The news came like a thunderclap.
Selion's mother was pronounced dead by the Valemonts.
The words echoed in his mind, harsh and relentless, each syllable slicing deeper than any blade. The world around him fell silent, gray, hollow. The Baron's estate seemed to shrink, the ceilings pressing down, the floors cold beneath his feet, the walls closing in. He could hear nothing but the cruel drum of his own heartbeat.
For hours, he could do nothing but collapse in the corner of his small room, staring at the empty space where she had last knelt beside him. The tears came unbidden, carving wet paths down his cheeks. His chest heaved with sobs he couldn't stop, a sound swallowed by the cold stone walls.
"Mother…" he whispered into the emptiness, his voice breaking, fragile. "Why… why did this happen?"
The despair threatened to consume him entirely. But amid the hollow ache, a spark stirred—faint, fragile, yet undeniable. Pain had taken her from him. Weakness had left him powerless to save her. If he survived this, he would never allow weakness to rule him again. He would rise. He would train. He would endure. He would become strong.
Eight years passed. Eight long, grueling years.
The estate became both his cage and his forge. Every day, Selion pushed his body and magic beyond what even his frail frame should have endured. While other nobles of his age reached Circle Four or Five, he clawed his way, painfully and stubbornly, to Circle Two. It was small compared to them, but it was his. Every drop of sweat, every bruised joint, every tear shed in solitude had earned it.
Now, at thirteen, the world he had prepared for awaited him—the magic academy. The promise of knowledge, growth, and power stretched out before him like a sunlit path. Yet hope felt like a cruel joke. The Baron had other plans.
"You will wait," the Baron had said coldly, his sharp eyes unflinching. "Your brothers will enter first. Your shame cannot be shown."
And so Selion was locked away in the vast, silent library, its shelves towering like stone walls, its musty air heavy with dust and forgotten knowledge. The library smelled of age and decay, of leather-bound tomes and fading ink. The windows were high, letting in only slivers of the pale moonlight at night, painting the floor in ghostly lines.
Every corner seemed to whisper of confinement, every shadow a reminder of his imprisonment.
Selion roamed its corridors relentlessly, hands brushing the spines of countless books. Each step echoed against the marble floors.
Anger coiled in his chest, raw and furious. I will not be locked away. I will not be left behind. He pounded on the door, shook the iron bars on the windows, but it was useless. The Baron's traps were perfect.
Days bled into nights. He tried to focus on his magic, practicing in the shadows of the library, forming weak circles on the floor and against the walls.
Each flicker of light, each trembling glow, reminded him of the strength he lacked, of the distance between him and the nobles he had spent years trying to catch.
Frustration gnawed at him, sharp and constant. It was during one of these nights, as the moon's silver light spilled over a forgotten corner, that he noticed it. A book unlike any other. Its cover was dark, blackened leather, etched with strange, swirling symbols that seemed almost alive, crawling faintly under the moonlight. Selion froze. He knew that markings all to well, actually it would be strange if he didn't know it.
It was the markings of the evil archmage who brought terror to the empire over 500 years ago.
Luke Spellbound
Selion was confused as to why a book made by one of history's greatest archmage was in his library. Nonetheless he took a closer look.
The markings shimmered faintly, teasing his eyes. His heart thudded in his chest—not with fear, but with anticipation.
Selion reached for it, hesitating only for a heartbeat. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the symbols seemed to pulse under his touch. He opened it carefully, turning the pages slowly. The text was indecipherable at first, swirling patterns and glyphs dancing before his eyes like living things.
Then the world shifted.
The air around him trembled. The floor seemed to drop away. A gust of wind unlike any natural breeze tore through the library, whipping his hair, clawing at his skin. The pages of the book fluttered violently, glowing with a silvery light. The pull was sudden and merciless. His body felt weightless, stretched, twisted. Panic flared, but it was meaningless—he could not stop it.
"What the FUCK"
he screamed into the void, his voice swallowed immediately. His feet left the floor.
His hands reached for something solid, anything, but there was nothing. Only light. Only motion. Only the book.
And then the darkness consumed him.
He felt himself drawn into the pages, pulled through ink and parchment as though the book were a living portal. The library, the estate, the world he had known—all vanished in an instant. The last thing he saw was a faint line of moonlight through the barred window, shrinking, fading, gone.
Silence followed. A strange, suffocating silence that was heavier than any confinement. And within it, Selion's heart beat, alone—but alive, pulsing with a mixture of fear, fury, and something new: the thrill of the unknown.
The book closed with a soft snap behind him, leaving the library empty once more. The boy who had been locked away, scorned and humiliated.
Disappeared.