The bank of Oresa

George Blackwood stepped into Oresa Town just as the morning sun broke through the low-hanging mist. The town had a strange, whispering kind of magic about it—subtle but unmistakable. The cobblestone streets shimmered faintly, the windows of crooked shops blinked like eyes, and the wind carried the faint sound of chimes, though no bells rang. His master stood beside him, silent as always, and handed George a glowing card. Its golden surface was warm to the touch and shimmered with ancient writing that danced and rearranged itself every time he looked away. George stared at the building before him—tall, ancient, and intimidating. The Magical Bank of Oresa. It was carved from ivory-colored stone and glowed softly under the light, its doors adorned with runes that pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. "Aren't you coming with me?" George asked, clutching the card tighter. His master stared at the bank for a long moment before answering, his voice low and unreadable. "I can't. Or more accurately… I won't." That simple sentence carried more weight than it should have. It made George's stomach twist with unease. Without another word, his master turned and vanished into the street.

George stood alone before the tall double doors, the strange silence of the place amplifying his heartbeat. Swallowing hard, he stepped forward. As soon as he did, the doors swung open soundlessly. The inside was like nothing he had ever seen. Enchanted brooms flew through the air, dusting shelves filled with ledgers and scrolls that fluttered on their own. Coins floated in midair, counting and sorting themselves into golden stacks with metallic precision. Magicians sat at glowing desks, their quills writing furiously while spells shimmered like fog above their heads. Above him, a massive crystal chandelier levitated in slow rotation, casting soft blue light across the grand marble hall. George's eyes widened in awe. He had read about magical banks, but this was something else entirely.

A towering figure stepped out from behind a pillar—an enormous man in an iron-forged uniform. His eyes were stern, and one of them had been replaced with a magical lens that whirred quietly as it scanned George. "You," the man said gruffly. "What do you want?" George held out the card with a shaky hand. The man took it, inspected it briefly, and nodded once. "Follow me."

They walked past rows of ornate doors, each pulsing with different colored light. Eventually, they reached a small platform with a metal cart waiting silently beside an enchanted track. The man climbed into the front. George climbed in after him. The moment he sat down, the cart jolted violently and shot forward. Wind blasted into his face. The tunnel ahead was a blur of glowing runes and twisting stone. The track twisted and looped, dipped and soared, passing by magical wards, sleeping statues, and strange creatures watching from the shadows. George felt his stomach leap with every turn. It was like being inside a roller coaster that had forgotten about gravity. When the cart finally stopped, George staggered out, legs wobbling. "Almost lost my breakfast," he muttered.

Before him stood a large black vault door, sleek and humming with enchantment. "Your vault," the man said, stepping aside. George approached it and reached into his pocket, pulling out the key attached to the card. It was old, heavy, and cold as ice. As he placed it into the lock, the runes along the vault door flared to life. The door slowly creaked open, revealing a room bathed in golden light. Coins were stacked in neat piles, glowing faintly with heatless fire. There were scrolls, artifacts, and even a ruby-encrusted dagger sitting atop a velvet pillow. George's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen so much wealth. He reached out with trembling hands and filled a small pouch with coins—just enough to not feel guilty. The large man stood silently behind him, arms crossed.

"I have something to take care of," the man said suddenly. "Do not leave this area." He turned and vanished into one of the side corridors. George stepped back onto the cart, expecting it to return to the entrance. Instead, it jerked forward and descended deeper into the underground. The air grew colder. The walls darker. No torches. No light. Just the eerie glow of the track as they descended into silence. The cart eventually slowed and stopped in a chamber far smaller than before. The track ended here. There were no doors, no signs. Just one massive vault at the far end—blacker than any stone George had ever seen.

The door pulsed. Not with light—but with something deeper. Something… alive. Against all reason, George stepped off the cart and approached. The air crackled the closer he got. He reached out, almost unwillingly, and peered through a thin slit in the vault's surface. Then he saw it—an eye. Huge, golden, reptilian. It blinked, and in that instant, George's mind fractured. He felt himself pulled from his body, his thoughts unspooling like threads. He was flying through clouds of fire and shadows, hearing voices whisper in languages older than Earth. Visions flooded his head—stars collapsing, ancient kings kneeling, a serpent of light coiling through a sea of nothingness. He felt everything and nothing. Time and no time. His body had no weight. His thoughts were no longer his own.

Then—hands. Strong arms pulled him back suddenly, slamming him into the cart platform. George gasped and blinked, his body heavy again. The large man stood over him, his one glowing eye narrowed in anger—or was it fear? "You should not be here," he growled, his voice trembling slightly. "This place… it changes people." George could barely nod, still panting, sweat pouring from his forehead. The man snapped his fingers and the cart lurched to life once more, this time heading back the way they came.

When they reached the main floor, George stepped out into the sunlight as if emerging from a dream. But the questions remained. What was in that vault? What was that eye? Why did it feel like it recognized him? The air outside felt too bright, too normal after what he'd seen. His thoughts spiraled, chasing answers that refused to come. Then, lost in his daze, he walked straight into someone.

"Oof! Watch where you're going!" the boy snapped. George looked up, startled. The boy was about his age, maybe a bit younger, with wild silver hair and sharp violet eyes that glowed faintly in the sun. He wore a long dark coat lined with glowing red thread, and floating beside him was a leather-bound book with a blinking magical eye in the center of its cover. The boy narrowed his eyes at George, then smirked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." George didn't know how to respond. He wasn't sure if he'd seen a ghost… or something far, far worse...