The driver dropped us off four streets away from the address, and I led Jade to a nearby café. It was a cozy spot, the kind of place where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee could make you forget the world outside. I guided her to a table by the window and ordered her favorite latte to soften the inevitable conversation.
“You wait here and if there’s any danger, I’ll contact you for backup,” I said as I placed the steaming cup in front of her, keeping my tone light.
Jade took the cup, her fingers brushing the warm ceramic. “So, I’m a sidekick now?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You’ve always been a sidekick.”
Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Coming from someone whose power is to literally read faces and colors?” she shot back, pouting as she took a sip of her latte.
Touché. I leaned back in my chair, pretending her jab didn’t sting even a little. “Hey, it’s a very important skill. If a dangerous shade of magenta ever shows up, you’ll be thanking me.”
The truth was, her coming with me wasn’t just about protecting her from potential danger. I couldn’t risk revealing too much. Jade was sharp—too sharp. She had a knack for reading her surroundings and piecing together the things people tried hardest to hide. If she came along, she might start connecting dots I wasn’t ready to share, uncovering secrets about me that I wasn’t even sure she should know yet.
Not because I didn’t trust her—I did—but because some truths carried burdens I didn’t want to share with her.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, standing to leave.
Jade simply nodded, her eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than usual.
I opened the maps app on my phone and navigated the streets, walking the rest of the way to the address. When I arrived, the sight that greeted me was undeniably impressive. The bungalow was massive—easily five times the size of our house. It had a grandeur that was impossible to miss, with its towering columns and pristine landscaping. Still, for all its architectural magnificence, it didn’t appeal to me personally. There was something cold about it, something excessive. It screamed wealth, but not warmth. What caught my attention more than the house itself was the lack of visible security. No guards paced the grounds, no cameras peered from the corners of the property. For a place this grand, it was a conspicuous absence. Even modestly wealthy homes in this district had at least some form of visible surveillance.
Instead, a massive gate made of strange, unidentifiable metal stood at the front. Its design was intricate, with patterns and etchings that looked almost alive. Out of curiosity, I raised my hand to inspect it.
The moment my fingers got close, my hand stopped abruptly, meeting an invisible barrier. Glowing runes shimmered into view, flickering and shifting in a myriad of colors like a living kaleidoscope. The barrier wasn’t visible to the naked eye—at least not to most—but with my vision, its intricate details unraveled before me like the pages of an ancient, magical tome. It was breathtaking. The barrier enveloped the entire estate, forming a protective dome that shimmered faintly, as though alive with purpose. Even though I’d encountered such barriers before, they always left me in awe. This one was particularly intricate, each rune pulsating with mysterious glimmer I couldn’t fully comprehend.
Shaking myself free from the spell of its beauty, I noticed the bell on the marble gate. I strolled over and pressed the button softly. The chime that followed was subdued but clear, echoing faintly through the air.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a faint crackling sound broke through, and a clear voice finally came through the intercom.
“Who is this?”
The sound was sharp, with an edge of authority that made it clear they weren’t in the mood for nonsense.
Clearing my throat, I replied confidently, “I’m from the Rose Red Order. I heard the owner of the house has been searching for something for a long time. I believe we have some clues that could be of help.”
There was a pause, the crackling of the intercom the only sound. Then the voice returned, colder this time. “State your purpose clearly.”
“My purpose is simple,” I replied calmly. “I’m here to help solve a problem. If your employer isn’t interested, I’ll leave.”
Another brief silence followed. I waited outside in the sun, unsure if my words had even registered. Finally, after what felt like two long minutes, the gate slowly slid open, and the barrier shimmered as a small opening appeared. Raising my eyes to take in the sight, I stepped through the opening and into the estate. At the front door, I was greeted by an elegant man dressed impeccably in black and white servant attire. His sharp features and unflinching posture made it clear he was no ordinary butler—this was someone who took his role seriously.
“Sir is waiting for you in his study,” he said with a polite bow, his tone respectful but devoid of warmth.
I nodded, and without another word, he turned and gestured for me to follow. The interior was a sharp contrast to the facade—an intricate maze of corridors, rooms, and hallways filled with an eclectic mix of styles. It quickly became apparent that you couldn’t judge someone’s tastes just by the exterior of their home. On our way, I spotted several other servants, all of them young and strikingly handsome. Their presence made me wonder briefly if the master of the house had particular tastes and desires. Whatever the case, it wasn’t my place to judge. Rich people lived in an entirely different reality, detached from the mundane struggles of the average person. Finally, we descended a flight of stairs into what could only be described as a vast library. Whether this was the basement or the entire basement had been converted into a library, I couldn’t tell. The shelves stretched high above, filled with countless volumes whose spines were gilded and embossed with symbols and languages I couldn’t recognize. The magnitude of the room, coupled with its eerie, quiet grandeur, gave me pause.
I silently wondered if I could escape this place if things took a turn for the worse. The more I thought about it, the lower my chances seemed.
The servant stopped in front of a large wooden desk at the center of the room, but before I could take a seat, a voice spoke from nowhere, deep and rasping, yet carrying an undeniable weight:
“You can take your seat, Mr. North.”
I turned just as an old man stepped out from behind one of the shelves. His movements were deliberate, almost calculated, and his presence was… unsettling.
He looked ancient—really ancient—with skin so pale it seemed translucent, as if he’d spent centuries out of the sun or been drained dry by a team of especially motivated vampires. But it wasn’t the pallor of illness. No, this was something else, something that hinted at a life touched by forces most people couldn’t comprehend. Despite his apparent frailty, the man stood tall, well over six feet, his posture unnervingly straight. His eyes were the first thing I noticed—unsettlingly alive, as if they housed their own consciousness, watching me in ways that went beyond the physical. And then there were his bones.
Yes, his bones.
They weren’t made of ordinary calcium—oh no. Beneath his pale flesh, they shimmered faintly, as if forged from pure gold. The sight was equal parts mesmerizing and unsettling, and I had to resist the urge to gape.
Truly a man of magic.
“Ah, Sir Nash,” I said as I took a seat on the surprisingly comfortable sofa opposite him. “I didn’t expect you to run a background check on me in such a short time.”
The old man chuckled softly. Though his face bore the marks of time, his posture was upright, his back as straight as a bamboo stalk. He radiated an uncanny vigor that belied his apparent frailty.
“You misunderstand my intentions, Mr. North,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet amusement that hinted at something far deeper. “I simply asked the wind.”
I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of course he did, I thought. Because why bother with technology when you could interrogate air currents? I nodded slightly, masking my surprise with a carefully practiced expression.
“Truly marvelous,” I replied, forcing a respectful smile. Inside, my brain was turning gears: The wind?! What does that even mean? Did the wind rat me out? Do I need to worry about breezes now?
Sir Nash’s lips curved into a faint smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking but was too polite—or too amused—to comment on it. His golden-bone fingers clasped in front of him, and he leaned forward slightly.
“You’ve come with questions,” he said, his piercing gaze boring into me. “And perhaps answers.”
I sat up a little straighter, brushing off the lingering absurdity of my internal commentary.
Sir Nash tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes narrowing. “Why have I never heard of this Rose Red Order before?”
Probably because it hasn’t existed yet, I mused silently. The name was stolen straight from a future organization I’d encountered in the first cycle. It was an excellent choice—vague, mysterious, and entirely unverifiable. Perfect for situations like this.Outwardly, I maintained my composure, giving a faint smile as though I’d expected the question. “The Rose Red Order is relatively new,” I said smoothly, leaning back just enough to look at ease. “We don’t operate openly, so it’s not surprising you haven’t heard of us before now.”
Sir Nash raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to genuine surprise. He nodded slowly, as if turning the idea over in his mind. “They must be remarkably good at keeping secrets,” he said, the faintest hint of admiration creeping into his tone.
I couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that crept onto my face. Of course they’re good at keeping secrets—they don’t even exist.
“Discretion is paramount,” I said simply, as though I were reciting a company mantra. “It’s how we maintain our… effectiveness.”The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Sir Nash’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as though he were trying to peel back the layers of my answer. I met his eyes steadily, maintaining just the right balance of mystery and credibility. Inside, I was very pleased with myself. Convincing a century-old sorcerer that I was part of an underground organization he’d never heard of? That was a win. But I didn’t let it show—too much, anyway.
“Well,” Sir Nash said, his tone softening just slightly. “It seems I’ve underestimated how much the world has evolved.”
I inclined my head politely, resisting the urge to pat myself on the back right then and there. “We all have to adapt,” I replied. “That’s how we stay ahead.”
“We could treat it as a trade,” I added, keeping my tone calm but deliberate. “Something that benefits all of us.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.
Sir Nash didn’t react visibly, but his eyes… there was something happening there. The strangeness I’d noticed earlier was intensifying, the colors in his irises shifting, converging rapidly toward his pupils like whirlpools of liquid gold. It was mesmerizing, as if something alive was moving just beneath the surface. And then, because my brain is sometimes my worst enemy, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind: I want to touch his eyes. Worse, the urge to keep them—like some sort of bizarre trophy—lingered for a fleeting moment. What was wrong with me? Was this the effect of his magic? I shook my head slightly, shoving the unsettling thought aside. Focus, North.
“You should know,” Sir Nash said, his voice breaking through my spiraling thoughts, “I seek a method to extend my lifespan. As for the trade, as long as it is within my power, it will be done.”
“I’m aware,” I replied, holding his gaze steadily. I wasn’t going to let his shifting, hypnotic eyes unnerve me. “And I may have what you seek.”
“Then do tell,” There was a practiced warmth to his voice, like someone skilled at putting others at ease.
Yet, beneath that surface, I could sense the faint tremor of excitement. It wasn’t loud, but it was there—pulsing in his words, in the flicker of his golden, shifting eyes. For a brief moment, I questioned whether I was doing the right thing. His hollow frame and pale, unnatural features carried an air of madness barely contained, like a dam about to crack.
“I would require five permanent spells as payment,” I said, leaning back in my seat, deliberately maintaining an air of relaxation.
Sir Nash paused, his gaze sharpening. His interest was unmistakable now, and he regarded me as though I’d just become far more intriguing.
“I don’t want to refuse,” he said slowly, his voice carrying a weight that hinted at unseen depths. “But the Arcane is corruption. Are you sure you want this? A method to extend lifespan could win you many other prizes.”
His words lingered in my mind, swirling with layers of meaning. Arcane is corruption. What exactly did he mean by that? I tried to dissect it, but my knowledge didn’t offer any immediate clues. Still, if there was a problem, I reassured myself, the time loop would reset everything in the next cycle. No risk was truly permanent—at least, not for me.
“Don’t worry,” I replied firmly, pushing aside my hesitation. “That’s a problem for us to deal with.”
Sir Nash’s lips curved into a thin smile, one that didn’t quite reach his strange, shifting eyes. “Very well,” he said, his tone carrying a note of finality. “How about this: you reveal half of your method first. If I can confirm its legitimacy, we’ll proceed with your deal. Then, you can provide the full method.”
It was a reasonable request, and one I’d anticipated. I nodded in agreement. A servant appeared shortly after, carrying a pen and paper, which he set down on the desk before me. The servant moved with the same polished grace as the others in the house, his expression unreadable as he stepped back and vanished into the shadows once more. I glanced briefly at Sir Nash, whose gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking and expectant. Then I turned my attention to the paper and began writing. The method I scribbled was something I’d heard about long ago—a rumor, a whisper carried through cycles. It was dark, untested, and potentially dangerous, but it was the only thing I could recall in full detail. My pen scratched across the paper, the words forming faster than I could consciously process them, as though my mind was retrieving them from a dusty, half-forgotten archive.
When I finished, I set the pen down and slid the paper across the desk to Sir Nash. He took it with deliberate slowness, his bony, gold-shimmering fingers clutching it delicately.
“Hmm,” Sir Nash murmured as he read the paper. “Very ingenious, but it seems more like a concept. Has anyone actually used it before?” His curiosity was evident, though tinged with caution.
I repeated the method aloud for clarity: “Find the *** Bizarre meta nature, and use it to slowly replace your life with someone else’s, gaining their fate while keeping your essence.”
Sir Nash stared at me for a long moment. “A truly evil method,” he said, neither condemning nor approving, but simply stating a fact. “I don’t know what to say. But tell me—what is this bizarre meta nature I must seek?”
I met his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch. The answer would come, but not until I had what I needed. My silence was deliberate, and Sir Nash, to his credit, caught on quickly.
“Very well,” he said, leaning back slightly, his bony fingers interlaced. “What kind of spells do you want? Even if this method is only half-complete, it’s worth far more than most spells.”
My original intention had been modest: to acquire a single spell that could shield my mind. But now, with five spells on the table, I realized the power of restraint. Sure, I could have asked for more, but greed was a pitfall I wasn’t willing to stumble into. Hunger was the downfall of many, and it was best to take only as much as I could handle. Sir Nash’s warning lingered in my thoughts: Arcane is corruption. I didn’t fully understand the implications of that yet, but I couldn’t ignore the risk. How would five spells affect my being? Would they make me stronger—or drive me mad? I could only hope for the best.
“A spell to shield my thoughts,” I said without hesitation. “And one to organize my mind.”
Those two were obvious choices—necessary to solve the issues I was currently facing.
But when it came to the remaining three spells, I hesitated. I hadn’t given them much thought, and now the weight of too many options pressed down on me. Someone had once said that having too many choices was a curse, and I was beginning to understand why. My mind felt tangled, trying to determine what I might need most.
What was I missing?
Briefly, the idea of asking for something to protect Jade crossed my mind. She was reckless, always throwing herself into danger with little regard for her own safety. But no—I needed to test these spells on myself first. If there were any unforeseen side effects, it was better that I bore them. Jade’s meta nature was already unstable, and I couldn’t risk making it worse. Still, the idea stuck with me. Jade’s safety was paramount, and if I could prepare for her as well, it would be worth it. I forced myself to focus, narrowing my choices. The spells needed to be practical, versatile, and manageable in case of side effects. Simple was better—at least for now.
“A spell for defense, a spell for escape, and a spell for strength,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the swirl of thoughts in my head.
They were simple yet versatile. If there were side effects, they would hopefully be manageable. Besides, I could always make adjustments in the next cycle if needed. It was better to suffer losses now than to risk losing myself entirely.
Sir Nash nodded, his expression unreadable but his agreement evident.
With a simple wave of his hand, a twisted staff materialized in his grasp, its surface pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow.
He tapped the floor gently with the staff, and the world around us dissolved instantly. Colors drained away like water down a sink, leaving behind a void of absolute nothingness. For a moment, I felt weightless, floating in a disorienting expanse of emptiness. But before I could panic, my feet landed on a surface. The floor beneath me glowed with a blinding white light, steady and soft, like energy condensed into a physical form. It wasn’t solid in the traditional sense—it seemed to be made entirely of energy. I steadied myself, taking in the surroundings.
The space was infinite and featureless, stretching endlessly in every direction. There were no walls, no ceilings—just a vast, glowing plane beneath us and the unbroken dark void above.
I glanced at Sir Nash. He stood calmly, his twisted staff resting lightly in his hand, as though this transition were as mundane as walking into another room.
It was both fascinating and unsettling.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice echoing faintly in the void. The sound was strange, as if it were swallowed by the darkness around us before it could travel too far.
“This,” Sir Nash said, gesturing faintly with his staff, “is the Blank Plane. A space untouched by time, reality, or consequence. It exists between our minds and reality.”
I blinked, trying to process his words. “So… it’s like a pocket dimension?”
He tilted his head slightly, “You could call it that, though it would be an oversimplification. The Blank Plane is not created—it simply is. A place where the arcane operates without interference.”
Then, he lifted his staff once more, swinging it through the air with an elegant precision that belied his skeletal frame. In an instant, hundreds of unknown runes burst into existence, materializing as if drawn from the very fabric of the emptiness around us. Each rune glowed with its own distinct color and intensity, their forms swirling and shifting like living entities. They danced in intricate patterns, weaving through the air at varying speeds, creating a mesmerizing display. I couldn’t help but stare. The runes felt like they carried centuries of meaning, a language I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Each one seemed significant, as though it held a piece of some vast, unknowable puzzle. Gradually, they began to gather, drawn together by an unseen force. They moved with a magnetic pull, coalescing toward Sir Nash’s outstretched hand. Slowly, they formed into a small orb, no larger than an avocado seed. The orb shimmered with countless colors, its surface flowing and shifting like liquid metal infused with light. It pulsed faintly, as though it were alive. The way it moved—morphing and flowing—reminded me of ferrofluid reacting to a magnetic field, but far more ethereal and otherworldly.
“Every spell in this world is a unique existence,” Sir Nash voice was steady and almost reverent as he regarded the orb in his hand. “Once you assimilate it, there will be nothing else like it. Recreating it—or even deducing something similar—would take years, perhaps decades.”
He turned his sharp, penetrating gaze toward me, the orb still hovering in his hand like a living entity.
“This spell in my hand is a combination of the first two spells you requested: Splinter and Mindfield. I created them long ago and used them myself for a time. Until now.”
“What do they do?” I asked.
His eyes flicked back to the pulsing orb. “The Splinter spell will transform your thoughts and memories into glass-like shards, fractured but precise. Should anyone attempt to infiltrate your mind, the Mindfield spell will trigger, turning your mental space into a field of volatile mines. The intruder’s consciousness will collide with these shards, resulting in one of two outcomes: madness, as your fragmented memories pierce their mind—or death.”
I stared at the orb as a chill field my heart. The spell was both beautiful and terrifying, a dual-edged sword designed to protect while ensuring no one who tried to intrude would leave unscathed.
“It’s as lethal as it is protective,” Sir Nash added, his tone calm but firm. “As for your other three spells.”
The staff swung again, this time with greater intensity. I could feel the strain it was putting on Sir Nash, though his body showed no outward signs of fatigue. It was his eyes, however, that unsettled me. The strangeness within them had grown more volatile, swirling wildly as though alive. The eerie, golden liquid seemed ready to spill out, dark tendrils threatening to cascade down his face like tears of molten gold.
Whatever that was—whatever that was—every instinct in me screamed to keep my distance. A hundred feet might not even be far enough.
Once again, a storm of glowing runes gathered around us in the void. Half of the runes emerged from the darkness above, while the other half rose from the radiant light below. Despite their contrasting origins, they moved in harmony, swirling and colliding with precision before coagulating into three separate orbs. Beside, each orb had its own unique glow and texture, distinct from the others. First was translucent, its surface swirling with ghostly light. The second shimmered with a metallic sheen, pulsing steadily like a heartbeat. The third was dark and dense, exuding an almost gravitational pull.
“Weight of Time, Breakdown, Leave a Face Behind.”
“These three remaining spells fulfill your final requests.”