The Grey Mage sat in his dimly lit chamber, the weight of centuries of knowledge pressing down upon him. Before him, a thick tome lay open on the desk, its pages filled with intricate runes and sequences that only a master of the craft could comprehend. The book was bound in dark leather, its spine reinforced with silver filigree, and the script within was more than mere writing—it was the key to the ritual, the culmination of all his research.

  Across from him stood his youngest apprentice, a boy on the cusp of adulthood, barely eighteen. His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. He already understood what this moment meant.

  The Grey Mage pushed the tome toward him. "Take this and go. Use the tunnels beneath the tower. Do not stop until you are far from here."

  The apprentice hesitated. "Master, I...”

  "There is no time for hesitation." The mage's voice was calm, but firm. “This knowledge must not be lost, no matter what happens tonight. You will safeguard it."

  The boy swallowed hard, then nodded. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he took the book, feeling the raw power woven into its pages. He knew he held something invaluable—something that could shape the fate of the world.

  "Go," the Grey Mage commanded. "And do not look back."

  The apprentice lingered for a heartbeat longer, his eyes searching the older man's face for something, reassurance, perhaps, or hope. But there was none to be found. Only resolve.

  Then, clutching the book to his chest, he turned and fled into the shadows of the tower’s underground passages.

  The Grey Mage exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. The farewell was done. Now, there was only the ritual. With a deep breath, the mage rose and strode from his chambers, his heavy robes whispering against the stone. The air grew thick with energy as he descended into the depths of the Tower.

  The Grey Mage stepped into the vast ritual chamber, a space so immense that an entire cathedral could fit within its walls. The ceiling was lost in darkness, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and charged with the hum of powerful magics. Hundreds of mages moved about, each engrossed in their tasks, weaving intricate spell work into the very stones of the chamber. The massive sigil inscribed into the floor pulsed with an eerie light, its complex runes shifting as the ritual took shape.

  At the entrance, three figures awaited him. Their faces were grim, their robes marked with the insignias of ward-masters and battle-mages.

  "They are coming," one of them said without preamble. "The army presses against our wards, but they hold. Their siege weapons are useless against permanent enchantments."

  Another inclined his head toward the summoning circles positioned at intervals along the sigil. "The invocation of the elementals can commence. We await your command."

  The Grey Mage surveyed the chamber. The atmosphere was tense, yet efficient. No panic. No hesitation. Only purpose.

  "Begin," he ordered.

  As the chanting rose in intensity, the Grey Mage lifted his hands, his fingers tracing complex patterns in the air. Sigils and runes flared to life at his command, pulsing with a cold, grey radiance. Every few seconds, a pulse of energy flowed from his fingertips, seeking out the summoning circles. A flash of black lightning streaked toward him. The Grey Mage turned, barely breaking his concentration. The dark magic shattered against an invisible barrier. One of his own pulses reacted instinctively, piercing the rogue mage through the chest. The man let out a strangled gasp before dissolving into red dust.

  The Grey Mage murmured, "Traitor."

  Unfazed, he continued his path. With each step, another summoning circle came to life, each one birthing a creature from the energy plane. The room trembled as the elementals tore through the Veil.

  A being of radiant light, its form shifting like liquid gold. A mass of dark, poisonous water, tendrils slithering within its depths. A towering pillar of devouring flame, flickering hungrily. Each one acknowledged him, speaking in voices both alien and familiar.

  A being of radiant light was in the first circle, its brilliance casting long, sharp shadows. "You call us, Grey Mage, in the dawn of the breach, it is inevitable though. Some say the incursion of the energy plane will elevate all who dwell in the physical world."

  "Theories born of the wishes of the weak and the mad," the Grey Mage replied. "There is no ascension, only annihilation will befall the living."

  He moved onward, and from another circle, dark poisonous water coalesced into a humanoid shape, droplets hissing as they touched the ground. "Why summon us? You need only wait. Soon, the Veil will shatter, and we will all be as one."

  "I have no intention of waiting for chaos to consume us," the Grey Mage answered. "You will serve a purpose beyond mere destruction."

  Further along, a pillar of devouring flame roared into life, its form shifting and writhing with an insatiable hunger. It did not speak, only watched with an understanding beyond words.

  Another elemental, a swirling storm of wind and ember, whispered, "Some of your kind believe the incursion of our world will lead to ascension. That all will become as gods."

  "The Veil will not break," the Grey Mage said, his voice firm.

  The Grey Mage acknowledged each of them in turn, conversing briefly, yet firmly. These beings were not allies, nor enemies, they were forces, tools in a grander design. He continued his measured pace, weaving his will into the vast spell work, knowing that soon, all would be set into motion..."

  He moved on, leaving the elementals bound within their circles. The chanting deepened. The ritual neared its climax.

  Then, from beyond the chamber doors, the sounds of battle grew louder. A sudden cry rang out

  "Master! They're getting in!"

  A younger mage, his face contorted in panic, stumbled forward, his robes stained with soot and blood. The Grey Mage did not waver. "It doesn’t matter. We’re almost done. Pull them in for the body, use the limitless incantations."

  The mages did not pause. They kept chanting, drawing runes in the air with urgent precision, as the enemy drew closer.

  The world flickered. A blade aimed for his throat. He saw it a breath before it struck, twisted away, and let it pass through empty air. His own sword found the gap in the guard’s defense a fraction of a second later, running the man through. Before the body hit the ground, the Seer was already moving again.

  Captain Dain of the Azure Blades fought in a battlefield of half-seen moments. To his eyes, the present was a river that split endlessly into a thousand possible futures, a storm of visions flashing and vanishing faster than thought. He knew when to step, when to strike, when to kill. His sight was imperfect, it showed him no more than a few seconds ahead, but in battle, that was all he needed.

  The Grey Mage’s tower loomed ahead, half-shrouded in the smoke and flashes of spellfire. Wards crackled as they deflected siege magic, but even the strongest barriers would not hold forever. The Seer-blades moved first, dodging through the gaps in the enemy’s defenses before they even formed. The rest of the army followed, pressing toward the compound’s outer walls.

  Captain Dain advanced through the shattered remains of the compound’s outer wall, his sword slick with the blood of those who had stood in their way. The air smelled of scorched stone and the acrid stench of magic expended in battle. The Grey Mage’s defenses had been formidable, but they were crumbling. The mages had underestimated the army’s persistence.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  He blinked, and in that fraction of a second, the world split into countless branching paths. A spear thrust, sidestep left. A falling stone, halt a breath before moving forward. A bolt of searing energy, a twist low. It was as natural to him as breathing. He saw the future in flickers, just enough to move before death could take him. Just enough to kill before being killed.

  Dain had fought many wars, the mages and the council never stopped bickering. But this was different. This was not about land or wealth. It was about knowledge, knowledge that had been withheld for too long. The Grey Mage and his ilk had spent decades hoarding the secrets of permanent enchantments, keeping them locked away in their hidden towers while the rest of the world struggled with spells that faded and crumbled with time. They had the means to change everything. To build weapons and fortifications that could never be unmade, to heal wounds that would never reopen, to ensure prosperity for generations or even maybe immortality.

  And yet, they had kept it to themselves. “Greedy bastards,” Dain muttered as he stepped over a fallen mage, the man’s chest caved in from a well-placed strike. “You thought you could play gods forever.”

  Dain's mind echoed with the words of the High Council. "The Grey Mage hoards knowledge that could reshape the world. Permanent spells, true enchantments, not the fleeting runes that dissipate after a single use. Do you understand what that means, Captain? The ability to craft unbreakable weapons, undying wards, structures that last for centuries without needing reweaving. He denies this to us. To the world, he sits in his tower, using it only to strengthen his own hold on power. What great spell is he weaving even now? If he is not stopped, the balance of the world will be shattered.

  Dain did not trust mages. Never had. But he trusted power, and he understood when men were hoarding it. He had seen it before, kings who refused to share their riches, warlords who built fortresses but let their people starve. The Grey Mage was no different.

  A blast of light flared ahead, illuminating the towering walls of the inner sanctum. The final barrier between them and the ritual chamber.

  Dain exhaled slowly. The flickering paths of possibility sharpened in his mind.One way or another, the Grey Mage’s secrets would be theirs.

  Another flash of foresight, fire lancing toward him. He dropped to a knee and felt the heat of the spell scorch past overhead. He surged forward before the mage could cast again, slicing through the man’s robes and the life beneath them.

  The Council had been clear. The Grey Mage had to be stopped. If his ritual succeeded, whatever he was planning could throw the balance of power into chaos. A handful of elite mages controlling magic that no one else could match? Unacceptable.

  And yet… something gnawed at Dain’s mind. He had fought many battles against rogue mages, warlocks, and cultists. They always hungered for power, always sought dominion over others. But this time he felt that the Grey Mage’s forces were not fighting to expand their rule. They fought as though they were protecting something.

  A tremor ran through the ground, and the sky above the tower darkened unnaturally.Dain’s grip on his sword tightened. Whatever was happening inside, they had to end it before it was too late.

  "Master! They're getting in!" A voice echoed from within the tower’s depths.

  Dain saw it before it happened. A breach. A path forward.

  "Move!" he commanded, and the Seers of the Azure Blades surged toward the opening.

  The Grey Mage stood at the heart of the ritual chamber, his breath steady despite the charged air crackling around him. The summoning circles pulsed with contained power, the elementals waiting in silence, their eyes glowing with the raw energy of the magical plane. The chants of the mages echoed through the vast chamber, weaving together a spell of unparalleled magnitude. Without hesitation, he reached for the clasps of his robe and let it slide from his shoulders. His bare skin was adorned with intricate sigils, their ink dark against his pale flesh. They were not mere symbols but a part of the ritual itself, each line and curve an extension of the grand design inscribed upon the floor. He lifted his arms, his voice joining the chant once more, but now his words carried an undeniable weight, a force beyond mere sound. The immense sigil on the floor flared, and the light that traced its elaborate form began to extend, reaching upward in tendrils of luminous energy. Slowly, inexorably, the radiance climbed his legs, wrapping around his torso, merging with the sigils on his body. The Grey Mage did not flinch as the energy seeped into his flesh, he had long prepared for this moment.

  As the ritual neared its climax, the chamber trembled. The power built to a breaking point, and suddenly, grey energy burst forth from the chamber, spreading through the underground tunnels, seeping into every corridor, every hidden passage of the tower. It moved with purpose, seeking out every soul within the compound, touching them with an ethereal pull.

  The apprentices, the guards, the scholars, all paused as the grey energy wound around them, enveloping them in its embrace. One by one, they gasped as an unseen force dragged them toward the ritual chamber, their bodies rising, drawn irresistibly toward the nexus of power. Even those who resisted found their limbs betraying them, their will drowned beneath the overwhelming pull of the ritual’s demand.

  The tower itself seemed to pulse, its walls shuddering under the force of the spell. Doors swung open as the energy surged through the halls, sweeping through the structure like a tidal wave. The very foundation of the tower groaned, its ancient stones resonating with the incantation that threatened to reshape reality.

  The Grey Mage stood at the center of it all, his eyes burning with purpose as the ritual reached its apex. The fate of magic itself teetered on the edge of transformation.

  Dain moved swiftly through the dimly lit tunnel, his breathing steady despite the chaos above. The echoes of battle rumbled through the stone, distant yet pressing, a reminder that time was running out. His Seer’s gift flickered at the edges of his mind, showing him slivers of the immediate future, turn left, avoid the loose stone, step just so to miss the crack in the floor. Every motion was calculated, efficient, guided by foresight that had kept him alive countless times before.

  Then, the vision came. It wasn’t the usual split-second flicker of a sword swing or a collapsing ceiling. This was different. A wave of grey energy surged through the tunnels, a creeping force that swallowed everything in its path. It moved like mist but carried the weight of something far more profound. His breath hitched. This was no ordinary spell, this was the ritual itself reaching out, devouring everything within the tower, dragging them into its design.

  Panic flared for the first time in years. He needed shelter. Now. His foresight guided him, snapping his gaze to the alcove carved into the side of the tunnel. He dove in, pressing himself against the cold stone. The mantle draped over his shoulders shimmered faintly—a relic of protection, a safeguard against unknown magics. He pulled it tightly around himself just as the wave arrived.

  The grey energy flooded past the alcove, filling the tunnel like a rising tide. It carried whispers, half-formed voices of those already consumed, their screams merging with the hum of magic. Dain held his breath, his entire body rigid. The energy brushed against the edge of his mantle, but it did not take him. He remained. Alive. Watching.

  And then, as swiftly as it came, the energy receded, continuing its course toward the heart of the ritual. Dain exhaled sharply, his hands gripping the alcove’s rough stone walls. He had survived, but he was alone.

  Dain pressed himself against the alcove’s rough stone, his breath shallow as the unseen force surged again through the tunnels. His Mantle, his only safeguard, flared to life, each rune igniting like a star before burning away into nothingness. The sigils, painstakingly woven into the fabric, lasted only moments under the onslaught of energy. This was the curse of the runes: they granted power only briefly before consuming themselves. No enchantment was permanent. No defence could hold forever.

  Still, the Mantle had done its job. As the grey energy passed through the tunnel like a silent tidal wave, he remained untouched. The world outside his alcove twisted and howled in silent torment, but he was still here. Still alive. The moment stretched before him, but he forced himself forward, his body aching from tension. He had to see. Reaching the tunnel’s edge, Dain peered into the ritual chamber. And there, where once had been a vast, sigil-etched floor, now sprawled something incomprehensible.

  Coils. Countless coils of a scaled creature, twisting and shifting, each moving with purpose yet without discernible direction. They slithered through the air, their scales gleaming in iridescent hues, reflecting magic itself in a kaleidoscope of shifting patterns. Where was the head? Where was the tail? There was no end, no beginning only movement, an entity of endless form.

  As he watched, the coils formed symbols vast runes of impossible complexity, each one pulsing with light before vanishing. Were they sealing something? Strengthening something? Dain did not know. The sheer immensity of it all pressed against his mind, filling him with an awe that bordered on terror.The chamber no longer belonged to men. It was divine, incomprehensible, a shifting ocean of power and form. And in that moment, Dain understood: whatever the Grey Mage had done, it had rewritten the very fabric of magic itself.

  His hands clenched into fists, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears. He had survived the ritual. But the world he knew was gone. As Dain watched from the tunnel entrance, the chamber before him was filled with chaos, a vast writhing mass of iridescent coils shifting and twisting in ways that defied logic. The symbols they formed burned with strange power, and for a moment, he could almost see something beyond them, something touching the fabric of reality itself. Then, the coils began to descend. The creature was sinking. Not vanishing, not flying, but burrowing, phasing through the floor as if the stone itself yielded to its will. The vastness of its form coiled downward into the depths, dragging the light with it, leaving only the echoes of power behind.

  Then came the collapse. With a groaning crack, the foundation of the tower trembled. The great sigils that had burned across the floor dimmed and flickered, and then, with a final rush of displaced air, the ancient structure began to fall in on itself. Dain wasted no time. He turned and ran. The tunnels shook, stone split, dust and debris rained down as he sprinted toward the exit. But even as he ran, he felt it. Something inside him was dimming. The clarity of his visions, the ever-present flickers of the immediate future, gone. No, not entirely, but slipping, unraveling with every step. Where once the future had been laid before him like an open book, now it was a blur, shifting, unreadable.

  He barely made it out before the tower gave its final shudder and collapsed into a storm of dust and stone behind him. Gasping for breath, he turned to look back at the ruins. The Grey Mage was gone. The ritual was complete. And magic itself had changed.