“Oh, there you are! I was starting to get worried. You need to tell me if you leave the house.”

“Sorry mommy, I was out playing with Dawn.”

“Oh, that’s nice – wait, who is Dawn? Is that Lucy’s daughter from school?”

“No, it’s my new pen. See?” the girl held the pen up to the mother, who inspected it. It was made of wood with a very unique grain pattern and had been polished like a jewel.

“Where did you get this, sweetie? Did someone give this to you?”

“No, I found it when I was playing outside.”

“This is really nice. There’s probably someone looking for it, though, so we’ll have to keep an eye out. Why did you decide to name it Dawn?”

“I didn’t name it. It told me. It’s a magic pen!”

The mother laughed. “Oh, it sure does look magical! Are you going to cast some spells? Maybe you can pull some burgers out of a hat, so I don’t have to cook tonight. Speaking of which, why don’t you run along so I can get it started?”

*        

She could not get her daughter’s strange discovery out of her mind. It was not something you would typically find laying out in the street. Yet her daughter had found it, and now she says it is talking to her?

It’s nothing. You are too paranoid, she thought to herself. She finished cooking dinner, took off her apron, and walked upstairs into her daughter’s room. “Sweetie, it’s time for d-” the woman stopped, and her mouth dropped open.

“Look mommy! I’m learning!” the girl said, gesturing to the pages of glyphs scribbled on scraps of colored construction paper. She had affixed them to the walls with tape. The letters were intricate and unlike any writing she had seen before. But they weren’t random scribbles. There was a pattern to them. As if it were from some forgotten language.

“What…what are these?”

“Dawn taught me how to make these! She says we need them so we can be safe.”

“Safe…from what?” she asked, a sense of dread rising within her. Her daughter just shrugged.

Maybe I’m not paranoid enough.

Arcanist Kalama, we are writing to inform you that this is your third and final warning regarding the return of the Implement Malie. Our records not only clearly indicate that you were assigned this Implement, but the fact that you have replied to our warnings with unflattering doodles of our governing staff at the Arcana only serves to reaffirm our data.

If you return the Implement posthaste, we will overlook your puerile transgressions, including using an Implement for non-spellcasting related activities. 

*

She sighed, setting down the very official and very pompous letter. Who even writes these things? She felt a small pang of guilt, realizing that she was subjecting some low-level administrator to have to plead once again for her Implement.

Kalama knew she should not play games with the Arcana, and that they were serious about her return of Malie. They likely were affording her more patience than most would receive, thanks to her impressive record in the field.

But she desperately did not want to part with the Implement. Over the years, she had developed an inexplicably powerful bond with it. It probably didn’t help that they have names. And she could actually feel the Implement she carried with her. Like some type of alien magnetism, it beckoned to her, clung to her. Not to mention it had wrested her from many a scrape, so there was a powerful emotional connection as well. Carrying it with her always made her feel safe. But the irony was that she was no longer as young as she once was in her prime, and that the power of the Implement would attract Reachers. Her continuing to carry it was not only selfish, but unsafe.

She pulled out the pen and turned it over in her hands. As much as she’d like to draw another picture of the Chief Warden in an adorable onesie, she knew she had to say goodbye. And not just to the Implement, but to the chapter of her life which had now drawn to a close. Once you have wielded such immense power, it is exceedingly difficult to cede it. There had been ones before her that could not do it. She shivered, remembering the stories of those who had strayed from the path of the Arcanist.

That would not be her. It was time for another to take on the mantle.

Deep within the Arcana Archives there is a sealed room. This room is not a secret – all who reside there are aware it exists – but scant few know how to enter. Shielded by both metal and magic, it was the only room to have perfectly survived the great fire which had ravaged the Archive. Lining the walls of this room are bookcases overflowing with spell books that contain many of Forbidden spells. Most of these spells are sealed within this room because of the power they possess. But there is one book, brimming with spells inked by an unknown hand, which lies tucked on a shelf. While there are those who have certainly tried, no one knows how to cast them.

I have dedicated years of research to unlocking its secrets. I have tried all manner of papers, glyph variations, innumerable vials of inks, and even received permission from the Council to attempt to cast one of the originals from the book itself. All this and I had nothing to show. Not even the slightest glimmer of hope or lesson to be learned.

It was at my lowest point late one night, the point where I was ready to finally give up the pursuit, that I left the vault to clear my head with a stroll through the grounds. Looking up, I could see the stars so clearly in the sky. The realization struck then and there, and I rushed to the library and then back to the vault.

You see, I had spent so much time focusing on the glyphs and their composition that I had not paid attention to everything on the page. I held up a page from the book to the light and could see the spots on the page that I had mistaken for errant blots of ink that were common on the older spells. But these spots, there was an odd familiarity to them. I opened the tome I had picked up from the library, which contained constellations and star maps. I turned the pages as fast as I could, but I did not have to look far. The arrangement of the spots matched the composition in the book. At the center was Sirius, the brightest star in our sky.

All this time, I remember thinking, it was not the paper or the ink. It was the Implement. Every single spell we have documented thus far does not require a specific Implement to cast. Sure, there are those that are more effective with particular classes of magic, but never has there been a spell designed only for one Implement.

I have officially requested the utilization of the Implement Sirius from Arcana Procurement. After that, I will submit to the Council for permission to cast this Forbidden spell that has eluded us for so long. I am aware of the danger, but this is what I have committed my life to. If we hope to succeed in this war, we will need every advantage we can afford.

I will happily pay the price.

– Excerpt from the journal of Phineas Realm, Arcana Research Division

​In an old broken house, there was a room far in the back of the cluttered basement.

In that room sat a worn splintered desk, creaky and forgotten.

In that desk there was a drawer, its latch stuck from neglect.

In that drawer there was a slender box, its hinges cracked and rusted.

And in that box, there slumbered a dusty old pen of legends long passed.

*

The young woman entered the house. It was old, yet wonderous, like out of a storybook. She stepped carefully through it and pushed her way through boxes of fantastical gizmos and books. She found a room deep in the basement, where no room should have been. She combed through it, piece by piece, until she discovered a beautifully carved wooden desk, etched with hearts and initials of the family that it once belonged to. She checked the drawers and found one that was stuck. She gave it a sharp tug and the drawer slid open. Inside, she found an ornate box, inset with a delicately cut emerald, its beauty untarnished with age. She opened the box and gasped. Inside was a pen of exquisite dark burl, unlike any she had seen before.

Time to create a new legend, she thought, smiling.

The finest Implements I have crafted came not from some perfect specimen from a tree, hewn from straight, uniformed grain and untouched by knots or voids. No, the best are quite the opposite.

Consider people. When you meet someone new, who are the ones that stand out? Are they the ones who have led lives untainted by hardship? What about the ones that played it safe, not taking risks? We as people are like any other canvas. And a canvas must be painted on. To do otherwise would be to deny ourselves part of what it means to live.

When I want to craft an Implement of power, I do not look for a blank canvas. I instead look for the one that has too many strokes to count, daubed with vibrant colors a rainbow would be envious of, and haunting dark hues that could conceal countless unspoken truths. I endeavor to find the piece that tells a story. That story may not be happy one, or guarantee that some justice will be served, but you will remember it.

So, when I find a piece like that, mottled with age, twisted, weathered by the elements, and invaded by disease…that is when my work begins. And when I am done with it? That piece, nothing more than firewood for most, becomes something else entirely.

This Implement, Conjure, is one of my finest examples. Like us, no matter how battered and worn we become with the trials we endure, if we take the time to cultivate and shape what lies beneath our beleaguered surface, something beautiful is revealed.

INCIDENT REPORT #0134-M

Location: Archive – Rear Mezzanine

Implement (if applicable): Abraxas

Witnesses: None

Description:

Implement Abraxas discovered unattended on a research desk in the Archives. Implement was checked out to Arcanist Fields at 9:14am. Soot-like residue was discovered on the surface of the desk, indicating a successful spell casting took place. We have not been able to locate Arcanist Fields after the discovery of Abraxas.

Records indicate Abraxas as inert. No entries exist of any successful spell castings. Forger/source of Implement is unknown.

Arcanist Fields’ journal was recovered from his quarters and has been placed into evidence. Relevant excerpts have been transcribed below:

“Another failure. The records suggest that Abraxas is inert, but its aura remains not only intact, but substantial. How can it wield such power, yet not respond to the glyphs?”

*

“I found it. The ‘Song of Abraxas’ the elder of this village calls it. In the center of the village is an ancient birch tree, and it sits upon a gigantic rock which has been carved into a smooth sphere. The roots of the tree stretch across the surface of the stone and then deep into the earth. But that’s not all. Once you get close enough, you can see that the stone is etched with glyphs. I’ve been searching for clues for years, and this is the first one that not only bears the name of the Implement, but the glyphs on the face of this rock…they appear to be a prototypical version of the glyphs we use. Is it a different dialect? Or an altogether different language of magic?

And this tree…was Abraxas hewn from one of its branches long ago? I must return to the Archives at once and try to decipher these glyphs. If I can cast a spell with Abraxas, we may open up a new world of magic even older than the Archives.”