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What's good? New chapter up. Story about to get intersting from here on.
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Now to the chapter!
Happy reading
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Third Person POV
The biting wind howled around them as the three teenagers, followed closely by Elara, began making their way towards the Grimoire Tower. The path was a narrow ridge made out of black stone, and with every step, the sheer scale of the tower became clearer. It was a monolith of ancient, obsidian-like rock, its surface impossibly smooth in some places and etched with the scars of years of weathering.
As they reached the base, a set of colossal doors, easily thirty feet high and carved from the same black stone, loomed before them. There were no handles, no visible hinges, just an imposing, seamless facade. Just as Michael raised a hand to touch the cold surface, a deep, grinding groan echoed from within. Slowly, with the weight of ages, the massive doors began to swing inward.
Warm air washed over them, a welcome relief from the mountain's frozen breath. It smelled of old paper and dust. Standing in the entryway was a tall, dark-skinned man who looked as ancient and formidable as the tower itself. He was dressed in simple, dark robes, his head was shaved, and his face was calm and unreadable. He regarded them with eyes that held the wisdom of a long and solitary life.
"Welcome, Heirs of the Royal Houses," he said, his voice a deep, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in their very bones. "I am the keeper of this tower. It is an honor to host you on this momentous day." He gave a slight, respectful bow and gestured for them to enter.
He led them down a long, vaulted hallway. The walls were covered in a series of intricate, faded carvings. The three of them, their earlier awkwardness forgotten, slowed their pace, their eyes drawn to the ancient art. The images were vague, eroded by time, but they depicted scenes of both great power and great sadness. Michael saw a carving of beings descending from a broken sky, another of a world consumed by shadow and fire, and a final, heart-wrenching image of a lone, winged figure standing defiantly against an overwhelming darkness. The carvings felt like a forgotten dream, familiar in a way none of them could explain.
"Our ancestors, when they were but a tribe finding their way in a new world, built this first tower here," the keeper explained, his voice echoing in the long hall. "Legend says this mountain was the site of the final battle between two beings of immense power. Their clash scarred the world, but it also left this peak as a nexus, an eye of the storm where the world's mana converges. It is the most potent place on the continent for a soul to call out to its grimoire."
He led them into a grand, circular chamber. It was a breathtaking sight. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to the very high, domed ceiling, creating a massive, cylindrical library. The room was filled with hundreds of thousands of books, all dark and dormant, their pages waiting for an owner. A soft, ambient light emanated from the very center of the room, casting a gentle glow.
The keeper stopped at the edge of the chamber and gestured toward the illuminated circle of stone in the middle of the floor. "Please, stand within the light. The tower... and your destiny... are waiting."
The three of them exchanged a final, nervous glance. This was it. Their shared awkwardness was now completely replaced by a heart-pounding anticipation. They walked forward together and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the center of the room.
The keeper raised his hand. "Let the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony... begin."
A moment of silence passed.
Then, from a high shelf, a book suddenly burst into crimson flame. It shot down from the darkness like a small meteor, wreathed in fire that did not burn the books it passed. It stopped abruptly in front of Ignara, floating at her chest height.
She reached out with a steady hand. The grimoire's cover was a deep, scorched red, almost black in places, and hot to the touch. But it didn't burn her. It felt... right. It felt like an extension of her own soul. Intricate, fiery patterns that looked like roaring lions or dragons were etched across the cover, the lines themselves glowing like embers. And there, in the very center, was a three-leaf clover, burning with the same inner fire. She clutched it to her chest, a perfect match for her Inferno Flame magic.
A beat of silence, and then another book began to glow. This one was different. A serene, piercing silver light shone from the very top of the dome. The book descended not with fire, but like a falling star, its light pure and concentrated. It came to a gentle rest in front of Acier.
Her grimoire was beautiful. The cover was a pale, almost white leather, covered in incredibly intricate silver patterns. The patterns were delicate, like interlaced vines and armor plating, complex and perfectly crafted. It looked more like a piece of royal jewelry than a weapon. And woven into the very center of the filigree, shining with its own internal light, was a clover with not three, but four leaves.
"A four-leaf..." Elara whispered, her hand covering her mouth. The keeper's eyes widened. A four-leaf grimoire was a sign of immense magical power and a carrier of great destiny, something that appeared only once in a generation.
Ignara looked at her own powerful, scorching, three-leaf grimoire. Then she looked at Acier's perfect, elegant, four-leaf grimoire. It felt like a punch to the gut. She was the one who trained day and night, who pushed herself to the breaking point. Why did Acier get the symbol of destiny? A cold, bitter pang of jealousy and fear twisted in her stomach. She felt the sting of tears threatening to form. Am I... not good enough? Will I be left behind?
She hated that feeling. She hated feeling weak more than anything.
Smack!
She slapped her own cheeks, hard. The sound was sharp in the quiet room. Her fear and jealousy were instantly incinerated by a familiar, stubborn rage. A wild grin, all teeth, spread across her face. So what? she thought, her grip on her new grimoire tightening. So what if she has four leaves? I'll just have to fight harder. I'll drag myself to her level and beyond, even if it kills me. I won't lose.
Acier saw the whole internal struggle play out on her friend's face. The shock, the sadness, the slap, and the returning fire. She knew that look. A small, firm nod passed between them. It was a silent promise: I'll be waiting for you. Don't you dare be slow.
With that settled, they both turned to Michael.
He was still standing in the center of the room, waiting.
And waiting.
The seconds stretched into a long, agonizing minute. No books glowed. No light descended. The tower, which had just delivered two miracles, was now completely still.
A cold, terrifying fear began to creep into Michael's heart. He looked at the girls, both clutching their new destinies, and then at his own empty hands. What was wrong? Was he… not worthy? Was his power, the strength and mana he had struggled to control his entire life, somehow wrong? The keeper was looking at him with a new, unreadable expression. Was it pity? The thought was a paralyzing blow.
Just as he was about to voice the growing panic in his chest, the entire tower shook. It wasn't a gentle tremor; it was a violent, bone-jarring earthquake. Dust rained from the high ceiling, and the ancient bookshelves groaned as if they were about to collapse.
"Impossible!" the keeper yelled, his calm expression finally breaking. "The foundation...!"
Before he could finish, a pillar of pure, blinding, golden-white light. The same color as Michael's Radiance Magic, erupted from the stone floor directly beneath his feet. It blasted the ancient stone to smithereens, swallowing him in its light.
"Michael!" Acier and Ignara screamed in unison, reaching for him, but he was already gone, obscured completely by the light. The pillar soared up through the tower's domed roof, a cosmic beacon that pierced the storm clouds above.
Michael's POV
My world was white. A blinding, silent, overwhelming white.
I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't hear the girls screaming my name. I couldn't even feel the stone floor under my feet. There was just the light, and a sense of impossible speed.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the whiteness was gone.
I was floating.
I opened my eyes to an endless, impossible darkness. It wasn't the dark of a room or a deep cave; it was the deep, pure darkness. Silver and blue lights, like distant nebulae, drifted lazily millions of miles away. I was weightless, suspended in a silent, beautiful, and terrifying emptiness.
The golden-white light that had taken me was still there. It wasn't a pillar anymore. It had settled around me, clinging to my skin like a warm, protective aura. It was the only thing that kept the absolute cold of the void at bay.
I had no idea how long I was there. Minutes? Days? Time didn't seem to work here. It felt like... an eternity. An eternity of just floating and watching the cosmic lights dance.
The silence was so complete that the voice, when it came, felt like a physical jolt.
It wasn't a god-like boom. It was gruff, annoyed, and sounded like it was right next to my ear.
"Where the fuck did you come from? I'm pretty sure I locked my door."
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SOOO?! HOW WAS IT?
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