Page 92 of Magic in My Bones

“Indeed, my dear boy,” I mused. “The very stones seem to whisper secrets of the arcane, don't they? Oh, if these walls could talk, the tales they would tell!”

I stepped forward, my boots splashing through the shallow water that now carpeted the once-grand halls. The salty tang of the sea filled my nostrils, mingling with the musty scent of ancient magic. Overhead, the twisted remnants of a chandelier hung precariously, its crystals now home to clusters of barnacles and swaying tendrils of seaweed.

“Look there,” I exclaimed, pointing to a series of intricate sigils carved into a nearby pillar. “Necromantic glyphs, used to bind and command the spirits of the deceased. Absolutely fascinating! And over here, the remains of an alchemical laboratory. One can only imagine the wondrous elixirs and potions that were once concocted within these walls!”

“They say the academy was abandoned after a great magical cataclysm, some hundred years ago,” Cassian said, his deep voice echoing through the cavernous space. “A ritual gone wrong, or perhaps a dark force unleashed from beyond the veil. Whatever the cause, it left the place uninhabitable, and the mages were forced to relocate to the modern Blackstone Academy we know today.”

As we ventured deeper into the ruins, the water rose to lap at our knees, its icy caress sending shivers down my spine. The once-sturdy floorboards groaned beneath our weight, their timbers softened by decades of salt and damp. It was as if the very bones of the academy were crying out in protest, lamenting the indignity of their fate.

“Stay close to me,” I murmured, reaching for Ren's hand. The touch grounded me, as it always did. Even here, surrounded by ancient dangers, his presence was my anchor.

We picked our way through the detritus of the past, marveling at the opulence that lay strewn about like so much forgotten treasure. A moldering tapestry hung from the wall, its vibrant threads now faded and thick with brine. An overturned desk, its surface encrusted with barnacles, lay half-submerged in a pool of stagnant water. And there, glinting beneath the surface, the tarnished silver of an inkwell, its contents long since bled out into the sea.

As we ventured further into the heart of the ruins, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer magnificence of it all, even in its state of decay. The intricate stonework, the soaring arches,the delicate tracery of the windows, all spoke to a level of craftsmanship and artistry that was truly breathtaking. It was as if the very essence of magic had been woven into every brick and beam, imbuing the place with an ethereal beauty that endured even now, a century after its abandonment.

“Can you feel it?” Rowan breathed, their eyes wide with wonder. “The energy here... it's like nothing I've ever encountered before. It's ancient and powerful, but also... sad, somehow. As if the very stones are mourning the loss of the life and learning that once filled these halls.”

I nodded in agreement, my own senses attuned to the subtle currents of magic that swirled around us. It was a palpable presence, a force that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of the ruins. And yet, there was something else too, a sense of absence, of emptiness, that was almost more unsettling than the power that thrummed through the air.

“Ren,” I said, turning back to him. “Do you sense any spirits here? Surely a place with such a history must be teeming with lost souls, yearning to be heard and acknowledged.”

Ren's brow furrowed as he closed his eyes, reaching out with his necromantic senses. After a long moment, he shook his head. “I don't sense any spirits here at all. It's like the ruins are... empty. Devoid of any spectral presence.”

“How peculiar,” I mused. “For a place so steeped in magical history, one would expect it to be positively brimming with restless shades and whispering phantasms. And yet, as you say, there is only silence. Most intriguing!”

I began to pace along the flooded corridor, my mind awhirl with possibilities. Could it be that some force had driven the spirits away? Or perhaps the cataclysm that had claimed the academy had also severed its connection to the ethereal plane, leaving it a barren husk, cut off from the cycle of life and death. That might explain why Alistair would perform his ritual here.A place between life and death, between land and sea. A liminal space, brimming with untapped magical power.

As I pondered, I caught a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision.

Ren went rigid, his eyes fixed on the dark water that lapped at our legs. “There's something down there,” he hissed, his voice tight with tension. “I saw it move.”

I peered into the murky depths, my eyes straining to pierce the gloom. At first, I saw nothing but the swirling eddies of silt and the darting shadows of small fish. But then, as I watched, a shape began to coalesce in the darkness. It was a sinuous form, long and lithe, with the unmistakable glimmer of pale flesh.

“Steady on, my boy,” I murmured, placing a reassuring hand on Ren's shoulder. “Whatever it is, we shall face it together. But let us not be too hasty in our judgments. The sea holds many mysteries, not all of them malevolent.”

Even as I spoke, however, I felt a prickle of unease at the nape of my neck. There were whispers, rumors that had reached my ears in recent months. Tales of strange creatures lurking in the waters around the old academy. Merfolk, some said, but not the kind that populated the storybooks of my youth. No, these were said to be twisted, feral things, their minds and bodies warped by the eldritch influence of some ancient aquatic deity.

I kept these thoughts to myself, not wishing to alarm my companions unnecessarily. Still, I urged Ren to stay close as we ventured onward, picking our way through the debris-strewn halls with renewed caution.

As we stepped into another grand hall, its vaulted ceiling lost to the shadows above, my eye was drawn to a most peculiar sight. There, nestled against the far wall, stood a massive stone fireplace, its hearth still strewn with the charred remnants of a recent blaze.

“Well, well, well,” I mused, my voice echoing through the cavernous space. “It would appear we are not the first to venture into these hallowed halls in recent times. See how the ashes still smolder, the embers clinging stubbornly to life? Someone has been here, and not long ago at that.”

I approached the fireplace, my boots crunching on the scattered debris that littered the floor. Up close, I could see the intricate carvings that adorned the mantelpiece, their features worn smooth by the relentless march of time.

Cassian crouched beside me, sifting through the ashes. “Driftwood,” he declared, holding up a charred fragment for my inspection. “Gathered from the shores outside, by the looks of it. Whoever built this fire knew the ruins well enough to scavenge for fuel.”

I nodded and opened my mouth to reply, but a splash, followed by the clatter of wood against stone, shattered the eerie stillness. I whirled around, my heart leaping into my throat, to see a figure emerge from the shadowed recesses of the hall.

It was a Merfolk, that much was immediately apparent. But this was no fair-featured creature of myth and legend. No, this poor wretch had bulging, unblinking eyes, a curiously flattened nose, and a grayish-green pallor to his clammy skin. He clutched a bundle of driftwood to its chest, his webbed fingers wrapped tightly around the sodden branches.

For a moment, we simply stared at one another, the Merfolk's inky black eyes wide with shock and terror. Then, with a panicked yelp, the creature flung its firewood aside and turned to flee, its sinuous tail churning the water into a froth as it sought to propel itself to safety.

“Wait!” I called out, my voice ringing through the cavernous hall. “Please, we mean you no harm! We are but humble scholars, seekers of knowledge and understanding!”

To my surprise, the Merfolk paused, its narrow shoulders heaving with exertion and fear. Slowly, cautiously, it turned back to face us, its gaze darting warily from one face to face.

I took a tentative step forward, my hands held out in a gesture of peace. “Forgive our intrusion,” I said softly, my voice low and soothing. “We didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Professor Crowe and these are my friends, all students at the academy at one point or another.”

---