Prologue
The intruder slipped silently through the outer conservatories of House Solvar beneath the cover of darkness, careful to place each step only where moss softened the staggered stone pathways. Months of preparation had led to this single night. Countless evenings had been spent gathering magical flora from across Elaris, brewing experimental potions until each behaved exactly as intended, memorizing servant schedules, scouring architectural records, and chasing down every rumor of forgotten passages beneath the manor.
Before crossing the estate walls, they had swallowed three carefully measured draughts: one that sharpened sight and hearing, another that dampened the noise of their movements, and a final mixture that briefly disguised their scent from anyone or anything wandering House Solvar’s grounds. There would be no second opportunity for this.
Moonlight filtered through the soaring glass roofs, casting pale silver across ancient flowering trees and countless botanical specimens collected over generations. Rare plants flourished beneath House Solvar’s Care, each one thriving despite being poked and prodded and researched in the name of conservation.
The trespasser slowed despite their time sensitive mission, quietly admiring the remarkable specimens surrounding them with a profound awe only someone with a deep sense of curiosity and thirst for knowledge could muster. No family had safeguarded botanical knowledge with greater devotion, and that devotion deserved genuine respect. However, respect did little to temper their frustration with a family that locked discoveries capable of changing the course of botanical science behind noble walls for decades, making specimens inaccessible to the scholars who might have expanded upon them.
Moving deeper into the estate, they entered what was presumed to be an exhibition hall, with elegant corridors lined with botanical paintings, preserved specimens, and even the occasional live specimen. Every display was accompanied by a small plaque bearing a description about the specimen housed and a variation of the same philosophical outlook: knowledge deserved to be remembered. The irony was impossible to ignore, as House Solvar had preserved more knowledge than perhaps any family in history, yet so much of it remained hidden from the wider academic world.
A faint glow spilled across the corridor ahead and the intruder froze.
Lantern light drifted around the corner before its owner appeared and the intruder moved toward the broad trunk of a large potted tree, a few of the thorny branches catching their hands and chin as they tried to slide behind the container. They prayed that the draughts they had taken earlier were still in full effect.
They pressed against the container, making their body as small as they could, as a tall, well dressed Dragonfolk entered the conservatory. His long silver hair rested loosely across his shoulders, and the lantern hanging from one hand illuminated subtle silver scales that climbed from beneath his collar to trace the edge of his jaw. His expression was thoughtful, but weary, as though sleep had once again refused him.
Rather than patrolling the estate, his steps seemed to be more dedicated to wandering, pausing now and then to admire a blossom that had opened during the night or to adjust the latch of a greenhouse window left slightly open to welcome the cool night air.
His meandering took him just a few dozen paces from the tree before stopping.
The intruder didn’t dare to take a breath. The silence potion swallowed every sigh, every heartbeat, concealed every scent trace of their presence, but it did nothing to quell the anxious patter in their chest. After one final glance around the corridor, the tall draconic man continued out into the gardens until the lantern light disappeared among the winding pathways.
Only then did the trespasser release the breath they had been holding. An encounter far too close for comfort.
Following directions copied months earlier from forgotten architectural plans, they found and descended a narrow staircase concealed behind an ivy-covered panel near the oldest wing of the manor. Cool air greeted them from below when the panel slid inward, carrying the dry scent of stale air, parchment, and musty herbs.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, they walked through a nondescript doorway and gasped in awe. The chamber hidden beneath House Solvar surpassed every expectation.
Shelves stretched endlessly into the archive, each one overflowing with books, journals, parchments, single page notes, and preserved specimens suspended within glass containers. No doubt the books and parchments contained journal entires, ecological surveys, botanical sketches and the cataloged collections of flora from all across Elaris. Maybe even the world. Walking further in, the intruder could see that a dim lighting came from extraordinary bioluminescent mushroom contained within large terrariums that lined the stone walls, bathing everything in a soft blue glow.
This was no ordinary archive. It represented an entire lifetime of research, perhaps even several. The same two names appeared together repeatedly upon many of the leather spines lining the shelves.
Master Ecologist Aldren Morthea.
Grand Harvester Alistair Solvar.
The intruder stared in silent disbelief before hurriedly beginning their search. There was simply too much. Even an entire year would never be enough to copy everything. Volume after volume passed beneath gloved hands until one finally caught their attention.
Preliminary Investigation into Arcane Saturation within Mycoflora
Their pulse quickened. For decades, scattered references to an unnamed mycoflora rumored to posses extraordinary magical storage properties had lived in obscure botanical references and single-line notes in expedition journals. None had ever been substantiated. No preserved specimens had been cataloged, no complete research ever entered into the academic record. Most scholars regarded the stories as little more than folklore born from explorers suffering from exhaustion, starvation, or hallucinations brought on by the very fungi they sought.
The journal resting in the trespassers hands may now suggest otherwise.
Working quickly, they turned to the first field entries. Detailed observations described an unusual fungal network discovered beneath the roots of an ancient silver-leafed tree deep within the eastern wilderness. Initial measurements recorded ambient magical saturation unlike anything Aldren or Alistair had ever encountered during their careers. Sketches carefully documented the organism’s branching structure, while tables of measurements charted astonishing fluctuations in surrounding magical density over the course of several weeks.
The intruder scarcely paused to breathe, scribbling frantically. They copied passage after passage into their notebook, lingering over every mention of magical accumulation, saturation levels, and environmental readings. If these observations were accurate, this organism represented the greatest discovery in magical mycology in centuries.
Then the tone of the margin notes took a turn.
“Subsequent expeditions have significantly altered previous conclusions.”
“Early observations should no longer be considered complete.”
“Further study contradicts original hypothesis regarding arcane accumulation.”
“See Eastern Survey, Volume VII for more comprehensive notes.”
The intruders eyes darted across the surrounding shelves.
Nothing. Another missing reference journal. Or perhaps simply impossible to locate before daylight.
They glanced down at the small golden pocket-watch they carried. Time was running out quickly, and they still needed to navigate their way out before dawn. Reluctantly they closed the journal. The notes they had copied would have to be enough.
Every journal was returned to precisely the shelf from which it had come, every drawer closed, every note in its place. By the time they climbed the final stair, the archive appeared exactly as it had before the entered.
As dawn started to paint the far horizon beyond the city of Veradell in pale gold, they were already disappearing into the waking countryside outside the walls of House Solvar’s conservancies, carrying only a weathered notebook filled with fragments of another generation’s work.
