Chadwick Rye

Archmage Thoren Blackoak stood atop his workshop’s balcony, overlooking the sprawling city of Ravencrest as the twin moons rose above the horizon. His weathered hands, covered in intricate scars from decades of arcane work, rested on the railing as he contemplated the magnitude of what he had begun.

Below, in his workshop, lay what most would call madness. What began as curiosity had evolved into an obsession that consumed three years of his life, strained his position at the Arcane Academy, and left him isolated from colleagues who whispered that ambition had finally overridden wisdom.

“The most ambitious project,” he murmured to the night air, his breath crystallizing in the autumn chill. “As if creating a bridge between realms could be called a mere ‘project.’”

He descended the spiral staircase to his sanctum, each step illuminating with soft blue light that responded to his presence. The workshop stretched before him—once an orderly testament to magical scholarship, now transformed into something between a scholar’s study and a stonecutter’s yard.

At the center stood the Summoning Stone—a twelve-foot monolith of obsidian that had taken sixteen oxen to drag from the volcanic fields of Ashmere. Its surface gleamed with an inner light that seemed to shift between midnight blue and the deepest purple when viewed from different angles. Etched into every inch were runes so complex and interconnected that fellow mages had declared the pattern impossible to complete without error.

Thoren ran his fingers across a section he had finished the previous night. The runes felt warm beneath his touch, almost alive.

“You said it couldn’t be done, didn’t you, Magister Valen?” he addressed his absent rival. “That connecting the elemental planes would shatter a mage’s mind before completion.”

Around the great stone lay the evidence of countless failures: shattered focusing crystals, scorched grimoires, and the fine white dust of calcified magical energy that refused to be swept away. In the corner stood seven ruined carving tools—each progressively stronger than the last—before he had discovered the technique of infusing diamond dust with his own blood to create an implement capable of marking the otherworldly stone.

The cost had been enormous. Three fingers on his left hand no longer responded to his commands. The white streak in his once-solid black hair had spread like creeping frost. Sleep came rarely, and when it did, it brought dreams of vast, impossible landscapes where beings of pure elemental force watched him with curious intensity.

His familiar, a one-eyed raven named Corax, fluttered down from the rafters to perch on his shoulder.

“We’re close,” Thoren whispered to the bird. “Perhaps a fortnight more. Then we’ll see if the theory holds.”

The theory—that a properly constructed gateway could allow controlled access to the elemental planes, harnessing energies that would transform the very nature of magical practice. Not the dangerous, temporary portals conjured in desperation by battle mages, but a stable, permanent bridge.

Thoren settled onto his workbench and lifted the carving tool, its crystalline edge catching the light from the enchanted lamps floating overhead. His joints protested as he positioned himself before an unmarked section of the stone. This portion would contain the seventeen stabilizing runes that would prevent the gateway from expanding uncontrollably once opened.

As he began the delicate process of carving the first line, he reflected on how this project had evolved. It began simply—research into improving elemental conjurations for the Academy’s curriculum. Then came the discovery of the ancient text in the forbidden archives, accessible only to one of his rank. The Codex Elementium, written by a mage who had glimpsed the elemental planes before being consumed by his own creation.

Where that mage had failed, Thoren would succeed. He had solved the critical flaw in the original design, introducing a recursive pattern that would contain the energies rather than allowing them to cascade uncontrollably.

At least, that was the theory.

Hours melted away as he carved, each rune requiring absolute precision. A single misplaced line could create a resonance that would destabilize the entire array. Twice he stopped, trembling with exhaustion, forcing himself to rest before continuing. Corax brought him water, the enchanted vessel clutched carefully in the raven’s claws.

Near dawn, as the first hints of light crept through the high windows, Thoren completed the seventh stabilizing rune. The entire stone hummed softly, a sound felt more through bone than ear. The completed runes pulsed with inner light, as if recognizing their growing completeness.

“It’s responding,” Thoren whispered, awe temporarily overcoming exhaustion. “The pattern is self-organizing.”

Indeed, where the new runes connected to the existing array, the lines seemed to flow more naturally, adjusting their position by imperceptible degrees. The stone was not merely accepting the magic—it was participating in its own transformation.

Thoren stepped back, swaying slightly as fatigue washed over him. Creating this bridge between worlds had consumed everything—his time, his health, his standing among peers. Some days, in moments of clarity, he questioned whether such knowledge was meant for mortal minds.

But then the stone would pulse with that otherworldly light, offering glimpses of potential that no mage had ever realized, and doubt would retreat like shadows before flame.

“Ten more days,” he promised himself, sinking into his chair as Corax settled protectively on his shoulder. “Ten more days, and we’ll either make history or become a cautionary tale taught to apprentices.”

The stone pulsed once more, as if in agreement, its obsidian surface reflecting the face of a man transformed by ambition and the relentless pursuit of the impossible.

In the growing morning light, Thoren finally allowed his eyes to close, dreaming once more of elemental realms waiting just beyond the veil of reality—realms that soon, if his ambition held true, would no longer remain beyond his reach.

If you like this little story please consider subscribing to my blog so that you don’t miss any new ones. Also you can check out other stories that I have written and are currently writing like Forbidden Bond, a tale about a human falling in love with a Half goblin while being hunted down by fallen angels and evil nobles. Or you can check out Chronicles of the Giantess and follow Valorie the Giantess as she adventures across the land of Calladan. Please feel free to leave me a comment. I would love to know what you think about any of the stories.