The In the shadows of the Library, Garfield dragged in a desert beast he had slain earlier—a scorpion the size of a horse. He also captured a bandit who had wandered too close. Shackled and gagged, the man screamed into silence.
Garfield began.
The glyphs guided him. Mana flowed through his veins like fire as he carved sigils into both flesh and stone. The Being watched silently, for once saying nothing.
Hours passed. The bandit's cries turned into guttural shrieks. The scorpion writhed. Flesh tore, bones shattered, but Garfield persisted. Sweat drenched him, blood slicked his fingers, but he did not relent.
At last, the screams ceased. In their place came a sound both alien and familiar: breathing.
Before him knelt a creature half-man, half-scorpion, its eyes burning with obedience.
Garfield smiled—not with joy, but with cold satisfaction. He had succeeded where once he had failed.
And yet, in the silence that followed, the Being whispered, almost mournfully:
"You are treading Maizel's path. He, too, began here."