in case of emergencies

He smashed the glass with his elbow—the in case of emergencies panel hidden behind the painting—and pulled the lever, then pushed the button.

An electric hum rose from beneath the floor. The carpet and sofas dropped away, vanishing into a hidden shaft.

A ladder unfolded along the side. He climbed down, and with a word and a snap of his fingers, a flame bloomed in his palm and drifted up to hover beside his shoulder, lighting the descent.

At the bottom, stepping over broken furniture, he found a tunnel. He planted his feet, mimed putting on a helmet, gripped an imaginary bat, and swung at the floating flame.

The flame shot down the tunnel, struck a wall, and snapped back to its place beside him.

As he crossed the threshold, the furniture rose back up through the chute, rearranging itself perfectly in the living room above.

A low hum filled the tunnel, punctuated by heavy banging. Ahead, the tunnel split left and right. Somehow, the sounds came from both directions at once.

He checked himself—there was only enough power for one flame.

Pressing an ear to the floor, he listened for vibrations. Left, he decided. He pointed, and the flame surged forward—only to crash into a mirror.

He turned and redirected his arm toward the right tunnel. The flame flew ahead and vanished into the darkness.

Feeling the loss as the light went out, he summoned another flame, which floated back into place over his shoulder. As he walked forward, the hum and banging intensified.

Suddenly, after one of the impacts, the darkness fractured into color. The tunnel twisted and shifted like a kaleidoscope.

He braced himself against the wall and waited it out. This happened often now—ever since the war began. When a wizard fell, the colors came for the rest.

Magic was shared. Interconnected. Every city had a council of wizards born on the same day, at the same hour—usually ten. His council was down to seven.

He summoned another flame when the first flickered out with his wandering focus.

A surge of power followed—along with the familiar, sickening conflict between loss and inheritance.

He sent one flame ahead, then reached into his chest and pulled out a blue flame from his heart.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he dimmed the two flames hovering at his shoulders and held the blue one in his hands.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke the fallen wizard’s name and closed his eyes. The flame grew, crawling up his arms. He breathed slowly, said the name again, and the fire enveloped him.

With a deep breath, he drew the flame into his mouth and spoke the name one last time. The fire shifted from blue to red.

Holding one hand forward, he stilled the flame until it was perfectly motionless—then pressed it back into his heart.

He stood slowly, carrying the weight of the new power, and continued down the tunnel. He pointed ahead and sent one flame forward, but it extinguished halfway through.

Confused, he held the second flame in his hand and advanced cautiously.

That’s when he saw it—a clear veil. A safeguard. No magic beyond it.

The darkness swallowed him briefly. Then he stood in a circular chamber with a domed ceiling. Water poured down the walls into a pond encircling the room. At its center floated a blue flame.

He approached it, bit his finger, and squeezed out a drop of blood.

The flame swelled, pulsing like a heart. He reached inside, pulled out a blue sphere of light, and took a bite.

The room vanished.

He saw ten figures fighting together. Then they fell—one by one—until one remained, darkened by ambition, devouring the others’ power.

The vision crushed him to his knees. Sweating, he looked back up at the flame.

Regaining his footing, he scanned the tunnel for safeguards. From his jacket, he pulled a small glass vial and held it to the flame.

Blue liquid poured in. He filled five more vials and hurried away.

As he crossed back through the anti-magic veil, the dark wizard’s face was erased from his memory. The veil solidified into concrete.

He turned to it, drawing four corners with the blood still running from his finger. In the center, he drew a rune—and beside it, a doorknob.

He stepped through.

As he closed the door behind him, the tunnel collapsed. The door vanished.