The commercial district of the Vientiane world bustled with activity. Trade Street, as it was commonly known, housed an eclectic array of magical establishments—shops selling potions, enchanted weapons, arcane secrets, and specialized information. Compared to previous years, the thoroughfare had grown more prosperous, more vibrant.
Yet a discerning observer would notice that establishments specializing in combat potions and defensive weaponry attracted the largest crowds of sorcerers. Whether through official channels or intuitive premonition, many practitioners sensed the growing tension emanating from Kamar-Taj. The subtle indicators suggested imminent conflict—a solemn atmosphere both unfamiliar and recognizable, historically presaging significant casualties.
Into this charged environment stepped a sorcerer from Kamar-Taj. His magical aura registered as modest and somewhat unstable—the hallmark of a novice still acclimating to newly acquired power. This was Harvey, recently elevated from apprentice to full sorcerer status after years of dedicated study. His promotion, while celebrated, had arrived with unfortunate timing; unlike apprentices, full sorcerers were expected to serve in combat operations when required.
Harvey walked purposefully down Trade Street, casting envious glances at the shops selling protective potions and enchanted armaments. Despite his interest, he maintained his course without pausing, proceeding deeper into the commercial district. His destination appeared clear and predetermined.
Eventually, he halted before a secluded establishment, positioned far from the main thoroughfare with noticeably sparse customer traffic.
Esoteric Arcanum—the weathered sign proclaimed in faded gold lettering.
This shop specialized in rare magical knowledge unavailable through conventional channels—particularly the kinds of spells and techniques that existed in gray ethical territories. Kamar-Taj maintained a complex relationship with such knowledge. The wartime environment had relaxed certain restrictions on forbidden magic, with the Great Library containing comprehensive collections of nearly all known spells. The priority remained survival; on the battlefield, practitioners used whatever means necessary to prevail against their enemies.
However, certain categories remained outside Kamar-Taj's official archives—innovative techniques with powerful secondary effects, experimental spellcraft, and personalized magical methodologies developed by independent practitioners. This gap in the official repository created demand for establishments like the Esoteric Arcanum.
Harvey examined the shop's entrance with cautious scrutiny. After confirming he had found the correct location, he hesitated momentarily, desire warring with uncertainty in his expression. Eventually, determination prevailed, and he stepped across the threshold.
"Welcome to the Esoteric Arcanum!" a slightly hoarse voice greeted him immediately upon entry. Unlike the cultivated warmth typical of other establishments, this greeting carried an unsettling undercurrent.
"Sorcerer, what arcane methodology interests you today?" The same disconcerting voice continued as an animated wooden mannequin emerged from behind a cluttered counter. Intricate magical inscriptions covered every inch of its wooden surface, pulsing with formidable energy that silently warned against provocation.
"Our establishment houses hundreds of exceptional magical techniques absent from Kamar-Taj's archives," the puppet recited mechanically. "Minimal detrimental consequences, maximal efficacy."
The mannequin's delivery suggested pre-programmed phrases rather than genuine communication.
"I'm looking for your proprietor," Harvey replied, anxiety and anticipation coloring his tone. "A friend provided your recommendation."
"Indeed?" The puppet responded with eerie emotionlessness, fixing Harvey with an unblinking stare.
Recalling his friend's specific instructions, Harvey quickly produced a magical payment card. Simultaneously, the wooden figure manifested a card-reading device in its jointed hand.
As Harvey completed the transaction, a satisfied expression somehow formed on the puppet's wooden features. Turning toward the shop's rear section, it called out: "Proprietor, customer acquisition successful."
Harvey winced at the puppet's phrasing, watching as a young man with striking white hair emerged from the back room.
"Pay Number One no mind," the newcomer remarked casually. "He achieved consciousness through accidental application of forbidden techniques. His intelligence developed successfully, though his personality remains... peculiar."
Noting Harvey's surprised expression, the shop owner added dismissively, "The appearance is merely cosmetic enhancement through specialized magic. In reality, I'm old enough to be your progenitor."
He leaned against the counter with practiced nonchalance. "State your purpose."
Sensing the formidable magical presence emanating from this youthful-appearing figure, Harvey wisely avoided commenting on his appearance. Glancing around to confirm their privacy, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
"I am a friend of Vermila Mira."
"Vermila 's friend," the puppet—Number One—interjected with bitter derision. "That duplicitous individual again. Young practitioner, exercise caution and resist his manipulations. If you consider him an ally, be warned—he views you merely as exploitable livestock."
Confusion flickered across Harvey's face. Could there be something questionable about Nomila?
"Number One, terminate vocalization," the white-haired proprietor commanded with exasperation. "He swindled you once, subsequently provided compensation, yet you maintain this grievance indefinitely."
With a dismissive gesture, he magically sealed the puppet's artificial mouth. The mannequin retreated involuntarily toward the shop's back room.
"Disregard his commentary," the shop owner advised Harvey. " Nomila possesses exceptional cognitive processing, and while his methods occasionally incorporate minor deceptions, they have never resulted in mortal consequences. The worst outcome typically involves paying slightly above market value."
The proprietor's familiarity with Vermila was evident.
"Now, specify your requirements."
Reminded of his purpose, Harvey focused his thoughts. "I understand you possess a methodology for liberating individuals," he stated, desire evident in his voice.
"Pardon?" At the mention of liberation, the owner's demeanor transformed instantly. His eyes narrowed dangerously, creating a palpably tense atmosphere throughout the establishment.
"You claim Vermila provided this information?" The question emerged laden with menace.
"Yes..." Despite the overwhelming pressure radiating from the now fully alert shop owner, Harvey persisted through gritted teeth. "His exact words—a secret method granting freedom to all practitioners."
The proprietor's eyes transformed, yellow pupils elongating vertically like those of a venomous serpent preparing to strike.
After a prolonged, tension-filled silence, the white-haired sorcerer placed his left hand upon the counter. A slender tome bound in black material materialized beneath his palm. Without ceremony, he slid it toward Harvey.
Harvey accepted it with evident surprise, as the proprietor spoke in measured tones.
"Based on my extensive knowledge of Vermila's character," he observed quietly, "he lacks the courage to divulge such information."
His gaze intensified. "Either his corporeal form has been terminated and you encountered an impersonator, or he operated under duress."
He gestured toward the book. "This volume is yours. Maintain significant distance from anyone claiming to be Vermila henceforth."
The proprietor's voice dropped further. "From this moment, deny knowledge of my existence as I shall deny knowledge of yours. Our paths have never crossed and shall never intersect again."
His expression darkened. "Regarding the methodologies contained within—interpret them independently. However, I must caution you—"
The shop owner abruptly fell silent, apparently sensing some external disturbance.
With a swift magical gesture, he propelled Harvey unceremoniously through the doorway. The shop entrance sealed itself immediately behind him.
"Accursed misfortune!" The proprietor's voice carried faintly through the magically reinforced door.
"Damnable contractual obligations!"
"To think I would be perpetually harassed in this manner!"
His frustrated imprecations faded as Harvey clutched the mysterious black tome to his chest, both confused and elated by the encounter. The book felt unusually warm against his fingers, as though the knowledge within strained against its bindings, eager to be freed.
Meanwhile, across the city, a familiar figure observed the exchange through a specialized scrying mirror. Grindelwald, still wearing Strange's face, smiled with cold satisfaction. The pieces were moving precisely according to design. Soon, the Eternals, the fallen sorcerers, Kamar-Taj, and even Asgard would converge exactly where he intended.
The Celestial embryo would be his stepping stone to something far greater than mere godhood—absolute mastery over reality itself. Neither Dumbledore nor the Ancient One would comprehend his true ambition until it was far too late.
"Strange," David's voice interrupted his contemplation, "our scouts report the Eternals have gathered. Are your preparations complete?"
"Indeed," Grindelwald replied smoothly. "The spell matrix is established precisely as planned. When the Eternals attempt to defend their precious Celestial, they'll find themselves facing not only our forces, but their own innermost fears."
From within the Eye of Agamotto, the real Doctor Strange redoubled his efforts to break free. The convergence of so many powerful factions around the Celestial embryo threatened catastrophic consequences across multiple dimensions. If only he could establish contact with the Ancient One, warn her of Grindelwald's machinations...
But the dark wizard's containment spell remained impenetrable. Strange could only watch helplessly as events accelerated toward what promised to be a cataclysmic confrontation.