He could feel the slight vibrations of magic gently floating through the air, mingled with the intoxicating scent of incense smoke.

  Suddenly, an old but smooth whisper filled his ears. The strange thing was that he couldn't pinpoint the exact source.

  “A spell of message; this owner is a wizard himself,” Leno thought, captivated by the voice.

  “Greetings and welcome to the emporium of the strange! What is it that you seek? Fortune? Power? Or perhaps love? Anything you desire, I can provide—for a price, of course.”

  Leno had to conjure all his concentration to respond, though no one was visible in the small shop filled floor to ceiling with books, bottles, and an astonishing assortment of trinkets, weapons, and jewelry.

  “I come by the word of Ender, the shopkeeper. I go by the name of Leno, a scribe from a town quite far from here. I'm looking to be of use and was recommended to speak with you.”

  Silence enveloped him, and Leno started to worry that he might have imagined everything, intoxicated by the smoke. Then, out of nowhere, a small and slim old man appeared, sitting on a pile of cushions while puffing on a long, thin pipe.

  “A mere scribe, you say? But why is it that the mark of Varol is all over you, young wizard?” The old man looked at him, genuinely puzzled.

  Leno froze at the mention of his mentor’s name. How could this man know?

  Then it struck him—his ring, made by his master, still held part of Varol's essence. This man was clearly no pushover.

  “Excuse my rudeness; I'm still learning the manners of those who delve into the arcane,” Leno replied, making a slight reverence.

  “Varol is a friend of mine. I don’t believe I’m worthy enough to be called his student, but he is the one who taught me all I know about practicing magic.”

  The old man locked eyes with him, his gaze so intense that Leno felt as though his very soul was being scrutinized.

  After a minute that felt like an eternity, the old man inhaled a deep cloud of smoke and blew it out into the air. Only once it dissipated did he speak again.

  “What you achieved is no easy feat, boy; people devote their entire lives to grasp even the most basic concepts of magic.”

  “Varol never had students; he was a lonesome and eccentric man, yet also a powerful one. If he chose you as his student, he must have had his reasons.”

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  “My name is Remulus, as you already know,” the old man continued. “Varol and I met in the past when he lived here, and we even worked together a few times.”

  With a flick of his hand, three books floated to the countertop in front of Leno.

  “I do this because of my past friendship with your master. These are three books that I need extra copies of. This will not be an easy task; prove to me that you are worthy of your mentor's judgment and return to me when you’re done.”

  Leno grabbed the books and tucked them under his arm, then bowed slightly, grateful for the opportunity. At that moment, he had no idea how much those books would mean to him in the future.

  “Thank you for this, Remulus; I will make it worth your time. You will hear from me soon, but now I must be going. There is much I need to do.”

  With that, Leno left the store. He still had more errands to run, particularly as his belly began to demand attention and nourishment. He headed to the nearest tavern from the workshop.

  He didn’t spend much time there, only ordering a quick meal that he swallowed in silence, undisturbed.

  Afterward, he searched for a place to buy materials needed to make the copies of the books. He knew his savings were running dangerously low, and if he wanted to consider becoming a better wizard, he needed to earn some money.

  Night was only a few hours away, forcing the daylight to dim as Leno began to clean the room that would serve as his quarters—the one with two windows.

  It was the smallest room in the house. Leno started sweeping it out with a broom, clearing away cobwebs and opening the windows to let some fresh air dissipate the smell of mold and must.

  He mustered the last of his energy to make it habitable enough to sleep in, laying down a blanket on the floor and then a bedroll over it. As dusk settled, he grabbed some candles and lit them with a snap of his fingers.

  Exhausted and longing for rest, he first couldn’t shake his curiosity about the books Remulus had given him.

  As he flipped through their pages, he learned that the first one—a small book with a worn leather cover—was about alchemical techniques and basic procedures for creating mundane alchemical products. Several pages were stained or torn.

  The second book was the journal of a half-elf adventurer from the Darklands, detailing rumors and locations that could lead to treasure. Its cover was damaged and stained with dried blood.

  The third book was more challenging; it was written in an ancient and obscure language. He had to use one of his spells to decipher that it discussed planes and traveling through them. This one would certainly prove to be a challenge.

  All three books piqued Leno's interest. Each was immensely useful, and he began to feel that Remulus wanted him to learn from them, not merely make copies.

  As he flipped through the pages while lying on the bedroll, exhaustion finally caught up with him. He slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep, still clutching one of the books in his hands.

  In his dreams, Leno saw a man working tirelessly inside the workshop. He moved from one task to another; flipping the pages of books, scribbling down notes, and working on a ruby necklace that lay on the table.

  Leno was thrilled by the man’s energy and wanted to join him. As he got closer and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, the figure turned around, revealing... Varol? But younger, with a smile on his face?