“Come,” Mr. Albu commanded, his grip firm yet unyielding as he grasped my arm, pulling me toward a shadowed doorway.
My heart pounded against my ribcage, a surge of dread flooding my senses. Was this the moment he intended to silence me forever? But no—if he wished me harm, the earlier rescue would have been pointless.
We stepped into a cramped, dimly lit room cluttered with forgotten relics and dust-coated furniture. Without uttering a word, Mr. Albu knelt and tugged aside a tattered, moth-eaten rug, revealing a wooden hatch seamlessly embedded in the floor.
A sharp breath escaped me. A hidden passage? Curiosity tangled with caution as the hatch creaked open, unveiling a steep stairwell swallowed by darkness.
Without hesitation, Mr. Albu descended into the abyss below. I hesitated, every instinct warning me against following. Yet, the burning need to understand outweighed my fear. I drew a steadying breath and followed.
The air grew thick and stale, tinged with the musk of old paper, ancient wood, and a faint metallic sharpness. At the bottom, a flick of a switch brought a dim, amber light to life, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
All around me, towering bookshelves bowed under the weight of timeworn tomes, their cracked spines whispering forgotten secrets. Crates overflowed with aged scrolls, some brittle with age. Yet, it was the objects on the massive worktable that captivated me most.
Beakers and flasks shimmered with strange liquids, some glowing with an ethereal hue. Vials labeled in archaic script held powders that faintly pulsed with an inner light. The setup dwarfed any chemistry lab I’d ever seen.
Then, in the far corner, my gaze settled on a glass jar resting on a polished oak table. Within, a gentle orb of light churned and flickered like a miniature star imprisoned in liquid air.
“Is that... a glow worm?” I asked, inching closer, mesmerized.
Mr. Albu snorted dismissively. “Hardly. That is a soullight—an arcane being imperceptible to ordinary eyes.”
I stared, captivated. The orb’s glow seemed alive, shifting and weaving with a rhythm all its own.
“A soullight?” I echoed.
“Once common,” Mr. Albu explained, his voice thick with the weight of ancient lore. “Travelers were said to follow their illumination into the deepest jungles, never to return.”
I scanned the room, noticing strange artifacts scattered about—a collection of ornate daggers etched with cryptic symbols, an iron-bound chest sealed tight, and a delicate cage housing a creature that shimmered in impossible colors.
The bird-like form alternated between shades of blue, violet, and red, then flickered out of sight, vanishing like a mirage. My breath caught in my throat. This was no trick of the light.
Nearby, a potted plant sat upon a carved wooden stand, its rim clasped in a golden chain that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic glow.
I stepped cautiously closer.
“That,” Mr. Albu said, tapping the chain, “is no ordinary flora.” The chain chimed softly, and the soil shimmered momentarily, rippling like disturbed water. “Inside dwells a portal snake, a creature that bridges realms.”
My mouth went dry. “A portal snake?”
He nodded solemnly.
My mind reeled, taking in cryptic sigils carved into the bookshelves and a large glass tank half-covered by a shadowy cloth.
“What is this place?” I breathed.
“My study,” Mr. Albu replied plainly. “I am a researcher, a guardian of the mystical.”
I blinked, struggling to process the surreal scene before me.
“I collect these beings,” he continued, “rescuing those who slip through the cracks of our world—lost, hunted, or stranded. I shelter them from harm, from humanity’s ignorance.”
A knot tightened in my chest. Yet, the undeniable evidence forced me to accept his words as truth. The shimmering bird, the soullight, the portal snake—it was all real.
“There is a community,” Mr. Albu said after a pause, eyes gleaming with something ancient and profound. “We are known by many names, but ‘wizards’ is the common term.” He scoffed lightly. “A crude oversimplification for what we truly are.”
I narrowed my gaze. “You’re a wizard?”
He grinned, a sharp, knowing smile. “That explains the whispers that trail me through town.”
Those rumors—the strange lights, the eerie presence—it all suddenly clicked.
Swallowing hard, I asked, “And that thing outside—the demon?”
His face darkened. “Yes.”
“Where did it come from?” I pressed.
He gestured toward a battered sofa, its fabric threadbare and stained. “Sit.”
I eyed it with suspicion, but politeness won out, and I lowered myself onto the worn cushions.
Mr. Albu perched beside me, elbows resting on knees, hands clasped. “This world has two faces,” he began. “One is governed by logic—the realm of science where everything is explained and categorized.”
I nodded, anticipation tightening my chest.
“The other,” he continued, voice dropping to a whisper, “is the space between logic, the shadows where the unknown dwells. That is where creatures like the demon exist.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“Some of us are trained to navigate that shadow,” he said, rising to fetch a battered kettle. The scent of steeping herbs filled the air—a warm, earthy aroma with hints of spice.
He poured the amber liquid into a chipped ceramic cup and handed it to me.
“We are bred into this craft, generation after generation,” he said quietly.
Cradling the cup, I gazed into the swirling tea leaves, feeling the warmth seep into my palms.
“You were trained to face demons?” I asked softly.
Mr. Albu met my eyes, a gleam of something unspoken reflecting within. “Yes. And so was my brother.”
I took a tentative sip—too hot—and winced, a sharp sting on my tongue.
He chuckled, a rare softness breaking his austere facade. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“No kidding,” I retorted with a smirk.
For the first time, his smile held genuine warmth.
“Our family has practiced this ancient craft for centuries,” he explained, settling back beside me. “We are born to it, raised to respect its power, but never to abuse it.”
My curiosity surged. “What about your brother?”
His expression darkened, fingers tapping the cup nervously. “He... chose a different path.”
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“While I dedicated myself to preservation and study, he embraced darkness. He hunts what he once vowed to protect.”
A cold knot tightened in my gut. “He hunts them?”
“Yes,” Mr. Albu said quietly. “He pursues the creatures of the other realms—not to save them, but to destroy.”
A heavy silence filled the room, the weight of his words sinking deep into my bones.
For a moment, I sat there, the flickering light casting shifting shadows as the reality of this hidden war between worlds settled around me like a shroud.
I realized then that my discovery was only the beginning. The threads of danger and mystery were tightly woven—and I was caught in the tapestry, whether I liked it or not.
“I need to understand,” I whispered, “what all this means—for the stranger outside, and for me.”
Mr. Albu’s gaze softened, but the edge of resolve remained. “Then you must be prepared. The nightshade’s chains run deep, and breaking them will come at a cost.”
A shiver ran through me as the dim light flickered again, echoing the fragile balance between the worlds—and the perilous journey ahead.