Chapter Text
The ancient book should never have existed in a place as mundane as the Agency storage room. Yet there it sat—wedged between a stack of outdated case files and a broken kettle—its spine cracked, pages yellowed, and front cover etched with a sigil that seemed to breathe when one looked too long.
Dazai found it, naturally. “Ahh, Kunikidaaa. Look, a treasure! Perhaps it’s fate. Or divine guidance. Or boredom.” He held the tome out with both hands, as though offering a newborn child.
Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why was this in our storage? Who signed for this? I didn’t—” But when he opened the book, something stirred inside his chest.
The diagrams were impossibly old, scrawled by a hand both elegant and deranged. Formulas danced across pages in languages he couldn’t identify. Magic—real magic—unfurled in front of him like a star map unfolding. “This shouldn’t exist,” Kunikida murmured. Which was exactly the moment Dazai turned the page and found the spell. A portal spell.
“Do not read that aloud,” Kunikida warned, raising a finger. “I am adding three new rules to my notebook specifically to prohibit whatever you’re thinking.”
Dazai smiled with the serenity of a man who had already begun to read in his head. Then, out loud, he began: “By eldritch breath and boundless sea, I summon forth the gate to be—”
“Dazai!”
The air thrummed. A vibration rippled across the walls. The book’s sigil blazed in blue. Papers flew from desks. Kunikida reached out—too late.
“O portal vast, by ancient vow, Unseal thy realm before me now—”
A blinding vortex tore open with a shriek of wind.
“STOP.” Kunikida grabbed Dazai’s coat and dragged him back, but the pull of the portal strengthened.
“Let aether stir and twilight flare, Let mystic winds enshroud the air—”
“Why can’t you follow any—” Kunikida’s voice cut into static as the vacuum yanked them forward.
“Through shadowed dream and fantasy’s deep, The path between the worlds I keep. Kunikidaaa, it’s too late now. Into the great beyond we go!”
“THIS IS NOT AN ADVENTURE—”
“By name and will, I summon thee— Arise, O gate, and answer me!” The world bent. Light swallowed everything.
When sight returned, it was to a sky too bright to be real—sunlight cascading down the horizon like molten gold. The scent of flowers carried on the wind. Something chimed—delicate, tinkling, like laughter made of crystal.
Kunikida opened his eyes. The portal was gone. And so were their clothes. “…No,” he whispered, staring down at himself. His work suit had transformed into… A dark-blue kimono with frilled sleeves decorated with tiny galaxies—stars scattered across the fabric like ideals cast into a void. A purple cape swirled behind him, its underside pink with an intricate spiraling pattern. A wizard’s hat—indigo, with a yellow star-striped band—sat atop his head. His boots laced high, metal-blue kneecaps polished by some invisible enchantment. His belt held a red slot, empty but pulsing faintly as though awaiting a spell. This dimension had categorized him instantly: A mage. A scholar of celestial ideals.
Dazai, meanwhile, looked delighted with his new attire—a black hooded cape (blue inside), a sage-colored yukata striped in blue and white, maroon hems, a leather strap over his torso, sand-colored baggy shorts with colorful feathers, and high-sandals.
“Kunikida, you look precious!” Dazai twirled. “Like a grumpy comet who fell into fashion!”
Kunikida inhaled sharply. Exhaled. He opened his notebook. It was blank. Not empty—blank. The word ‘Ideal’ still graced the cover, but all the handwritten plans, rules, and schedules had vanished, leaving only space as endless and terrifying as the sky above. For one heartbeat, his chest tightened. A crushing sensation—one he refused to let surface.
“I see,” he whispered. “Even my notebook has been… reformatted. Lovely.” But he straightened. Panic was a luxury ideals did not allow. His voice steadied. “Our priority is returning home before the Agency notices our absence.”
“Aw, but look—fairies.” Dazai pointed. Indeed—small beings of light zipped through the air, wings shimmering like petals brushed with starlight.
Pixies joined them, laughing as they chased each other through drifting motes of magic. Below, people in archaic fantasy garb carried giant spellbooks and staff-like instruments. Their ears, horns, tails—none of it unusual here. Kitsune chatted with orcs. Wizards bartered with oni. The air was alive with enchantment. A world untouched by decay. A world where ideals might be possible.
Kunikida’s throat tightened again before he forced the reaction down. “We cannot be distracted. We need to find someone knowledgeable—perhaps a dimensional specialist.”
“Oh, I know just the place!” a passing pixie chimed, hovering before them. “If it’s portals you seek, go north—toward the towering spire with the floating rings! The Philosophy and Dimensions Library holds every theory this realm has ever dreamed.”
Dazai clasped his hands. “Hear that, Kunikida? A library! Your natural habitat.”
“That’s it. I’m adding a rule about not instigating interdimensional travel ever again. And a rule about your mouth.” He set off toward the spire, boots thudding with determined purpose. Dazai skipped behind him cheerfully.
But as they walked, Kunikida’s thoughts churned. This world… this luminous, impossible place… felt like someone had plucked an Ideal from the pages he had once filled and breathed life into it. But ideals this perfect were dangerous. Because they tempted belief. And Kunikida, despite everything, despite knowing how stupid ideals could be, still wanted—deep down, painfully—for something like this to be real.
Dazai, as always, noticed without turning his head. “You’re thinking too loudly again.”
“I am thinking exactly as loudly as necessary.”
“Heh. That’s what you always say when you’re overwhelmed.”
Kunikida stiffened. “I am not overwhelmed.”
“Mm—right, right.” Dazai smiled. “But whatever happens, I’m here. So you don’t have to carry every universe’s ideals alone, okay?”
Kunikida’s step hitched. Only for a moment. “…Idiot,” he muttered softly. But the corners of his mouth softened—imperceptibly to all but his partner.
Ahead, the towering spire of the Philosophy and Dimensions Library rose into the sky, rings orbiting it like celestial halos. Their only hope of returning home. Their next problem waiting inside. And, perhaps, a truth neither of them were prepared to face about what it means to chase ideals through worlds that shouldn’t exist. The doors of the Philosophy and Dimensions Library did not simply open— they unfolded, like the pages of a colossal book turning themselves inside-out. A rush of cool wind swept past Dazai and Kunikida as they stepped inside. The interior was a cathedral of knowledge. Shelves spiraled upward into impossible heights, curving along floating platforms. Rings of light drifted overhead, rotating like orbits around an invisible sun. Lecterns carried hovering manuscripts. Entire staircases rearranged themselves depending on where one wished to go. It was breathtaking. And absolutely useless. Because every book was written in a language that refused to be understood.
Kunikida picked up a volume titled in looping, shimmering glyphs. The symbols churned like tides, rearranging into shapes that only grew more incomprehensible the longer he stared. “This is… frustrating,” Kunikida muttered, turning the page. “The script shifts as though intentionally preventing translation. Are we dealing with a cipher? A magical encryption? A sentient grammar system?”
“Kunikida,” Dazai whispered reverently, “it’s a book that judges you for not being worthy.”
“It’s nothing of the sort.”
“It literally just rearranged itself to avoid you.”
“That does not mean—” The book hissed and snapped shut on his hand. “…It appears this realm dislikes rational thought.”
Dazai snorted. “Aw, don’t take it personally. Magic worlds always bully the strait-laced scholar archetype.”
Kunikida inhaled deeply, forcibly regaining composure. He could not afford irritation—not when they needed information immediately. “Excuse me,” he called toward the nearest desk. “Is there someone who can assist? A translator? A scholar of dimensional theory?”
A voice like gravel scraping bedrock answered: “You’re looking at him.” They turned. The librarian was an orc. Twelve feet tall, green skin marbled with charcoal tones, wearing half-moon glasses perched precariously on his wide nose. His massive tusks were capped with gold. A vest of embroidered runes strained across his barrel chest. He held a quill that looked more like a spear made of crystal feathers. His smile was gentle. His presence was… overwhelmingly intimidating.
“We, uh,” Dazai said cheerfully, “need help.”
Kunikida stepped forward. Straightened his hat. Bowed politely. “…Good afternoon. We apologize for the disturbance. We require access to research on interdimensional travel, portal spells, and—”
“You’re not from this world.”
It wasn’t a question.
Kunikida froze. “How did you—”
The orc tapped his glasses. “These let me see the aetheric imprint around travelers. Yours is… chaotic.” He squinted at Dazai. “Especially this one.”
Dazai grinned, proud.
Kunikida sighed internally.
The librarian leaned over the counter, each movement making his muscles ripple like shifting mountains. “Most outsiders end up lost for days before asking for help. You two are surprisingly efficient.”
“I keep schedules,” Kunikida said, as though this explained everything.
The orc nodded approvingly. “Good trait. We value planners here.”
Dazai shot Kunikida a betrayed look. “You get respect immediately? I’ve done nothing but be charming this entire time.”
“And that is precisely the problem,” Kunikida murmured.
The orc chuckled—a rumbling sound that shook the shelves. “Come. I’ll take you to the Restricted Wing. That’s where we keep the dimensional tomes.”
“But,” Kunikida asked, “if everything is written in this ancient language—”
“You won’t have to read,” the librarian assured. “The books will read you.”
Kunikida paused mid-step. “That is not comforting.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
They followed the orc through aisles of drifting scrolls and teleporting stacks. Kunikida kept his eyes low, wary of volumes that seemed ready to bite again. Dazai, on the other hand, poked anything that glowed.
When they reached an ornate, rune-covered archway, the orc pressed a palm to the sigils. The barrier dissolved like smoke.
“Here we are,” he said. “The section on worlds beyond worlds.”
Inside, mist curled between shelves that vibrated faintly with power.
Kunikida exhaled slowly, mentally preparing himself. This was their best chance. Their only chance. “We’ll do whatever is necessary,” he said.
The orc nodded. “Good. Because to understand these tomes… you’ll have to let them look inside your mind. They require honesty of intent. And they do not tolerate deception.”
Dazai laughed lightly. “Ah, then Kunikida will be fine.”
Kunikida shot him a glare. “And what, pray tell, about you?”
“Oh, well.” Dazai shrugged. “I’m an open book too. Just, you know—several pages missing, a few out of order, and occasionally on fire.”
“That analogy is disturbingly accurate,” the orc observed.
Kunikida braced himself. “Let’s begin.”
The shelves shuddered. A single tome lifted itself from the fog. Its cover glowed like a star being born. And as it floated toward them, Kunikida felt something ripple across his chest—like the book could see through him, into every ideal, flaw, and fracture he tried to hide.
Dazai’s expression shifted—a flicker of concern, rare and unmasked. “Kunikida,” he said softly, “don’t let it overwhelm you.”
But the moment the book opened—It spoke his true thoughts aloud. The tome unfurled its pages with the slow, deliberate gravity of a judge preparing to deliver a sentence. Light poured from its spine—soft at first, then bright enough to cast long shadows across the misty floor. The air vibrated with a language that wasn’t spoken so much as felt. The words bypassed the ears, sinking into the mind like pebbles dropped into deep water.
Kunikida stiffened as the magic probed him—past the layers of discipline, past the rules and routines, past the iron shell of ideals he clung to so desperately. For a moment, he felt naked.
Dazai placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
The orc librarian murmured, “Stay calm. It only reads truth.”
Kunikida’s jaw tightened. “That is exactly what concerns me.”
The book glowed brighter, swirling through memories, goals, sorrows—and then the pages snapped to a stop. A single phrase etched itself across the parchment: “THE WAY HOME LIES IN THE FOUNTAIN OF ELKAID.”
Underneath it, more lines appeared, written in burning script: “THE SOURCE OF ALL PASSAGE BETWEEN REALMS. THE HEART OF AETHER. THE WELL OF WORLD-BRIDGES.”
Kunikida exhaled in relief—until the next line wrote itself with a harsh, jagged flourish:
“BUT THE FOUNTAIN IS LOST. TAKEN. CORRUPTED.”
A pulse of black magic bled from the page, staining the edges like ink poisoning water.
Dazai’s smile faded.
Kunikida frowned. “Corrupted by what?”
The tome answered: “AN EVIL WIZARD: MALGARON THE NIGHT-SHAPER. AND HIS DRAGON, VERATHRAM. THE FOUNTAIN IS BOUND IN SHADOWFIRE. NO PORTAL MAY OPEN UNTIL IT IS PURIFIED.
Dazai whistled. “Ooh, Kunikida, this sounds fun.”
“This is not fun,” Kunikida snapped, though his heart hammered with something between dread and determination. “This complicates our mission significantly. Fighting a wizard is one issue, but a dragon—”
The orc librarian interjected, voice low and grim: “Malgaron is no ordinary dark mage. He was once a scholar here—one of the brightest. But he sought to control the Fountain of Elkaid rather than study it. Its power warped him. His dragon is… a consequence.”
He gestured at the living tome, which turned more pages: “THE FOUNTAIN CANNOT BE APPROACHED BY THOSE WHO CARRY FALSE INTENT. ONLY THOSE WHO TRULY SEEK PASSAGE HOME MAY DRAW NEAR.”
The book pulsed—once, twice—Then its light shifted color, focusing wholly on Kunikida. Words spiraled across the page: “THE ONE CALLED KUNIKIDA HAS A HEART SPLIT BY DUTY AND DESIRE. AN IDEALIST WHO CARRIES A WORLD ON HIS SHOULDERS. TO APPROACH THE FOUNTAIN, HE MUST CONFRONT HIS FEAR OF FAILURE AND HIS SECRET YEARNING FOR RELEASE.”
Kunikida froze. Every muscle locked.
Dazai’s hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him. “Hey,” he murmured softly, no teasing in his voice for once. “Don’t listen to the dramatic delivery. It’s a magic book—it lives for this.”
But Kunikida couldn’t shake the feeling of being deeply, painfully seen. His fear of failing the people who depended on him. His fear of losing his ideals. And worst of all—that quiet, hidden wish to not have to keep pushing anymore.
The book turned another page, addressing Dazai: “THE ONE CALLED DAZAI CARRIES SHADOWS OF MANY WORLDS. THE FOUNTAIN WILL TEST HIS INTENT AND HIS PAST.”
Dazai smiled too easily. Which meant the words hit harder than he let show.
The tome snapped shut with a final rumble of magic.
The orc librarian nodded solemnly. “Well. There it is. Your path home.”
Kunikida steadied himself with a breath—deep, deliberate, practiced. “All right,” he said, voice composed once more. “Where do we find this Fountain of Elkaid?”
The librarian’s brows rose. “You’re serious about going?”
“Of course,” Kunikida said sharply. “We must return to our world before anyone is harmed. The Agency—our colleagues—rely on us.”
Dazai hummed. “Also, if we stay too long, Yosano might track us across dimensions and drag us back herself.”
“That too.”
The librarian gestured toward a mural on the far wall. It depicted a mountain split by purple lightning and a cavern glowing with liquid starlight. “That is Mount Astryx,” the librarian said. “The Fountain lies within—at its heart. But Malgaron has sealed the mountain with shadowfire. Only one path remains, and it is perilous.”
“Perilous how?” Kunikida asked.
The librarian paused. Then he smiled—slow and ominous. “Let’s just say… the dragon hasn’t eaten in a while.”
Dazai clapped Kunikida on the back. “Adventure~!”
Kunikida glared, tightening his gloves. “This is not an adventure. This is a dangerous mission requiring precision, strategy, and—”
“—and a wizard-hat-wearing idealist with frilly sleeves.”
“Dazai.”
“Yesss?”
“Stop talking.”
Dazai winked.
Kunikida turned to the librarian. “Please give us everything you have—maps, warnings, magical advice. We leave immediately.”
The orc nodded. “You’ll need more than advice.”
“Oh jeez,” Dazai said. “Then we’ll probably need some magical artifacts or something.”
The orc librarian adjusted his glasses, the crystal lenses catching the soft glow of floating runes. “Artifacts?” he repeated. “Oh, no, no. You two are far too unprepared for that step.”
Dazai blinked. “Unprepared? Us?”
Kunikida, on reflex, straightened his posture. “We are perfectly capable—assuming adequate research and a properly structured plan—”
The librarian held up one massive hand, silencing him in the way only an orc with a two-foot-wide palm could. “You don’t even have basic gear. No grimoire. No warding charms. No staff, wand, focus stone, or even a potion belt.” He looked them up and down, eyes narrowing at their magically-assigned outfits. “The world gave you costumes. Not equipment.”
Dazai gasped dramatically. “Kunikida, we’re like NPCs with zero starting items.”
Kunikida’s eyelid twitched. “I would appreciate if you refrained from comparing our situation to a poorly-balanced game.”
The librarian sighed, leaning back until his chair creaked dangerously. “Look. If you walk straight to Mount Astryx as you are, Malgaron’s shadowfire will incinerate you before you even see the mountain. And the dragon—Verathram—well…”
He rubbed his temples. “Let’s just say dragons enjoy roasted adventurer.”
Dazai beamed. “At least we’d be seasoned!”
Kunikida inhaled through his nose, forcibly. “We understand. We will acquire proper magical equipment before approaching the mountain.”
“Yes,” the orc said firmly. “And there’s only one place in the city that sells the kind of tools you’ll need.” He pointed toward a window overlooking the sprawling city below. Down in the valley, beside a river glowing faintly with starlight, a storefront sign floated above a crooked little building. The sign spun lazily, sparks trailing from the edges of the letters: “BESTEL’S STAFF & SPELL SHOP Tomorrows Conjured Today! No refunds.”
Kunikida squinted. “…‘No refunds’ is concerning.”
“Bestel is… eccentric,” the librarian admitted. “But he’s honest. And more importantly, his wares work.”
Dazai hummed. “Eccentric sounds fun.”
Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. “It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”
The orc stood, towering over them. “Tell Bestel that Goruk sent you. He’ll actually behave himself if he knows you came from the library.”
“What kind of shopkeeper needs to be threatened into behaving?” Kunikida muttered.
“The kind who once turned a customer into a shrubbery because they insulted his shelving organization,” Goruk said dryly.
Dazai’s eyes sparkled. “I like him already.”
“You would.”
Goruk stepped closer, folding his arms. His voice lowered. “Listen carefully. Bestel will try to sell you everything. Don’t accept anything cursed, singing, exploding, dimensionally unstable, or made from questionable ingredients.”
Dazai’s hand was already raised. “What about exploding and singing? Two-for-one deal?”
“NO.” Kunikida bowed politely, despite being mentally exhausted already. “Thank you, Goruk. Your guidance is invaluable.”
The orc nodded, giving them a rare, solemn smile. “I hope you find your way home. The Fountain of Elkaid is dangerous… but it listens to people with true purpose.” He looked directly at Kunikida. “Even those torn between their ideals and their fear.”
Kunikida froze.
Dazai glanced at him, worry flickering in his eyes before he masked it with a grin. “Well then,” He stretched his arms, “to Bestel’s Staff & Spell Shop we go!”
Kunikida straightened his robes, drawing in a steadying breath. “Yes. The sooner we are equipped, the sooner we can begin our mission.”
As they stepped toward the exit, Goruk called after them: “And don’t let Bestel talk you into buying the Wand of Infinite Cheese. It’s a scam.”
Dazai gasped. “Kunikidaaa, infinite cheese!”
“Kunikidaaa is walking away,” he replied sharply, already heading down the shimmering stone steps. “And you are not buying anything edible from a magical weapon shop.”
“But—!”
“No.”
Dazai heaved a dramatic sigh and jogged to catch up.
Ahead of them, Bestel’s sign flickered again, a tiny sparkle bursting from the letters as if welcoming them to chaos. The building looked like someone had tried to stack three houses, realized halfway through they didn’t fit, and then glued on a fourth one sideways just for fun. Multicolored smoke puffed from the chimney. The door jingled as Dazai pulled it open and a blast of sparkles hit them in the face.
“WELCOME TO BESTEL’S!” a voice sang out from behind a counter stacked with scrolls, potions, staffs, and what might have been a sentient teapot. Bestel himself stood atop a stepladder: a wiry old wizard with a massive beard tied into three braids, both eyes magnified by thick enchanted glasses. His robe looked like a quilt made of four other robes.
“Goruk sent us,” Kunikida said with a polite bow.
Bestel blinked. His voice immediately dropped three octaves. “Oh. Goruk sent you. Why didn’t you say so?” He leaned on the counter, and with a snap of his fingers, several glowing books floated toward them. “Before you choose your weapons, you must choose your spell class. Eight disciplines, one path each.” He clapped loudly. “Pick wisely! Or poorly! Life is chaos!”
Dazai whispered to Kunikida, “He’s my favorite person here.”
Kunikida ignored him and focused on the tomes hovering before them. Each emitted a unique aura:
SPELL CLASSES
Abjuration – shimmering shields and protective wards
Conjuration – summoning creatures, portals, and weapons
Divination – seeing truths, futures, hidden knowledge
Enchantment – influencing minds, enhancing allies
Evocation – pure elemental attack magic
Illusion – deception, mimicry, shapeshifting light
Necromancy – life-force manipulation, shadow arts
Transmutation – altering matter, form, structure
Dazai examined the books with childlike curiosity. “Oooh. Can I pick Necromancy? Imagine the possibilities.”
“No,” Kunikida said instantly.
“You didn’t even think about it—!”
“No.”
Bestel chuckled. “Necromancy requires emotional stability. You two do not qualify.”
Dazai pouted. Kunikida coughed.
“Evocation,” Kunikida said after a moment of thought. “Direct magic for combat efficiency. Reliable power output. Predictable results.”
Bestel nodded enthusiastically. “A man who likes rules! Excellent choice. You can blow holes in mountains.”
“That is… not my intention.”
“Oh, you’ll do it by accident anyway.”
Dazai tapped his chin. “Hmm… Then I pick… Illusion.”
Kunikida froze.
Bestel brightened.
Dazai grinned like he’d made the most predictable choice imaginable. “Illusion is perfect for me! I lie, I distract, I confuse, I charm—”
“You’re just listing your personality traits.”
“Exactly!”
Bestel clapped. “Wonderful! One Evoker, one Illusionist! A classic pairing of ‘no-nonsense’ and ‘nonsense.’” The shop shook as a dozen staffs and wands flew off shelves, spinning around the duo like excited puppies. “Choose your weapon!” Bestel declared, dramatic cape swirl included.
Kunikida selected a sturdy staff of sky-blue crystal wrapped in silver runes—stable, solid, and perfectly balanced. Dazai picked a slim wand made of iridescent wood that changed colors every time he blinked.
“Now,” Bestel said, rubbing his hands together, “follow me out back. You’ll need training before you can cast even basic spells.”
The backyard expanded impossibly into a vast arena—floating platforms, targets made of magic, and practice dummies that occasionally flinched when looked at.
“Let’s start simple,” Bestel said. “Evocation first!” He gestured at Kunikida. “Channel your intent. Think of your ideal outcome and release the energy as a focused arc.”
Kunikida nodded, planting his feet. He lifted the staff. A small spark ignited.
“Good!” Bestel called.
Another spark built—
“Even better!”
The air vibrated—
“Excellent—”
BOOM.
A shockwave blasted the field.
Kunikida skidded back five feet, coughing through the smoke.
Dazai clapped. “See? You’re a natural disaster!”
“Natural Evoker,” Kunikida corrected, ears ringing.
Next came Dazai.
“All right, illusionist boy,” Bestel said. “Project an image. Something simple.”
Dazai flicked his wand.
A second Kunikida instantly appeared beside the original—scowling, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.
Kunikida’s soul briefly left his body. “Why would you—?!”
“It felt right,” Dazai said happily.
Bestel laughed far too loudly. “Wonderful! Now—again!”
And again. And again. But with every spell… The training became… harsher. Bestel’s instructions turned sharp. His tone lost its cheer. His pushes became shoves. His corrections became jabs.
Kunikida noticed first in his body—muscles aching, breath shortening far faster than realistic for beginners. Dazai noticed in the eyes—Bestel wasn’t excited. He was calculating.
“Hmm,” Dazai whispered, leaning closer to Kunikida. “Is it just me, or is our dear mentor being unusually… aggressive?”
Kunikida wiped sweat from his brow. “He’s merely thorough. We are inexperienced in magic.”
But then Bestel’s next “correction” sent Kunikida crashing to the ground, staff skidding across the arena.
Dazai’s smile died.
He stepped in front of Kunikida. “Hey. Enough.”
Bestel froze. Then he grinned. A wide, sharp-toothed grin that wasn’t human. Magic exploded outward. The fake illusion of the crooked spell shop shimmered and dissolved. Bestel’s robe darkened into swirling black tendrils. His glasses cracked with violet flames. And his voice dropped into something old and terrible: “How convenient of Goruk to send the two interlopers right to me.”
Kunikida scrambled to his feet, heart hammering. “Bestel…? You—”
But the wizard wasn’t Bestel anymore. His beard elongated into tatters of shadow. His flesh warped with purple veins. Six eyes blinked open across his face.
“I am Malgaron,” he hissed, “Master of Shadowfire. And you—Evoker and Illusionist—are threats I cannot allow to reach the Fountain.”
He raised a hand. Dark magic roared. The ground ruptured beneath Dazai and Kunikida’s feet.
“You should thank me,” Malgaron sneered. “I will spare myself the inconvenience of killing you here.”
Dazai grabbed Kunikida’s sleeve. “Kunikida—!”
Kunikida raised his staff instinctively, but a surge of corrupted mana slammed into them both.
They were flung backward through a vortex, over mountains, and into darkness. They crashed through branches, tumbled down a hillside, hit soft moss, and everything went black. The two lay unconscious in a foreign forest—far from the town, the library, and any hope of immediate help. Only the rustling leaves remained and the distant, bone-shaking roar of a dragon…