Across the Ether

Prologue

Prologue

The Author takes his pen, a slender instrument of dark mahogany with intricate silver filigree, and dips the tip into an ornate inkwell. The inkwell, carved from obsidian and etched with ancient runes, gleams faintly in the dim light of the room.

Under his breath, the Author chants an ancient spell passed down from Author to Author, his voice barely a whisper in the still air.

"Doma imaginatious livea." (from my imagination, become life)

As the final word is spoken, the ink begins to shimmer with a soft, otherworldly glow. The tip of the pen, now enchanted with the Author's magic, touches the aged parchment, and words appear as if by their own accord.

The pen moves with a life of its own, crafting sentences and recording tales, while the Author rises from his chair.

He walks across the room, the wooden floorboards creaking underfoot, towards a grand fireplace framed by gargoyle statues. The flames dance, casting flickering shadows on the high, vaulted ceilings of the workshop.

The room itself resembles an old study, a blend of gothic architecture and arcane wonder. The walls are lined with towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes bound in leather and gold. Strange knickknacks, curiosities from worlds unknown, rest on every available surface: a crystal compact that opens portals to another planet, a jar of ever-changing sand, and a silver mirror that reflects not the present, but the past.

Above the fireplace, a massive tapestry depicts an epic battle between light and shadow, its threads woven with spells that cause the figures to move ever so slightly, as if alive.

The air is thick with the smell of aged paper, candle wax, and a hint of something more mysterious—perhaps the lingering presence of forgotten spells.

As the Author warms his hands by the fire, he notices one of his many snow globes resting on a nearby mantlepiece, glowing with a strange green aura.

The globe, made of crystal so clear it almost seems liquid, contains a miniature train platform surrounded by cosmic dust. He reaches for the globe, his fingers brushing against the cool glass, and realizes that it is time for another story to begin. His gaze shifts to a shelf on the far wall, where dozens of World Books he has created are neatly arranged.

Each book is unique, its spine etched with the name of a world born from the Author's imagination. Among the rows of books, one begins to glow with the same green aura as the snow globe.

The title, inscribed in elegant script, reads: "Across the Ether."

The Author takes the book from the shelf, its weight familiar in his hands, and reclines in a nearby armchair. The leather creaks as he settles in, and with a deep breath, he opens the book, letting the pages fall open to, Chapter One...