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Somethingalive.

In an instant, I’m back in my own head.

I had understood that some being was behind the magic and the voice that called to me. Still, it’s obvious this place has been long forgotten, bound in wards that have outlasted the spellcasters themselves.

And yet, despite the forgotten state of this place, something still lingers here alongside these wards, something sentient and magical, and my brand-spanking-new familiar is heading straight for it.

Not good, not good, not good.

Before I can think better of it, I plunge down those stairs after Nero, following the torchlight and the trail of indigo magic.

About halfway down, I notice how dry everything is. Even the air, which was so humid aboveground, is parched here. On either side of me, torches flicker and hiss, giving off not just the smell of smoke but also frankincense and cinnamon.

I trail my fingers over the walls, where I see the iridescent sheen of spells. The same magic I met earlier is here again, hanging heavy in the air. I don’t believe it belongs to that disembodied voice, but that only deepens the mystery. The power fills the space, coating the air and walls like honey, and the blue magic seems to twist and contort—just a little—around it. Odd.

Odder still, I sense it’s supposed to keep people away, and yet it seems to welcome me, brushing against my flesh like the softest silk.

Once I get to the bottom, I cast my gaze down the long hallway in front of me. It curves out of sight, that ribbon of magic disappearing with it.

“Nero?” I call.

Nothing.

I look back up the stairs and give the sky one last remorseful look before continuing.

The walls here are carved with images of trees and beasts and warriors on horseback, the firelight and shadows making them dance. Draped over it all are more shimmery webs of spells.

Farther down the hall, the images give way to lines of text. The letters seem to jiggle a little as I look; the words themselves are spells. The writing appears to be…Latin. However, the longer I stare, the more I realizethis is not actually Latin.

It’s the Latin alphabet but not the actual Latin language.

And the only reason I know that is becauseI can read this text.

I say a line out loud.“…azkagu wek div’nusava. Ipis ip’nasava udugab…”

…bind fast within. Keep safe for all eternity…

One of the nearby spells flares to life, stirred by my invocation.

My eyes pass over the rest of the text. Whatever this language is, it’s something else, something from far away and long ago that seems to make my blood sing and my heart awaken.

An itchy, restless feeling stirs beneath my skin. It’s that same feeling I get when I come across a hole in my memory. I feel turned inside out.

There may be things I can no longer remember, but then there are things I do inexplicably know.

Latin is one of them.

Latin and apparently whatever this language is.

I want to linger here and read this spellwork, just to taste this language on my tongue again. It…evokes some dear but unnamable emotion in me, something I’ve only felt in dreams.

But the longer I stand still, the more that blue magic coils around me. I can now sense the presence it belongs to beckoning me closer.

I tear my attention away from the wall and move on.

The narrow hall eventually opens into a chamber as large as my apartment, the entire space already lit by torches.

The room is decorated from top to bottom with more writing and images of fantastical beasts. I see griffins and deer with antlers that morph into the branches of nearby trees. I only spare it all a passing glance.