Morgana opened her eyes.
The first thing she noticed was the absence of pain. No searing backlash from a failed spell, no tearing sensation of a soul ripped from its anchor—just stillness. The air smelled of damp stone and something metallic, like old blood or rust.
Light filtered in from somewhere above, weak and gray. She lay on cold, uneven ground, her fingers brushing against rough grooves carved into the floor. Runes. Faint, degraded, but unmistakable. A fragment of the old world, worn down by time.
She sat up slowly, her body protesting with unfamiliar stiffness. Her hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something else. Something new.
She flexed her fingers, and for the first time in her life, mana responded.
Not the distant, untouchable hum she had spent decades studying. Not the theoretical framework she could explain but never wield. This was raw, immediate, *hers*. A spark flickered at her fingertips, unstable and weak, but undeniably present.
Morgana exhaled, her breath shaky.
She had expected death. Oblivion. Instead, she was here—wherever *here* was—with a working magical core.
The realization settled over her like dawn breaking.
She looked around. The chamber was small, its walls lined with broken runes, their meanings half-lost to erosion. A cell, perhaps, or a tomb. Beyond the dim light, shadows stretched into deeper darkness.
Morgana pressed a hand to the floor, tracing the grooves of the nearest rune. Crude. Inefficient. A child’s attempt at copying something they didn’t understand.
She smiled anyway.
Because for the first time, she could *fix* it.
Morgana closed her eyes.
The darkness behind her eyelids was different now—not empty, but alive with potential. She could feel the mana inside her, a quiet pulse beneath her skin, steady and real. It was still unfamiliar, this connection, like learning to breathe with new lungs.
She exhaled slowly, focusing on the sensation. The rune she had traced lingered in her mind, its flawed structure clear as if etched behind her eyes. She could see where the lines wavered, where the intent had been misapplied. A modern mage might not notice the inefficiency, but to her, it was as obvious as a misplaced stitch in a tapestry.
Her fingers twitched against the floor. She could fix it. She *wanted* to fix it.
But first, she needed to understand the limits of this new core.
Morgana opened her eyes again, lifting her hand. The spark returned, flickering weakly at her fingertips. It wasn’t much—hardly enough to light a candle—but it was hers. She focused, guiding the mana through the simplest rune she knew: a stability glyph, the foundation of countless spells.
The rune formed in her mind, precise and clean. The mana followed, hesitant at first, then surging forward as if recognizing the path. The spark brightened, steadied—
And sputtered out.
Morgana frowned. Not enough power. Or perhaps her control was still unrefined. She flexed her fingers, studying the faint residue of mana clinging to them. The core was functional, but weak. Depleted, maybe, or simply untrained.
She looked back at the degraded runes on the floor. Even flawed, they were a starting point. A puzzle. A way forward.
For the first time in her life, the puzzle wasn’t just theoretical.
Morgana smiled.
Then she got to work.
Morgana stepped into the clearing and stopped. The scene before her defied expectation. Bunnies—dozens of them—hopped lazily across the grass, their soft fur catching the faint glow of the overhead mana lanterns. Some nibbled at patches of clover, while others simply sat, their ears twitching in the gentle breeze.
She blinked, unsure what to make of it. The bunnies didn’t seem startled by her presence. One even bounded closer, its tiny nose twitching as it sniffed at her boots. Carefully, she crouched down, extending a hand. The bunny sniffed again, then nudged her fingers with its head.
A small laugh escaped her. “Well, aren’t you curious?”
Her voice seemed to invite more company. Another bunny approached, then another. Soon, a small cluster of them surrounded her, their soft bodies pressing against her legs. Morgana sat down fully, letting them climb into her lap. Her fingers brushed against their fur, feeling the warmth and weight of them.
For a moment, she forgot about runes and cores and the strange world she now inhabited. She simply sat there, surrounded by bunnies, and let herself be present.
Across the clearing, Violet emerged, her expression one of mild confusion. She paused, taking in the sight, then shook her head. “Of course there’s bunnies. Why wouldn’t there be bunnies?”
Morgana glanced up, smiling. “They’re quite friendly.”
“They’re probably trained,” Violet muttered, though her tone lacked any real annoyance. She took a few steps forward, only to stop as a bunny hopped into her path. It looked up at her expectantly.
“Go on,” Morgana said. “They won’t bite.”
Violet sighed but crouched down, hesitantly reaching out. The bunny sniffed her hand, then climbed onto her palm. She froze, unsure what to do next. “Uh… what now?”
“Let it sit,” Morgana replied, her tone amused.
Violet complied, holding the bunny awkwardly. It settled into her hands, its tiny body radiating warmth. She stared at it, then at Morgana. “This is weird.”
“Is it?” Morgana asked, gently stroking the bunny in her lap.
Before Violet could respond, Lyon appeared at the edge of the clearing. He paused, taking in the scene, then walked forward with determination. “What’s going on here?”
“Bunnies,” Violet said flatly. “Lots of bunnies.”
He frowned, watching as one hopped up to him. He nudged it aside with his boot, though not harshly. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Does it have to?” Morgana countered.
Lyon crossed his arms, scanning the clearing. “Everything’s a test around here. This has to mean something.”
Morgana shook her head. “Sometimes, things are just what they are.”
The three of them remained there, each interacting with the bunnies in their own way. Violet eventually relaxed, letting the bunny curl up in her arms. Lyon continued to skirt around them, his brow furrowed in thought. And Morgana simply sat, letting the moment linger.
For a little while, the world felt softer, kinder.
Then, as if on some unspoken signal, the bunnies began to disperse. One by one, they hopped away, disappearing into the tall grass. Morgana watched them go, feeling a strange sense of loss as the clearing emptied.
Violet stood, brushing fur off her clothes. “That was… something.”
“It was,” Morgana agreed, rising to her feet.
Lyon frowned, still scanning the area. “I don’t get it.”
“Maybe you’re not supposed to,” Violet said, shrugging.
Morgana looked back at the clearing, now empty but for the faint traces of mana in the air. Whatever the purpose of the bunnies, they had served their role.
She turned to the others. “Shall we?”
They nodded, and together, they walked on.
The last of the bunnies had barely vanished into the undergrowth when the first howl cut through the air.
Morgana froze mid-step. The sound wasn’t distant. It wasn’t the echo of some far-off predator. It was close—close enough that the vibration of it prickled against her skin.
Violet reacted first, her body tensing like a coiled spring. "Wolves," she hissed, already scanning the tree line. Her hand shot out, grabbing Lyon’s arm. "Move. Now."
Lyon shook her off, but his eyes darted toward the shadows between the trees. "We can take wolves."
"You don’t know what kind of wolves," Violet snapped.
Another howl answered, this time from the opposite direction. Then another. And another. The clearing, so peaceful moments ago, now felt like a closing trap.
Morgana exhaled slowly, forcing her pulse to steady. She’d read about wolves in the old bestiaries—pack hunters, coordinated, relentless. But these weren’t just wolves. The mana in the air thickened around them, clinging to her throat like smoke. Wild magic. Unstable.
The first wolf stepped into the clearing.
Its fur wasn’t gray or brown but a mottled, shifting blue, as if someone had poured liquid mana over its pelt and let it drip unevenly. Its eyes glowed faintly, pupils slit like a cat’s. It didn’t growl. It didn’t bare its teeth. It just watched them, head tilted slightly, as if considering the best way to dismantle prey.
Then it lunged.
Violet yanked Lyon backward as the wolf’s jaws snapped shut on empty air. Morgana stumbled away, her mind racing. No weapons. No artifacts. Just her and the runes she’d spent a lifetime studying but never using.
The wolf turned toward her.
Something primal flared in her chest—not fear, not panic, but a sharp, bright defiance. She’d spent her life watching magic from the outside. Not anymore.
She raised her hands.
The rune came to her effortlessly, as if it had been waiting. Fire. Not the crude, half-formed symbol most modern mages used, but the old shape—the precise, elegant curve of it, every line purposeful, every angle measured. She didn’t just remember it. She understood it.
Mana surged through her core, hot and wild, and the rune ignited in her palms.
The wolf leaped.
Fire erupted between them.
It wasn’t a controlled blast. It wasn’t a refined spell. It was raw, unfiltered power, tearing through the air like a living thing. The wolf yelped as flames licked its pelt, the smell of singed fur thick in the air. It twisted away, but the fire followed, clinging like liquid.
Morgana gasped, her arms shaking. She hadn’t meant to—hadn’t expected—
Another wolf charged.
She threw her hands up again, but this time, the rune fractured mid-cast. The fire sputtered, lashing out in jagged tendrils before dissipating into smoke. Her core burned, drained from the uncontrolled output.
Violet was at her side in an instant, dragging her back. "We run. Now."
Lyon hesitated, his fists clenched. For a heartbeat, Morgana thought he might argue. Then another howl split the air, closer this time, and he turned on his heel.
They ran.
Behind them, the wolves gave chase.