The Spell Thief Vol.1

Chapter 2: Threads of the Past

The streets of Lunaris felt colder than usual as Aldara made her way through the labyrinth of alleys and narrow roads, the warmth of Solon Meron's luxurious palace already a distant memory. It wasn't just the chill of the night that set her on edge—there was something else in the air, something almost imperceptible but unmistakably wrong. It was as if the very magic of the city had shifted, a current out of place.

Lunaris had always been alive with magic. It hummed in the air, crackled in the light of the enchanted street lamps, and pulsed beneath the cobblestones that had been laid centuries ago by the first Mage Lords. But tonight, that hum felt muted, subdued. As she walked, Aldara stretched her senses, probing the magical fabric of the city for any sign of the disturbance, but there was nothing tangible. Just a deep, unsettling silence where there should have been a vibrant buzz.

Her thoughts, however, were anything but silent. The details of Solon's case weighed heavily on her mind. Three spells, stolen. Not just any spells, but his most guarded, most powerful magic. The layers of protection surrounding his vault had been legendary—seven barriers, each one enhanced by centuries of magical knowledge and the finest spellcraft Lunaris had to offer. And yet, someone had bypassed them all, leaving no trace behind.

Impossible.

And yet, it had happened.

Aldara's footsteps quickened as she turned down a side street, her destination clear. She needed answers, and she knew just the person who could help her get them. The cold night air nipped at her face, biting at her exposed skin as she pulled her coat tighter around her. Her breath fogged in the air as she moved through the twisting streets of the lower districts, where the grandeur of Lunaris gave way to something rougher, darker. The city's underbelly.

Here, the buildings huddled together, their narrow facades leaning in as if sharing whispered secrets. The roads were cobbled but worn, slick with dampness from a recent rain. Magic still flickered in the air, but it was rawer, less refined than in the upper districts where the Mage Guild held its grip on the city's magical infrastructure. Down here, magic was a tool of survival, not power.

Aldara stopped in front of a run-down building tucked into the shadows of a side alley, its windows dark and uninviting. The faintest glow of enchantments flickered around the doorway, subtle but effective—warding spells meant to deter the curious or the unwelcome. But Aldara was neither.

She knocked twice on the door, her gloved knuckles rapping against the weathered wood. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the door creaked open, revealing a man leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face.

"Back so soon?" Ivar's voice was light, teasing, but there was a glint of wariness in his eyes. His thin, wiry frame was almost hidden beneath a loose tunic and trousers, though he always kept a collection of rings on his fingers—each one enchanted, no doubt, with some trick or another.

"I need your help," Aldara said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Ivar's hideout was just as cluttered and chaotic as she remembered—tables strewn with half-finished projects, magical trinkets, and scrolls, while strange, mechanical devices buzzed faintly from the corners of the room. Incense burned somewhere, its rich, smoky scent mixing with the sharp tang of spell components.

"Help?" Ivar closed the door behind her with a quiet chuckle. "And here I thought you'd just come by for the pleasant conversation."

Aldara shot him a look as she moved further into the room. "I'm serious. Something big is happening, and I need information."

Ivar's smirk faded as he followed her toward his cluttered workbench. "Big? How big?"

"Solon Meron. Someone stole three of his spells last night."