The counsel.

He broke the glass with his elbow—the one marked in case of emergencies behind the painting. He pulled the lever and pushed the button.

An electric sound came from beneath the floor, and the carpet along with the sofas dropped into a hole. With a ladder to the side, he began to climb down. After a word and a snap of his fingers, a flame emerged from the palm of his hand and floated above his shoulder, illuminating the descent.

At the bottom of the hole, stepping over the broken furniture, he found a tunnel. He set his feet, put on an imaginary helmet, gripped a non-existent bat, and swung at the floating flame.

The flame shot down the tunnel, hit a wall, and flew straight back to hover beside his shoulder.

As he crossed the threshold into the tunnel, the furniture rose back up the chute and rearranged itself into its original position in the living room.

A low hum filled the tunnel, accompanied by a loud, rhythmic banging. When he reached the wall, the tunnel split to the right and the left.

Somehow, the sounds came from both directions at once. He checked whether he could summon another flame but realized there was only enough magic for one.

He pressed an ear to the floor, listening for vibrations. Left, he thought as he stood. He pointed, sending the flame forward—but it crashed into a mirror.

He turned to the right and redirected his arm. The flame entered the new tunnel and vanished into the darkness.

Feeling the flame extinguish, he created another one, which floated back over his shoulder. As he walked deeper into the tunnel, the hum and banging grew louder.

Suddenly, after one heavy bang, the darkness burst into color. The tunnel twisted and shifted like a kaleidoscope.

He leaned against a wall and waited for it to pass. This happened often, especially after the war began. Whenever a wizard died, the colors came—for everyone.

Magic was shared, interconnected, dependent. Every city had a council of wizards born on the same day, at the same hour. Ten was standard. Only seven remained on his council.

He summoned another flame when the first faded as his concentration slipped.

He felt the surge of power—and the horrible tension between loss and newly gained strength.

Easily, he sent another flame forward and reached into his heart, pulling out a blue flame.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he waited as the other flame returned. He dimmed the two hovering over 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, sliding up his arms. Breathing slowly, he said the name again, and the flame enveloped him completely.

With one deep breath, the fire entered his mouth as he spoke the name for the last time. The flame shifted from blue to red.

Holding one hand forward, he stilled the flame until it no longer moved. Then he returned it to his heart.

He rose slowly, carrying the weight of the new power, and continued down the tunnel. He sent one flame ahead—but before it reached the middle, it went out.

Confused, he held the remaining flame in his hand and approached the spot where the other had vanished. As he neared, he noticed a clear veil.

It was a safeguard. There was no magic beyond it.

Darkness swallowed the tunnel for a moment, and then—

A blue flame floated in the center of a domed chamber. Water poured from the walls into a pond encircling the room.

He approached the flame and bit his finger, squeezing out a drop of blood.

The flame expanded, pulsing like a heartbeat. He reached inside, pulled out a blue sphere of light, and bit into it.

The room vanished.

He saw ten figures fighting side by side. Then they began to fall—until one turned dark, corrupted by power and ambition, choosing to destroy the others and claim their strength.

He dropped to his knees under the weight of the vision. Sweating, he looked back up at the flame. Slowly standing, he scanned the tunnel for security measures.

From his jacket, he removed a small glass vial and held it beneath the flame.

Blue liquid poured inside. He filled five more vials and hurried toward the exit.

As he crossed the invisible veil, the dark wizard’s face vanished from his memory. The veil solidified into a concrete wall.

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

He stepped through and closed the door.

Behind him, the tunnel collapsed as the door disappeared.