Radiance - The Alight Archives Book #1

23. Heir of House Dresden

With his foot firmly planted on a jagged piece of collapsed debris, Kliff closed his eyes and tuned his senses to the world around him.

Every creature on the planet naturally emitted a Signature; it served as irrefutable evidence of their existence. According to ancient Ruenist texts, it was believed that a person's Essence formed the very core of their soul. 

Although Kliff didn't lean heavily on religion or philosophy, he acknowledged the merit of these teachings in relation to Magic Theory. The sheer volume of Essence a person possessed ultimately decided their fate—whether they would emerge as a mage or remain a mere dullard in the eyes of the magical community; a distinction he deemed absolutely crucial.

Breaking off from his position, Kliff surged forward at an accelerated pace along the narrow road ahead. In the short span of twenty minutes since being drawn into this pocket prison, he had begun to adapt to the surreal creations that surrounded him. The cracked walls were smothered in thick, violet-colored vines, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. 

Above him, the sky loomed dark and oppressive, bereft of stars, yet illuminated by ethereal ribbons of light that danced like ghosts. Shattered pillars jutted out from the ground like the fingers of some long-forgotten giant, and staircases ascended into nothingness, their purpose lost to time.

As he reached a fork in the road, two paths lay before him, both indistinguishable from the other. Kliff closed his eyes once more, reaching deep within himself to find where the infrequency of Essence resonated most loudly. 

The lesson Autumn had taught him echoed in his mind: Hone in on the glimmer amidst the flood. Typically, Essence remained silent, flowing through its environment and creatures as gracefully as ocean waves lapping at the shore. Yet, now and then, anomalies would arise, disrupting that fluidity—tears in the fabric of the world's design that beckoned attention.

In his training, Kliff learned that these anomalies signified a Breach, that is, a split in the Realms of Existence that spirits and otherworldly entities used to infiltrate the Physical Realm. In this instance, it wasn't a spirit responsible; this anomaly was new. Pocket prisons themselves were composed exclusively of magical energy, and so the anomaly obstructing it was akin to a crack in a glass window or a fissure in an otherwise perfectly paved street. A discordant note, a broken wand, a blight. The way out.

Guess that's why he called it Integrity's Rift, Kliff thought, smirking to himself. To escape, I'll need to track down where this labyrinth breaks.

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Kliff darted down the path, the chilling winds battering against him with each rapid step, the echo of his footsteps resonating against the stone walls. It took him some adjusting, but Kliff eventually acclimated to the peculiar sensations of his enchanted uniform. 

Crafted from a fabric imbued with magic, it constricted and loosened seamlessly in tandem with his movements, conforming to his body like a second skin. Regardless of the extent of damage it might endure—be it a minor snag in the weave or a significant rip tearing through the sleeve—the uniform possessed an uncanny ability to repair itself almost instantaneously. Glyph Academy was, well and truly, an ingenious place.

After five more minutes of his brisk jog, the narrow passageway opened into a diamond-shaped courtyard, an eerie relic of a once-grand structure now littered with collapsed debris—crumbling stones and shattered fragments of architecture that Kliff struggled to identify, increasingly entwined with violet veins snaking across their surfaces, pulsating as if alive. 

Some walls leaned precariously, caved in under an unseen weight, and through an archway of twisted, cracked stones, Kliff caught a glimpse of the corridor leading to the other side. As he carefully stepped over the jagged remains of a collapsed pillar, his eyes narrowed instinctively at a glint on the ground. Ice? Kliff advanced cautiously towards it, his hand hovering over the hilt of his wand, ready for anything. Yes, it was indeed ice, shimmering under the dim light, its surface reflecting fragments of the crumbling courtyard around it.