"'Books on Ancient Runic Spellcraft'?"
Madam Pince, the formidable librarian, held the parchment note up to the flickering gaslight of her desk lamp, her sharp eyes scrutinizing both the elegant script of Professor Brod and Albert Anderson. She sniffed dismissively. "Professor Brod has already depleted our primary catalogue of advanced runic theory. He has borrowed a considerable volume of books on that very subject recently."
"Yes, Madam Pince," Albert confirmed, meeting her gaze with a polite, yet unwavering calm. "Professor Brod is engaged in deep academic research, and he has kindly extended his permission for me to pursue my own supplementary studies."
The librarian turned the note over, checking for any magical or subtle counterfeit markings. It passed her stringent examination. Albert knew that even the great Brod the Bard had to conform to the library's rules.
"There are very few tomes remaining in the Restricted Section that pertain to the practical application of Ancient Runes. The few we possess are highly specialized and, frankly, quite dangerous. Which volume do you intend to remove?" Madam Pince asked, her voice a dry, cautionary rustle.
"I am currently uncertain," Albert admitted honestly. "I require a period of consultation. I need to survey the extant records to determine which volume best addresses the specific theoretical gap in my understanding." He spoke with the technical language of a graduate student, a tactic he knew would appeal to Pince's intellectual gatekeeping instincts.
"Professor Brod tasked you with this research?" The voice was suddenly close, frigid, and accusatory. Izabel McDougal had materialized near the desk, her brow tightly furrowed. She was often the one responsible for running errands for her uncle and Professor Brod, particularly when dealing with the library's more sensitive archives.
"No, Izabel. I came independently," Albert clarified, his eyes momentarily flicking to the stack of obscure, leather-bound books in her arms—more runic theory, no doubt. "I am searching for information related to the Activation Principle of runes. I've realized I have mastered the grammar of the script, but I lack the foundational knowledge of how to channel raw magical power through the runic sequence itself."
Izabel's frown deepened, a mixture of professional curiosity and annoyance. She recognized the term Activation Principle as a concept only discussed by the highest-level theoreticians.
"Come with me, Mr. Anderson," Madam Pince instructed, nodding toward the heavy, chained door that led into the deepest, darkest corner of the library. "But be warned: Miss McDougal has indeed borrowed nearly everything concerning runic structure. What remains is obscure, difficult, and largely useless for modern application."
Madam Pince led Albert through the ominous iron gateway, the heavy door groaning shut behind them. The air immediately grew colder and thicker, smelling strongly of aged vellum, dried ink, and fine, undisturbed dust. The Restricted Section was a labyrinth of towering shelves where the shadows seemed to possess their own cold sentience.
She guided him to a secluded bay marked "A.R." for Ancient Runes. Albert immediately saw what she meant. The shelf was sparsely populated, with numerous gaps where books had been pulled. The remaining tomes were universally thick, mouldering, and bound in faded, rough hides.
"You may examine the spines and tables of contents, Mr. Anderson. But do not linger, and do not, under any circumstances, touch any other volume," Madam Pince warned in a severe whisper, her eyes sharp as she retreated a few meters to monitor his movements, a silent, predatory guardian of knowledge.
Albert barely registered her warning. He was too focused on the titles. He ran his hand over the spines, a sense of mounting frustration beginning to boil beneath his calm exterior. He needed the key—the methodology—not another hundred theories on runic alphabets or historical analysis.
He pulled out a tome titled Rune Sequences and Primitive Enchantments. The pages within were incredibly complex, dense with interwoven script, but his mind instantly translated the central concepts: These were ancient, raw spells—powerful, certainly, but incredibly primitive and volatile.
They functioned by carving runic matrices into natural materials—stone, wood, bone—and then relying on a colossal, uncontrolled burst of raw magical energy to activate the inscription.
This is a ghost story, Albert thought wryly. Someone who hasn't mastered the complex ancient script wouldn't understand the incantations, and someone who has mastered the script—like myself—would see how inefficient and dangerous the casting method is.
He quickly copied a few of the more stable inscriptions onto a fresh piece of parchment he carried, detailing the spell names and the accompanying rudimentary diagrams. He knew trying to cast them directly would be foolish, but the structure of the runes might provide a vital clue to the magical flow he was seeking.
He realized the problem with these books was that they were written by ancient wizards who assumed the reader already possessed the vast, foundational magical power that their primitive, runic-based casting required. There was no focus on finesse or modern efficiency.
After what felt like an hour, Albert closed the last book in the section and sighed internally. He had gained a few new conceptual models, but the fundamental Activation Principle—the bridge between the script and the active spell—remained a frustrating, black hole of knowledge.
"It appears your search was unsuccessful," Izabel said softly, making Albert jump. She had approached him silently, her presence a cold, quiet wave in the air. She sat down on a stool near his workstation. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the parchment on which he had been diligently copying the runic matrices.
"No, I did not find the necessary foundation," Albert confirmed, putting his quill away. "I was hoping to find the precise method for converting the passive energy storage of a runic inscription into an active magical channel. All I've found are recipes for massive, brute-force detonations."
Izabel leaned forward, her expression intensely focused. "You are searching for how to turn runes from mere magical anchors into self-sustaining circuits," she translated, her brilliance immediately grasping his meaning. "You're trying to find the point where the inscription begins to channel and amplify ambient magic, rather than just waiting for a wizard's impulse."
"Precisely," Albert confirmed, impressed by her quick understanding.
"You believe your uncle has achieved this level of mastery, yes?" Izabel asked, her gaze falling on the small, smooth wooden bracelet Albert wore, which was subtly carved with continuous, interlocking runes.
"I believe he has, based on our discussions," Albert said, removing the bracelet and offering it to her. "This is the Iron Armor Charm inscription, which I designed. As you can see, it currently functions only as decoration, requiring constant re-casting. I need to find the means to make the runes self-energizing."
Izabel took the bracelet, her fingers tracing the intricate lines. She recognized the complexity of the script instantly, confirming Albert's mastery, but the subtle energy flow remained opaque.
"It is a highly elaborate construction," she admitted, handing it back. "So, you've analyzed McDougal's three stages: Runic Fluency, Magical Core Strength, and Ancient Spell Theory."
"I believe my fluency is adequate, and I am working on the theory," Albert summarized. "My main bottleneck is my innate magical capacity, as dictated by my age. However, I believe if I can fully master the channeling principle, I can compensate for a lack of raw power with efficient energy utilization."
"The channeling principle… the missing spark," Izabel mused, looking thoughtfully at the empty shelves. "I suspect your analysis is correct. The answer won't be in these practical, primitive tomes. It must be in a book that discusses the nature of magic itself, and how ancient wizards perceived its structure."
She turned, her eyes sweeping over the massive, looming shelf opposite them—a shelf she had largely ignored, thinking it was philosophical rather than technical.
"When I was organizing my uncle's borrowing list, there was one immense, heavy volume he requested—one I couldn't even lift—that has since been returned and is still on this shelf. I ignored it because the title sounded like history, but… perhaps it is relevant to your search for foundation."
Izabel pointed to a volume that was noticeably thicker and older than the rest, bound in blackened, tarnished silver clasps, towering over the other books.
"The Complete Guide to Magic," Albert read the translated title, his voice hushed. "The Grimoire."
Izabel nodded. "It is written entirely in the oldest form of Runic Script—so archaic that I couldn't even translate the table of contents. I thought Uncle Mog was using it for historical context, but… maybe he was giving you an indirect hint."
"Why wouldn't he just tell me the answer?" Albert wondered aloud, already reaching for the immense volume.
"Because if he told you, you wouldn't have the contextual knowledge to understand it," Izabel said simply, repeating McDougal's logic perfectly. "You need to absorb the entire ancient framework before the answer will make sense."
Albert lifted the massive book. It was far heavier than it looked, radiating a low, cold hum of contained power. He turned the first few pages. The runes were indeed staggeringly archaic, but his mind, now fully primed by McDougal's notes and the hours of study, began to crack the syntax.
"Yes," Albert whispered, a thrill of intellectual discovery running through him. "This isn't just a historical text. This is a Theory of Everything. Thank you, Izabel. This may be exactly what I needed."
"You're welcome," Izabel replied, giving a rare, genuine smile—a smile of intellectual kinship. "But when you decipher the activation principle, you must share it with me. That knowledge is far too valuable to keep locked away."
"Agreed."
Albert checked out the massive tome with Madam Pince, placing his own copied parchment securely in his robe, and walked out of the Restricted Section with Izabel, the Grimoire clutched tightly in his arms.
As they emerged from the restricted gate and approached the main lending desk, another figure looked up sharply.
Katrina McDougal, Izabel's older sister, was sitting at a nearby study carrel, surrounded by a mess of Charms textbooks. She looked up and instantly recognized her sister and Albert emerging from the most forbidden area of the library together.
Katrina glanced first at her sister's rare, intense expression, and then her gaze settled on the huge, archaic book Albert was carrying.
"Izabel?" Katrina asked, her surprise evident. "And Albert? Did Professor Brod send you two on a joint mission to plunder the Restricted Archives?"
Katrina knew about McDougal's quiet business with Professor Brod—the secret meetings, the research assistance, the occasional, generous allowance of access to forbidden texts. She knew that Izabel had been acting as Brod's primary contact. Frankly, Katrina often envied the unique opportunities afforded to the two brilliant students by her exceptionally generous, though intimidating, uncle.
But she had never seen them working together, and she had certainly never seen Albert carrying that specific, legendary volume. The game, Katrina realized, had just changed. Izabel was not just helping Brod; she was competing on an entirely new plane of existence alongside Albert Anderson.