Page 158 of Magical Melee
The library seemed to stretch forever, each aisle an endless corridor of wisdom and mystery. The pendant’s warmth guided me as I moved between shelves, my fingers trailing along the spines of books and tomes that seemed to hum with latent magic.
I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but something deep within me urged me to keep searching.
And then I found it.
Tucked away on a lower shelf, its binding frayed and its title barely legible, was a logbook. This one exuded an air ofquiet significance, unlike the other volumes that glimmered with enchantment. The cover was simple, its worn leather surface etched with faint runes that had almost faded into obscurity. I pulled it out carefully, the weight of the book reassuring in my hands.
As I opened it, the pages crackled softly, revealing entries written in an elegant yet hurried script. The dates at the top of each page marked a span of decades, but what caught my eye immediately was the date from forty years ago—the same time the curse had been cast and the same time my father had died.
I settled into a nearby alcove, the pendant pressing against my chest as if urging me forward. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I was ready for what I might uncover, but curiosity and a deep yearning for answers drove me on.
Journal of Elira Bellmore: Guardian of Stonewick
Entry: Samhain, Forty Years Past
With a heavy heart, I record this day's events. Stonewick, once a beacon of harmony and unity, has been fractured. The shifters, our long-time allies, have left us. Not willingly—no, they were driven away by a force we could not contain.
A curse has befallen our town, an insidious darkness that seeps into our wards and poisons the bonds we once held sacred. The exact origin of this curse remains unclear, but the timing is no coincidence. It struck on the very day my son, Alaric, moved from this world. His end was not natural. I know this in my heart.
We were unprepared for the assault that came with the curse. Shadows tore through our defenses, and in the chaos, our allies—the shifter clans—were forced to retreat. They were not banished by choice but by necessity. The curse sows discordand mistrust, and any attempt to hold them here would have led to greater destruction.
I have tried to uncover the source of this dark magic, but the answers elude me. All I know is that it is ancient, and it feeds on the fractures within our community.
I stopped reading, my fingers trembling slightly as I traced the name on the page.
Alaric.
My father.
He hadn’t died from a tragic accident or illness, as I’d been told.
His death was tied to the very curse that had isolated Stonewick. My mind raced, piecing together fragments of what I knew. The shifters had left around the same time, their absence creating a void that left the town vulnerable.
I forced myself to keep reading.
Entry: Beltane, Following Year
The shifters have not returned, and I fear they never will. Without their strength and unity, our defenses have weakened further. The curse thrives on our isolation, growing stronger with each passing season.
I have consulted the Seers and the ancient texts, but the truth remains buried. There are whispers of an entity tied to the curse, a shadow that walks among us, unseen but ever-present. Some say it is Gideon, the exiled mage, but I cannot be certain.
What I do know is this: the curse was a calculated strike meant to divide and conquer. It has succeeded in part, butStonewick’s spirit endures. We must find a way to break the curse before it consumes us completely.
The Fae have turned their backs on us completely and divided amongst themselves. I pray for our safety.
I felt a chill run down my spine. The more I read, the clearer it became that the curse wasn’t just some random affliction, but a weapon wielded with purpose. And whoever was behind it had targeted my family specifically.
“Maeve.”
I looked up sharply to see Elira standing nearby, her expression calm but unreadable. She had a way of appearing silently, her presence both comforting and unnerving.
“I found your journal,” I said, holding up the logbook. “You wrote about the curse. About Dad.”
“My dear son.” Elira’s gaze softened, but she didn’t sit down. “That journal was meant to remain hidden until the right time.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Why hide it? Why did they let me believe my dad died in some meaningless accident?”
Elira sighed, her silver hair catching the light as she moved closer. “Because the truth is painful, and pain can cloud judgment. You needed to come to this knowledge on your own when you were ready to face it.”
