Murals of Odin's Ruins

As the trees began to thin, Vizet instinctively activated the Eye of Insight. Immediately, his vision filled with dazzling silver-blue light — so intense it rivaled even the mirror world's great hall. The entire area ahead pulsed with primordial magic.

Ominis continued leading at a calm, measured pace. Vizet brought up the rear, wand in hand, quietly drawing in the ambient magic and feeding it into the pages of A Wizard's Practical Guide.

Ahead, a massive structure loomed behind the veil of trees.

Panting slightly, Xenophilius glanced up and asked, "Mr. Ominis… are we nearly there?"

"Yes," Ominis said with a nod. "Once we pass those trees, we'll reach the wizard ruins said to be Odin's resting place."

Luna hurried to her father's side and gently pressed a handkerchief into his palm. "Dad, wipe your sweat!"

Xenophilius beamed at her. "My darling girl, you're always the sweetest," he said, dabbing his forehead fondly.

As with the day before, they began by searching the perimeter of the ruins, circling the overgrowth and scanning for signs of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack — but still, they found nothing. Disappointment lingered in the air, but they let it pass, and turned their attention toward the ancient structure.

When Vizet stepped into the clearing in front of the palace, his breath caught in his throat.

The building was magnificent.

Its high walls hewn from rough-hewn stone, shrouded in thick ivy that cascaded like waterfalls of green. Time had worn the frame of the archway, but far from diminishing it, the erosion had deepened the carvings, rendering their details solemn and profound.

The arch itself was engraved with motifs of cloud and wind — etched so delicately they appeared to dance across the stone, twisting in elegant spirals, whispering of movement and rhythm, perhaps even language. Each swirl seemed to echo a cadence older than words.

Vizet stepped closer. These weren't ordinary carvings. He could sense it — they weren't made by hand.

A shiver of realization passed through him. The natural flow of the engravings, the untouched elegance of the shapes — it was as if the wind itself had etched the stone. Or as if the stone had listened to a spell and remembered it.

His mind flashed to the arcane circuit diagrams he'd drawn over Christmas. Without hesitation, he pulled his notebook from his pocket and began sketching — trying to weave the swirling insights before him into the framework of structured magical theory.

Luna looked up, eyes wide. "These carvings are so vivid… It feels like they grew from the stone, not carved at all."

Ominis nodded with a faint smile. "Indeed. According to what's been passed down, the carvings were already here when wizards first arrived. Some believe Odin didn't carve them, but infused the stone with his thoughts — magic so pure it left a trace."

On either side of the porch, reliefs rose from the walls — depicting the violent clash of ocean waves and thunderclouds. The artistry wasn't only in the scale, but in the subtlety. Each wave seemed to pause mid-crash, each bolt of lightning forever flickering in stone.

Luna moved beside Vizet, eyes full of wonder. "Odin must have been a brilliant artist."

She glanced down. "Are you… drawing something?"

"I think this," Vizet said quietly, gesturing at the carving above the doorframe, "might connect to these circuits I've been working on."

Luna stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. The scent of wildflowers clung faintly to her as she leaned in, eyes studying the pages in his hands.

Vizet adjusted his position, offering the notebook more clearly, when her fingers brushed lightly against his and took the pen.

She examined the sketches, her voice calm and thoughtful. "These two look like the carvings… especially here. Maybe this connection could be softer, more fluid?"

She pointed to one of the diagrams and began to revise it gently, adding a few lines of her own.

When Luna handed the notebook back, she said with quiet pride, "Try this one. Doesn't it feel better?"

Vizet glanced at the page. Despite the many diagrams he'd drawn, he instantly recognized which one she'd altered.

The others still felt blocked — tight and resistant — but the fourth from the bottom flowed naturally, as if wind were pushing a boulder along effortlessly.

"It's beautiful," he said with a genuine smile. "Better than anything I've drawn."

"I'm glad!" Luna replied, clasping her hands behind her back. She skipped ahead a few paces with a light bounce in her step.

Vizet exhaled, slipped the notebook back into his pocket, and followed after her.

This new magic circuit… he would study it properly once they returned to the hotel.

They stepped into the great hall beneath the arch, moving slowly down the porch, their footsteps echoing against stone. Along the walls, the sea-themed reliefs continued — waves crashing, thunder rolling — as though they were aboard a vessel adrift in a storm, braving the raw power of nature.

Within the circular chamber beyond, the tone shifted.

Here, the reliefs depicted a different ocean — not wild and untamed, but calm and contemplative. One scene captured the stillness of a glassy sea; another, the soft curve of a setting sun dissolving into the horizon.

The immense hall was silent. In the very center stood a single stone chair — weathered, monumental, and entirely alone.

Aside from that, the chamber was bare.

"It feels… empty," Xenophilius said, pacing across the hall as the sound of his footsteps clicked rhythmically against the floor.

Ominis responded quietly, "Yes. Many wizards who journey here expecting revelations leave disappointed. The emptiness unsettles them."

"Maybe that's why this place never became popular," Xenophilius muttered. "Far fewer visitors than the wizard ruins in Egypt."

Vizet continued pacing slowly, the Eye of Insight still active. As he walked, he absorbed the residual primordial magic lingering in the stones and channeled it steadily into A Wizard's Practical Guide.

By now, almost every part of the island on the mental map within him had been lit — but still, the Guide remained closed to him. No new page revealed itself.

Am I not yet ready for that power? Vizet mused, then chuckled quietly at himself. He stretched, loosening the tension from his shoulders, and let his gaze drift lazily across the bare walls.

And that's when he saw them.

Murals.

They weren't visible before — but now, as the last threads of primordial magic flickered through the chamber, images began to shimmer faintly along the walls. Vizet blinked. There was no mistaking it.

He turned instinctively toward the others — Xenophilius was muttering, "Still nothing. Just empty space… Feels hollow somehow."

That settled it. The murals were only visible to him.

He stepped closer. The images flickered and overlapped one another in strange, blurred layers, as if they were occupying the same space at once.

Vizet furrowed his brow and raised his hand, attempting a wandless, silent Levitation Charm to separate the layers — but nothing happened. Then he remembered something from The Wizard's Practical .

Primordial Magic: Ascend.

As the ancient spell slipped from his lips, a subtle force radiated from his palm. The overlapping murals trembled — then pulled apart like cards being delt on a table. Slowly, four distinct murals revealed themselves across the stone.

Vizet moved closer, heart pounding.

In the first mural, a vast tree towered skyward, its roots encircling the land like arms. Around the tree stood countless figures, hands raised toward it in reverence.

The second mural showed a desolate battlefield strewn with bones. Above the scorched earth, a single spear pierced the heavens — and impaled upon it, a man. Yet his face bore no pain — only serenity, his eyes closed in peace.

In the third mural, the man was gone. The spear still reached skyward, but in his place, luminous halos rippled outward from the point of impact — expanding, multiplying, as though his essence were unraveling into the world.

And the final mural was the simplest of all.

A lone wizard riding a horse.

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