3A. Biblioplex Mysteries

Kiraen
Kiraen’s fingers curled instinctively, tracing the familiar pattern in the air—three swift arcs, then a flick of the wrist. It was the first illusion she’d ever been able to cast: a simple orb of light, flickering and gentle, like a will-o’-wisp.

She didn’t need it to see; her eyes were far better suited to the dark than most. No, this was something else entirely. A test. A feeler.

She whispered the incantation under her breath, her voice steady, but the moment the final syllable left her lips, she felt it—resistance. The magic didn’t come easily. It clung to the air like wet ash, sluggish and uncooperative. The energy around her, normally responsive to her call, hesitated. For a moment, she feared it wouldn’t answer at all.

Then—flicker.

A small orb sputtered to life above her palm, dim and wavering. It pulsed weakly, like a candle fighting a breeze. Kiraen frowned, narrowing her eyes at the wavering light.

It worked, she thought. But only just.

Marlena
As Marlena carefully opened the book, a faint gust of air blew from between its pages—dry, papery, and oddly resentful. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, from the open text, a voice emerged.

"Oh, splendid," it sighed, every syllable soaked in exhausted sarcasm. "Another dilettante fumbling through the summoning ethics without so much as a foundational understanding of anima theory. Truly, my bindings quiver with anticipation."

Dorian
Rhamud didn't stop, but he did glance sideways, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His gnarled hand tightened slightly around the carved staff he leaned on with each step, the soft thump-thump of it echoing up the stairs like a heartbeat in the silence.

"Odd," he muttered, as if tasting the word. "Yes… odd is a start."

Dorian's boots thudded beside him, more hurried now as he tried to keep pace. The silence on the second floor pressed down like heavy velvet, muffling the world. Dorian's usual quick wit had shriveled into a knot of unease in his chest.
Rhamud finally stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at him—truly looked at him. His pale eyes, clouded yet sharp, studied Dorian like he was a spell gone partially wrong but still functional.

"You’ve got nerve," the old mage said. "That’s something. Not always the same as sense, but valuable in a pinch."

He tapped the end of his staff against the floor once, and the subtle magic woven through the Biblioplex shivered, like a harp string strummed out of tune.

"The weave’s thinned," Rhamud murmured, almost to himself. "Something here is unraveling it. We’ll find it. With any luck… we won’t lose too much. Can you cast Tutela spells?"

Kiraen moved silently through the pitch-black rows of the library, the usual floating lanterns extinguished like snuffed-out stars. Her steps were slow, measured. Careful not to let her boots echo across the marble. Shadows clung thick around the corners of shelves and beneath the tables, but she didn’t need light—not now.

Her glasses were tucked into the collar of her blouse, forgotten. Her crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the dark, wide and alert, perfectly adapted to the absence of light. For once, the world was quiet enough for her to see clearly.

And she was looking for Marlena.

Marl? she whispered once, voice barely louder than the rustle of parchment. No reply. Only the heavy hush of magic gone still.

The books no longer hovered. Some were open mid-air, frozen in place. Others had dropped onto tables or tumbled to the ground, lying like fallen birds with their runes faded to inkless impressions. No glow, no hum. Whatever force animated the library's illusions had drained away.

She passed one of the grand silver mirrors that lined the perimeter of the illusion wing—its reflection no longer quite right. Her own image flickered. Just a little too slow. A little too long to blink. She tightened her grip on the stiletto wand.

Come on, Marl…How can I have your back if you are hiding from me? she breathed, rounding a corner.

Then—barely audible—a shuffling sound.

Not far. Close. A scuffed boot, maybe. A whisper of movement behind one of the arches. Kiraen crouched low, blade angled downward, every muscle tensed. The spider tattoo on her thigh pulsed faintly with old magic. She felt no spellwork flow to her fingertips. No heat. No whisper of power.

Kiraen and Marlena
Kiraen crept forward, drawn by the faintest noise. And there—half-silhouetted in the low gloom—stood Marlena.

Her form was tense, but not frightened. She had one hand on a nearby shelf for balance, the other holding a magical book. The tome was still open, muttering in a cantankerous drawl, "—And if I hear one more unoriginal wizard ask about golem labor laws and their rights, I will redact myself in protest. Don’t tempt me."

Kiraen moves quickly and snaps the book closed, before Marlena can react.
What is going on here? Did it hurt you?

"Is the question not relevant though...? What is the difference between a golem and a summoned beast-"

Marlena almost yelps when Kiraen shuts the book, but she barely manages to push that impulse down. "N-No, it didn't hurt me. I was just checking one of these books to see if it was still functional.

"Um..." She hesitates to go on, but she swallows and finds her nerve. "I'm sorry, it was me that destroyed the Tutela wards, and perhaps a lot of books too. I didn't intend to, but I couldn't keep it under control. It just came out without warning. This... This power, I don't know what to call it, or where it originates from. I've just been trying to keep it in check until I could find a lead on it. That's what I intended to do here, but look how that turned out. I'm going to lose my job. What if I'm saddled with a massive debt? What if I'm expelled?" Her anxiety continues to grow.

Stop being stupid Marlena!
Go talk to Callador, tell them the truth, and trust that they will take care of this. To them, this is just a new challenge just as... golems vs summoned creature -whatever. Kiraen waves her hands dismissively.

Kiraen leads Marlena out of the stacks and back to the library proper where they can find Callador.

Dorian nods a little, then clears his throat. "Yes, tutela spells, at least the basics. The weave, you say. Sounds positively devilish. You should know, then, that I am not one to judge on what is normal around here, if anything can be said to be. Does this weave thin often? Say everyday at this time? Or has it never before been this bad? I couldn't tell, so warn me if this is mundane or unprecedented."

He's rather pleased hearing himself speak, and enjoys the turn of phrase. Still, he mentally prepares for the worst, despite his roguish demeanor.

Dorian
Rhamud stroked his long, silver-streaked beard, the motion slow and thoughtful as his gaze drifted toward the vaulted ceiling of the Biblioplex. "Not everyday," he rumbled at last, his voice the worn timbre of ancient tomes and long winters. "But not unheard of either. The Biblioplex is—how shall I say it—a place of accumulated intricacies."

He gestured vaguely around them with a gnarled hand, as if the very architecture listened.

"So many enchantments layered over one another. Wards, counter-wards, detection spells, protections, automation, illusions, sapient books with opinions, libraries within libraries... It’s a miracle the place doesn’t implode from the arcane strain."

His lips curled into the ghost of a smile, though his eyes remained sharp beneath the low brim of his hat.

"Think of it like a castle of cards made from raw spellcraft. Every addition must be placed with care, or the whole weave trembles. Most of the time, the wards hold steady. But once in a while… something nudges the wrong thread."

He tilted his head at Dorian, studying the young man.

"This time feels different, though. The tremor wasn’t just imbalance—it was something unraveling, intentionally or otherwise." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "I suspect we’re about to find out which."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned toward one of the sections at the second floor. The floating lights that should have danced overhead were flickering like fireflies caught in wind. "Come if you’d like, LaCroix," he said over his shoulder. "But don’t stray. The library notices strangers when its balance is shaken."

Many questions raced through Marlena's mind regarding what would happen to her, but she would rather not risk disturbing Callador's focus. She goes over to the alcove and eyes the seemingly dejected chair warily before sitting down slowly and carefully.

She's still holding the book from the ethics section, but she keeps it tucked under her arm for now. She's too uneasy to continue the debate with it.

"I can't believe he's going to put the wards back up on his own. He must be quite skilled." She whispers to Kiraen.

Ofcorse he is stilled. This is also his job. We might be involved with ward maintenance as well. Kiraen muses over this thought for a moment
No what I had envisioned when I applied for this job, but interesting nonetheless.

Kiraen stands with her friend in silence for a moment more before she adds.
You should properly put that book down. Make a note of it, and borrow it at your own time. Not during work
Kiraen hands Marlena a small notebook with a few titles that caught Kiraens eye


The Mirror That Lied: A Practical Guide to Illusions and Deception
Author: Proctor Vellum of the Seven Reflections

Threads of the Unseen: Weaving Magic in Darkness
Author: Maerithen Duskmire

Fang & Flame: The History of Duelist Wands and Their Masters
Author: Archmage Orlon Thornfield

Moonlight on Marble Skin: A Tale of Velvet Vows and Venomous Vows
Author: Lira Vexheart

Dorian relishes the chance to explore the library in more details. "I'll check the librarians office. Perhaps they left notes before fleeing."

He passes through the library, stacks of books towering around him, trying not to 'stray' which to him means 'moving fast and not staying still'.

The spines of the books call to him, his curiosity drawn but he shoves that into a corner of his mind. Making his way, he listens for signs of magical mischief and mystical mayhem.

Dorian
On the way to the librarians office, they found Callador kneeling near a scorched floor rune, fingers gently tracing the faded gold inlay of a ward circle. One of the Tutela sigils had collapsed inward, the shape warped like wax under heat. A second, subtler glyph—Excidium—pulsed faintly beneath it, a warning ripple in the protective lattice of the floor.

"Second layer wasn’t just active," Callador rumbled, not looking up. "It was amplified. Something—someone—disturbed the weave, and the Excidium magic overcompensated. Tried to purge a threat that wasn’t even attacking."

Rhamud sighed through his nose. "As I feared. The Tutela spells were overwhelmed, not broken. This defensive layering is too complex. Anyway, you said it was misaligned… by what, I wonder?"

He knelt beside the minotaur and extended a hand, fingertips glowing faintly. A shimmer of arcane script appeared over the floor—a diagnostic spell, slowly mapping out the damaged threadwork.

Callador leaned back slightly to give him space. He explained: "The backlash spread like a skipped stone—no pattern, but more than one pocket of instability. I’ve stabilized the west wing for now, but I suspect there were multiple causes. Regardless, if we reroute the grounding sigils, I believe we can bring the others back under control."

"Mm. Already on it," Rhamud muttered, flicking his fingers. A soft hum filled the air as the golden threads realigned and fed gently into the floor again. The lights overhead flickered, then steadied.

Meanwhile, Callador rose to his full height and turned towards Dorian. "LaCroix. If you're looking for your fellow students, Kiraen and Marlena went east. Nearest reading alcove should still be intact."

Then to Rhamud, with a low growl, "Let’s finish this. I want to get home before another wave of sorcery influences the books to rewrite themselves and change the DCC as if that meant the Drow Decimal Classification system. Again. Mage Emeritus Dewey hates that prank."

"I'm not on the clock. But I suppose you have a point nonetheless... I should borrow it properly when I can." Marlena carefully takes the notebook and looks at it. She seems impressed.

"Oh. Thornfield? Duskmire? Proctor Vellum? You have a very good eye, Kiraen! Can't say I've had the pleasure of reading the works of this 'Lira Vexheart' though. What about you? Are you familiar with her work?"

ehm.... Well...Vexhearts writing is very... Ehm... Engaging and grafic Kiraen is embarrassed as any young girl would be when her flavor of smut has been called out.

Dorian frowns and runs off to find his classmates.

"Is it now? Don't worry about me, I'm no stranger to graphic works." Marlena smiles. She's blissfully unaware as to what Kiraen really means. "If you think it's engaging, I'll have to borrow one of her books sometime. Which would you recommend?"

From the corner of her eye, she notices Dorian's approach. Her focus turns to him, saving Kiraen from having to answer. "Dorian? What brings you here?"

Dorian is relieved to see Marlena. "I was looking for you two, and found the librarians downstairs befuddled by disturbances in the library. Tell me, what's happening and how can I help?"