magic books

“The Library of Forgotten Spells”

Part I: The Book That Shouldn’t Exist

The rain hadn’t stopped in three days.

In the narrow town of Windmere, where the streets were lined with crooked lamp posts and the fog curled like cats around your ankles, no one paid the rain much mind. But in the attic of an old, forgotten bookstore called “Ink & Dust,” something unusual was happening.

Seventeen-year-old Elias Crowe stood alone, his fingers tracing the cracked leather spine of a book that didn’t exist yesterday.

The shop had always been strange — a labyrinth of shelves, stairs that led to nowhere, rooms that didn’t seem to have doors. But Elias had worked there for nearly a year now, organizing dusty manuscripts and cataloging books whose titles changed when no one was looking. He thought he’d seen it all.

Until today.

The book was warm. Not just old-warm, or sun-through-the-glass warm — alive warm. The cover was etched with symbols that shimmered faintly, like ink underwater. There was no title. No author. Just a single embossed rune on the cover: a circle of thorns wrapped around an open eye.

It pulsed once beneath his palm.

Then it opened on its own.

Part II: Words with Teeth

The pages were filled with symbols Elias had never seen — not in Latin, not in Old Norse, not in any of the forgotten dialects he had studied in secret. The letters seemed to move when he looked away, forming shapes, rearranging themselves into something just on the edge of understanding.

As he turned the page, one of the symbols hissed.

A soft, sharp sound. Not ink, not paper — but a voice. Tiny. Angry.

Startled, Elias dropped the book. It landed with a heavy thud, pages fluttering like wings.

A gust of wind blew through the attic — but the windows were shut.

Then something impossible happened: a single sentence burned itself into the floorboards at his feet.

“Speak the spell, and open the veil.”

He blinked. The words glowed for a moment, then faded into ash.

And suddenly Elias understood.

This was no ordinary book.

It was a Grimoire — a living spellbook. Forbidden. Forgotten. And somehow… calling to him.

Part III: The Whispering Vault

That night, Elias snuck the book home under his coat.

His mother was asleep. The house was silent except for the occasional pop of the old radiators. He lit a single candle in his room and placed the Grimoire on his desk.

He hesitated. Then, softly, he whispered the first line of the spell that had seared itself into the floor.

“Arvakash bel liraen…”

The candle flickered violently. The shadows on the walls stretched, then turned to face him. Yes — they had faces. Eyes. Watching.

The book trembled. Pages flipped wildly on their own until they stopped on a sketch — a doorway with no frame, floating in darkness.

From the candlelight, a second flame appeared — hovering. Dancing. Then more — dozens of tiny golden sparks rising from the book and swirling into the air. They gathered above Elias and spiraled outward…

Until with a pop — the air in front of him ripped open.

And he saw it: The Vault.

A library that stretched into forever. Shelves stacked into the stars. Staircases that defied gravity. Books that dripped water, books that sang, books with teeth. The Vault of Forgotten Magic.

The place only whispered of in the deepest magical circles.

And Elias Crowe had opened it.

Part IV: The Curator

A shape stepped forward from the other side of the veil.

Tall. Robed in ink-black silk that shifted like the pages of a storm. Its face was hidden beneath a mask made of silver bookplates. In one gloved hand, it held a long quill that bled midnight ink.

The voice echoed in Elias’s head, calm and cold:

“You are the first in a hundred years to read from the Grimoire. You have been marked.”

“Marked for what?” Elias whispered.

The Curator tilted its head. “To become a Keeper. Or to be forgotten. All magic comes with a price.”

The veil pulsed. The room around Elias began to tremble. Books from his shelves leapt into the air, fluttering like birds. His own shadow stretched behind him, twisting into unfamiliar shapes.

“Choose, Elias Crowe. Step through the page. Or close the book forever.”

Elias’s heart thundered.

Outside, the rain finally stopped.

Part V: The Bookwalker

Elias stepped forward.

Not because he was brave — but because he wanted to know.

To know what magic really was. To know who he could become. To know why he had been chosen.

As he passed through the veil, the Curator smiled — though the mask never moved.

The Vault swallowed them whole.

And back in Windmere, the attic of Ink & Dust grew quiet once more.

The Grimoire shut itself.

Its rune shimmered faintly, then disappeared.

Waiting…
…for the next reader.

[To Be Continued…]