The air in the room was stale and frigid. The morning sun rose and seemed to worm through the cracks of the brick walls. Gilliard woke with a start, sweaty from another from a series of continuous nightmares. Things hadn’t started this way, he thought back to when he first started training to become the first wizard the kingdom had seen in centuries. He ran his fingers through his long and ashy, midnight hair as he lingered upon the fond memories, the people of the kingdom used to come from far and wide as he would exhibit the small spells he had learned, they would cheer relentlessly if he as much as lit a campfire. Yet there he was, laying in a cot fit for a prisoner, locked day in and day out in a cell during the most important war in his kingdom’s history. He was painfully aware of his predicament, the walls of the castle walls full of the ancient protective spells from the wizards of an age long past. He was stuck, forced to try and find a spell or potion that would win the war for the King in a single battle. Frankly, Gilliard had heard of the legends but doubted any truly existed.

He finally rose from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His thoughts stayed upon the King as he started the fire for his breakfast. King Rubald III was yet another tyrant in an increasingly long line of them. Since King Kristoph first banned the practice of wizardry after the rebellion, the Kingdom of Gravelia had seen nothing but pain. To his credit, King Rubald had allowed Gilliard to practice magic all these years, yet that was little compared to his atrocities. Gilliard remembered the day he first met the King; his village was raided, dead bodies were strewn about as the young Gilliard wandered the street in the Chaos. A day of celebration had turned into a bloodbath as the Royal Knights mauled and gashed the townsfolk, and young Gilliard watched his own parents be cut down in front of him. His dazed steps through the carnage unimpaired by the trauma he had just experienced seemingly impressed King Rubald as he came to him on his horse.

“What is your name boy?” King Rubald bellowed, “Speak, or I will end you as swiftly as the others.”

The young Gilliard stared at the King, his face blank and his eyes hollow. He said nothing as he stared into the eyes of the one who had destroyed his village.

“Impressive,” King Rubald sneered, “take this one back with us.”

…And so it was. Gilliard snapped out of his reminiscing when he realized that his daydream had caused him to burn the gruel he had tried to cook for himself into such an unrecoverable state that it looked like another one of his potions gone wrong. Something felt off this morning, as his usual stark concentration had quite an unusual lapse. For some reason, Gilliard felt off. A fog had enveloped his usual sharp mind, and melded together all of the thoughts it could get a hold of, but he wondered what could be doing it. Sabotage? No, this kind of sabotage would require a strong magic, and seeing as he was the only wizard in the Kingdom he figured it was safe to rule that out as a possibility. Poison? Gilliard pondered this but quickly realized that none of the rest of his body seemed to be affected, so he ruled it out for the time being. So what? Gilliard whipped around the room, scanning for anything that was out of place, anything that could be out of the ordinary, yet he saw nothing. He was sure it was magic, but from where? Had he cast a spell of himself? Had the ancient magic of the castle began attacking him as an enemy wizard? His searches became more and more frantic with each passing minute. The fog grew more and more dense as Gilliard began to lose focus of where he was in his search. His mind nearly completely melded together, he was finally given a sign. The spine of a book began to glow as the letters seemed to be burning through the leather. As soon as he touched the book his mind cleared, but as he came to his senses he realized that the book was severely burning his hand. He jumped back, taking the book with him as it clattered to the floor. The book slammed open on the hard stone floor and fiery runes began to fly through the room. Gilliard was able to recognize some from his research, but many of them were entirely unfamiliar with them. Gilliard ducked under the table, trying to avoid the flurry of fiery runes flying with reckless abandon through the room. In their flight the bookcase collapsed, as a sea of books came crashing down upon Gilliard, the bed was flipped as the runes continued their rampage. Finally the runes began to calm, as they fell into place above the book, seemingly spelling out an ancient message. Gilliard scrambled to find a paper and quill, luckily undisturbed by the ruckus as he scrawled out the message, hoping to translate it late. Once he was finished, he quickly closed the book and it returned to its normal state as he placed it on the table..

Gilliard sat by his table, eyeing the mysterious magical book. For weeks it had sat on the shelf, unfettered and unnoticeable, yet then it had decided to try and melt his mind before attempting to burn him alive. He first read the title on the cover, A Young Wizards Guide to the Power of Helpnor, Gilliard was shocked, could this book truly contain the teachings of the greatest and most fabled wizard ever to live. Gilliard was awed by the potential to learn from the wizard who’s name and power was unrivaled even in the ancient times. It’s dangerous power certainly made a lot more sense now. He reached out his hand before recoiling it, what would this book do if he opened it again? Would it do the same as it did before? Or would it allow itself to be studied? While Gilliard may not have been the most experienced wizard, he could tell that this book most certainly had a mind of its own, and could kill him if he wasn’t careful. He finally laid his hand on the cover, tenderly, expecting the heat to sear him again, yet it was cool. He opened the book slowly, still cautious about what this book could do, yet it opened just like a normal book. He flipped through the pages and was awestruck at the power of the spells within. There were spells more than powerful enough to move mountains and dangerous enough to best even the best legion. Yet it wasn’t until the final page where Gilliard discovered the spell that would free him of his fate, the teleportation spell. For this was no ordinary teleportation spell, this was a spell which could disappear armies, a sure fire win in any battle for a wizard who commanded it. While Gilliard now knew the spell that would save him and the Kingdom he was still a longs ways off from escaping this tower, as now he had to learn it.

While Gilliard would have liked to have started this process posthaste, there were still a few more steps to be done before he could learn it. The instructions of the spells were in ancient rune, a language long dead, which Gilliard had come nowhere near mastering. As he read through the spell, he realized that the book had called out to him with the same runes as the one for this spell. Now he knew that this spell was his destiny. Gilliard began this grueling process of translation quickly, yet it only went downhill from there. Gilliard spent day after day looking in ancient language books, studying each rune and desperately searching for any translation of them. After a week of this, Gilliard began to grow frustrated, the more he translated, the less the instructions made any sense. 

“Spell fire water tree?” muttered Gilliard, “It’s impossible to combine all of these elements into a single spell. The rest of these runes must hold the secret or at least something.”

Yet when he continued his translation, Gilliard only became more confounded as ether, ground, and gravity were the runes that followed. While all spells were a simple combination of the manifestation of these energies, it would be impossible to combine all of these opposing elements into one. The last rune was the hardest to translate. Gilliard searched countless ancient texts, merely looking for a single mention of the rune, yet it was nowhere to be found, even in the most complex books, he couldn’t find it. Eventually, the frustration overtook Gilliard and he decided that his time would be better spent trying to rest and start fresh tomorrow than to continue his futile efforts.

Rest did not come easy however, Gilliard kept tossing and turning, unable to settle his mind. He was one rune away, one rune away from the ultimate power, the power to erase completely. He tried everything, even conjuring himself a warm glass of elixir, yet nothing gave his mind peace. Eventually his restlessness turned to his future, what he would do once he inevitably gained this power. He dreamed of the fame he would have as hero of the kingdom, how he would erase any enemies with a single blow, and even how he could erase the wicked King Rubald III and end his tyranny. As his mind drifted deeper into these thoughts, he finally faded into sleep. When he came to however, he was not in his rickety cot, but floating in a sea of clouds. A single eye watched him from above, scrutinizing his every move. He tried to stand, but quickly realized that the effort was futile, he felt paralyzed by the eye.

A voice boomed from all around him, “So you are the brat that believes that can steal my power.”

Gilliard’s tongue caught in his throat, he floated there wide eyed, unable to speak and unsure what even to say if he could.

“Hm, cat got your tongue, boy?” the voice echoed all around him, “I didn’t expect one so weak to be the one to discover my work. I’m honestly disappointed, you are clearly incapable of handling my power.”

“I am no boy!” Gilliard blurted back, “I am the first wizard in three centuries. I am the one who single handedly revived wizardry. I deserve, nay I demand your respect!”

“Ah. You may not be so disappointing after all boy. Are you truly saying that magic has truly been a dead art for that long. I commend you for coming this far.”

“Yeah, well who are you. Why have you brought me here?”

“Now that is the question. I have brought you here for a single purpose, to decide whether you are worthy, and I believe you are.”

“Worthy for what? And you still haven’t told me who you are.”

“You’re not as smart as you look. Worthy to learn the meaning of the final rune. To learn the final step to ultimate power.”

Gilliard was stunned. He couldn’t believe that this was real, he was truly talking to the great Helpnor.

Helpnor’s disembodied voice continued, “You have done well in deciphering the other runes, considering how long it has been since they were last found, yet the last rune will always continue to elude you, no matter where you search. That is why I am here, to explain the rune of enlightenment to you. For enlightenment is the true key to this spell, understanding the balance and connectedness of the universe is the only way for you to learn my spell. Take heed young Gilliard, for once you become enlightened, ultimate power will be yours, and you will never be more lonely.”

Helpnor’s voice faded as black began to consume the clouds around Gilliard. The eye above him closed and the darkness swallowed the clouds and then encircled him. Gilliard then awoke, dripping in sweat from the dream he had just had. Now he knew that he needed to become enlightened, but how exactly does one do that? Gilliard felt far way from any potential realization about how the universe was connected, that didn’t make any sense to him. He sat at his desk, pondering how he could possibly become enlightened, and how he could do it as fast as possible. Perhaps there was a book about it, he thought. He searched the shelves for any book that looked like it could potentially talk about enlightenment. He found nothing. He thought perhaps it would be in Helpnor’s book. But again, he found not a word. He had heard of the practices of the elves in the far region, they were known for their wisdom of the natural world, and Gilliard wondered whether their practices might have something to do with enlightenment. Gilliard had studied the few elves who had moved into the kingdom and knew their practices. They had daily rituals of all sort, they burned incense in the morning and meditated in the evening, all while strictly maintaining a vegan diet. Gilliard believed that it must be these things that allowed them to achieve at least some sort of pseudo enlightenment. He figured it would probably be best to start with the step which he could actually do in his cell, meditation. He sat down in the position he had seen the elves doing during their meditation, with their legs crossed on the floor, and began to empty his mind. Magic stayed on Gilliard’s mind, his thoughts flurried with the potential of what he would be able to do. His eyes were shut tight, he took a deep breath in and relaxed on his breath out. That’s when it hit him, total calm. His head was empty and the meditation began. He sat in silence, observing the sounds around him, the birds chirping, still audible through the cracks in the castle walls; the pitter patter of the rats scurrying through the various holes and nooks; even the faint whispers of conversations throughout the castle. Gilliard felt his senses becoming more enhanced, the lack of distraction allowed him to truly focus on the world around him. He could hear the drip of water on the stone floor, the hiss of the smoldering wood as the puddle leaked into the fireplace. Yet there was more to what he was feeling, he felt more than calm, as if a scale somewhere within him was evening. He continued to observe with his senses, he could feel the draft coming in from all directions, through the cracked brick, down the chimney into the fireplace, and even under the solid oak door. He continued this for quite some time, the sensation stayed, like sand tipping a balance. When he felt the scale even, he felt no different, yet he opened his eyes anyway. The sensation was gone, but he was more complete. For the first time in Gilliard’s life, he was truly powerful, he was truly in control.