The library smelled of old parchment, ink, and a faint hint of something else, something almost alive, whispering between the shelves. Tormek had been here countless times before, or at least he thought he had. The endless rows of tomes and scrolls were always the same neatly arranged, dust-covered, and utterly lifeless.
That was, until today. Today, something called to him, something that seemed older than the building itself. His fingers traced the spines of countless books, running over titles written in languages he barely understood, until a subtle warmth pulsed beneath his touch, sharp and insistent.
He froze, the quiet shuffle of his own breath echoing in the empty hall. No one else was here. No teacher. No students. Only the faint flicker of candlelight from the wall sconces, dancing across the polished floors and the shadows that seemed to grow taller as he walked. The warmth beneath his fingers grew stronger, almost urgent, as though the book were breathing, waiting for him.
Finally, he reached for it, a thick, leather-bound tome buried in the corner, coated with centuries of dust and neglect. Its cover was plain, except for strange, twisting runes that seemed to shimmer and rearrange themselves when he looked away. The moment his hands closed around it, a chill ran through his spine, sharp and unexpected, as if the library itself had exhaled. The book felt alive, heavy with secrets and whispers that threatened to drown out everything else. And yet, despite the unease curling through him, Tormek could not resist opening it.
The pages were yellowed and brittle, covered in a language he didn't recognize, yet somehow understood. Each letter seemed to pulse with energy, each word vibrating through his veins, awakening something he didn't know existed inside him. His heart raced, and the candlelight flickered wildly, casting his own shadow across the walls, long and distorted, as if it had a life of its own. He heard, faintly at first, a whisper, soft and deliberate. "You have found me."
Tormek's eyes widened. He looked around the library. No one. He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the book. "Who... who's there?" he asked, though his voice seemed small and fragile against the enormity of the silence. The book answered not with words but with a pulse of energy that ran up his arm and into his chest. It was intoxicating, terrifying, and maddening all at once. He could feel the threads of magic brushing against his soul, teasing him, offering power he had never dreamed of.
He stumbled backward, dropping the book onto the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoed like a drum, deep and resonant, shaking the very air around him. The runes on the cover glowed faintly, golden light spilling across the floorboards like molten liquid. For a moment, Tormek thought the book might scream, might rise up and consume him entirely. And yet, even as fear clawed at him, his mind whispered a single word: Open it.
With trembling hands, he picked it back up. His skin prickled, his heart hammering against his ribs, but he could not stop himself. This was not mere curiosity. This was destiny.
The first spell he read aloud was simple, seemingly harmless: a minor illumination charm. A spark of golden light leapt from the tip of his finger, flickering in the air like a firefly before bursting into a tiny flame that hovered before him. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of exhilaration and dread swirling within him. The book hummed, a low, satisfying vibration that seemed to approve. And then, as if emboldened, he read another line, this one more complicated, and the light grew, swirling into shapes he had never imagined possible.
That's when he noticed the shadows. At first, they were just edges in his vision, flickers at the corner of the room. But they began to move, slithering across the floor, creeping along the walls with an unnatural intelligence. The flames of his minor spell danced wildly, casting grotesque shapes that seemed alive, watching him with silent intent. The air thickened, charged with power so potent it made his head spin. His mind teetered on the edge of exhilaration and terror. He could feel it the magic of the book reaching out to him, testing him, probing him.
A sudden gust of wind roared through the library, extinguishing the candles in a wave of darkness so complete it made Tormek blink in shock. He felt the book pulse in his hands, warm and insistent, as if it were alive. And then a voice, clear and deliberate, echoed in his mind. "Use me, and the world will remember you. Refuse me, and you will vanish into nothing."
Tormek froze. His mouth opened, but no words came. The whisper filled every corner of his mind, not just speaking to him, but commanding him, seducing him with promises of power beyond imagination. He wanted to throw the book aside, to run, to escape the pull of its energy. But even as fear coiled around him, curiosity no, something deeper, something primal drove him forward. He flipped another page.
The spell on this page was dangerous, the runes dancing violently across the parchment. He could feel the pull of its power against his very soul, a temptation so overwhelming it was almost unbearable. His fingers shook as he traced the letters, whispering the incantation under his breath.
The moment he spoke the words, the shadows surged forward, twisting into forms both terrifying and beautiful, creatures of dark light that danced around him, bowing in silent obedience. His chest heaved as he stumbled back, overwhelmed by what he had just unleashed.
It was then he realized the library was no longer just a room filled with books. It was a living thing, reacting to him, to the magic he had dared awaken. Shelves creaked, dust swirled in spirals, and the ancient wood seemed to stretch and breathe. The book hummed with satisfaction, glowing brighter, and he felt it digging into his mind, shaping his thoughts, teaching him, tempting him to go further. The thrill was intoxicating, addictive. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, but every fiber of his being pulled him forward, deeper into the unknown.
Hours or perhaps minutes, time had lost meaning passed in a blur of whispers, shadows, and incantations. Tormek barely noticed his hands were scorched, his robes singed, or the strange, prickling sensation crawling along his skin. He was learning too quickly, mastering spells that apprentices spent years struggling to control. Each success brought exhilaration, each mistake brought consequences so immediate and real that his heart nearly stopped. The book was alive. It was teaching him. It was testing him. And he was utterly, hopelessly enthralled.
Then came the sound: footsteps. Not human, not mechanical, but deliberate, heavy, echoing through the library as though some enormous presence had awakened in response to the magic. Tormek froze, the book clutched to his chest. The shadows around him coiled and hissed, forming shapes that writhed and glimmered, protective yet ominous. He could feel the pulse of the book sync with his heartbeat, as though it were alive, aware, ready to defend its new master.
A voice came then, from the far end of the library, smooth, cold, and impossible to ignore. "So, someone has finally awakened it."
Tormek's eyes darted to the source. A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and cloaked, face hidden beneath the hood, but the power radiating from them was undeniable. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and old magic. Every instinct told him to run, but his feet remained frozen, the book refusing to leave his hands. He understood instantly: this was someone who had been searching for the spellbook for a long time, someone who would not allow him to leave with it easily.
"You don't know what you've done," the figure continued, voice low and deliberate, echoing through the vast room. "That book is not meant for the likes of you. It chooses its wielder, and it chooses carefully. Now it has chosen you, and there is no turning back."
Tormek swallowed hard, his mind racing. Questions, fears, possibilities all collided in a storm of adrenaline. He had found the spellbook, awakened its power, and in doing so, sealed his fate. There would be no going back to the mundane life of an ordinary apprentice. He had glimpsed something vast, something dangerous, and the world had already begun to shift around him in ways he could barely comprehend.
He looked down at the glowing pages, then back at the figure advancing slowly, the shadows coiling around them like living armor. Somewhere deep in him, a spark ignited not just fear, not just curiosity, but resolve. He would learn, he would survive, and he would master the forgotten magic, no matter the cost.
Since he had been chosen by the book and the world would never forget that decision.