though Ahrden had never met one. He was tall, and Ahrden guessed him slender beneath the loose robe. He smelled like the library itself and stood as firmly as a young warrior might.
"Even though you did your best to make me believe otherwise, I ask you to reconsider your own beliefs. You cannot be a victim of circumstance forever. Remember that, and never stop fighting for what you believe is right."
When the old man stopped speaking, he smiled at Ahrden—a knowing, kind, but firm smile. Ahrden felt the usual, yet slightly different, teleportation spell spread around his body even though he had not cast it. In the next second, he found himself alone in his cosy study, holding the three books.
Now, away from the lingering potency of dungeon magic, he could feel how special these volumes were compared with everything around him. Ahrden knew that what he held contained more secrets, knowledge, and truth than all the books he had ever read combined.
He staggered to his bed and sat. Before falling onto it, he set the books on the floor—lingering for a moment on the cover of the second book, the one about the man he had just met.
The title read: The Incredible Life of Minerinth Beretandas.