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His vision blurred before snapping into focus. He stumbled but caught himself, shaking off the sensation. Blank-faced, he stared at the vast room—four-story vaulted ceiling, towering stairs, scattered tables, books of all kinds, stained glass filtering light. His head ached just taking it in. #SiP

He stepped gently, but his boots still gonged against the polished tile floor. His eyes darted, sweat forming on his brow. Tam didn’t think much, but he did think he didn’t want to be here. A few more steps— he froze as a voice like thunder shook the air around him. “What curiosity is this?” #SiP

Tam's skin prickled as he searched for the voice. "I—I brought what you asked for," he stammered. "I don't recall asking for a body—an unconscious one at that." "No. You wanted what was in cell 9. Whatever I could find. I found him." "Alive? Impossible. Show me." A mist formed before Tam. #SiP

The mist spun, shifting from murky white to dull brown. Tendrils coalesced, forming a tabletop. Tam's nose twitched as the smell of burning wood crossed it. "Place him there," the voice boomed. Tam pressed the table to test its solidity, then lowered the body, shaking his head. He hated magic. #SiP

"Move." A low, resonant command slammed into Tam. His muscles obeyed instantly, shoving him back. His mind thrashed, a trapped bird wild to escape, yet his body was a puppet dancing to the voice's tune. A bald figure in white, devoid of even eyebrows, now occupied the space he'd just vacated. #SiP

"Why's he out?" the man asked. "Went crazy. Hit his head." "I see. Before today, when'd you last see him?" Tam shrugged. "Don't know?" "Don't go there. King closed deep cells." "When was that?" Tam frowned, thinking ached. "When he became King." The man's eyes widened. "Six years ago." #SiP

"No one fed him?" Tam shrugged. "Who is this man?" Another helpless shrug. The bald man's eyes narrowed on Tam. Though towering over him, Tam flinched. The man's sleeves rustled, a prelude to violence Tam well knew. Instead, a sharp point. "Down one floor. Find Kry. Get cell 9 prison records." #SiP

Tam lumbered out, his limbs moving beyond his control. Still, leaving this place made him happy. Happy was good. He kept it simple. The bald man pushed his sleeves to his elbows, then pressed a finger to Kru’s head. “Let us wake you.” he murmured. “What might be gleaned from your existence?” #SiP

Kru shot up, air rushing into his lungs. A brutal flood. Every muscle screamed with fire. His head fell back, hitting the table. Each breath a desperate fight. Eyes wild, yet he was still. His body locked in place. A bald man in white observed him. He yearned to speak, but his jaw was a vise. #SiP

“Speak. I am Zim, Thaumaturgist of Troth. For this conversation, speak freely. Who are you?” He could feel his jaw start to move, but not by his will. He clenched it tight, snarling. Kru knew this magic, it was denied him, but his mind was his. He forced the bile from his throat and sent it flying.

"That was uncalled for," Zim said, flicking the spittle from his robes. "I did not expect such resistance from the likes of you. If you refuse to speak, then we probe deeper." He waved his hands, and a blazing spear shot forth, piercing Kru’s eyes. Zim cried out as his own hand burst into flames.

The pain tore through Zim’s arm. Gritting his teeth, he willed an ice spell to douse it away. The flames resisted at first and then slowly gave way to the cold. Zim’s heart raced and the pain, the biting pain, lingered. Cradling his arm, he stepped away from the man on the table. "What... are you?"

Kru laughed. Weak and unmoving, yet his eyes burned bright as he turned his head to Zim. “My secrets are my own. Only I am worthy to save us all. Remove my blocks, and I will teach you things. You are but a child, too blind to see.” Zim sank back into a chair, staring as the wild man laughed on.

Zim watched as the crazy man’s laugh became a chuckle and slowly died on his lips. The man slept, Zim still watched. His mind ablaze with what his probing had found, he searched corridors of his memory for a solution, an understanding. In a window above the sun set, and Zim watched and wondered.

"Excuse me, my liege." The timid voice broke Zim's trance. He turned to Archivarius Aza, her light blue robes hanging neatly. Hair bound back, a satchel over her right shoulder that burst with scrolls and loose papers, more still in her hands. Waiting patiently at the door as if afraid to enter.

"Aza, come in. Your records may give me the insight I need." Zim rose and waved. Mists formed a round, sturdy table smelling of old oak. He tilted his head, crossed his arms, and waited. "It took a while," she said, as the contents of her arms spilled on the table, "but what I found is horrifying."

"How so?" Zim asked. "Records show the last man in cell 9 was meant for cell 8, but a vague fuss put him their," Aza said, sliding papers across the table. "To the point Aza. Who do you believe this man to be?" "This is Kru. Kru the Red, taker of flesh, the bane of Troth," she whispered, eyeing Kru.

Kru's eyes bolted open. That voice! He sought it, afraid to move. Foolish Zim and a girl were talking. Zim was arrogant, his very stance offensive. She was soft, demure, head tilted regarding Zim. He looked away, and her eyes turned to Kru. A red flash, a burning, tore through him. Kru shrieked!

“What’s wrong with him?” Zim said. Waving his hands, mist formed, binding Kru in straps. He floated back onto the table. “I know not my lord.” Ava replied, her voice low. Kru’s eyes shot wide. He thrashed against his bonds, to no avail. “Kru the Red is evil. Bound, I caution even you my lord.”

"Your warning is well deserved, Ava," Zim said. He walked to a shelf, pulling tomes. Each floated before him with a flick of a finger. He continued, "I recall a tale before Kru the Red. Kru the Sovran Thaumaturgist. Last to achieve such rank. If memory serves, he was obsessed with the study of Jur.”

“You found something? Jur designed the castle's base, where the cells lie. 9 was his number of power.Thought it silly, but had the brute look. There's more. What do you know?” Kru thrashed. He’d given too much. Only he should know. What did he know? He'd found nothing; knew nothing more. Or did he?

All Kru knew was the cell. Gone there seeking Jur, but no mark was to be found. Each detail known: A door, ledge for a bed, sloping floor, a hole, the shape of water. In his mind, each one became like a line on a piece of paper. For the first time he saw it all, he saw Jur, and he started to cry.

It was right there. It was there. He was right. He needed to go back. He turned his head, a tear rolling down his cheek. They were his only hope, this fool Zim and the—other. He would play them, work their feeble minds, control them. He needed one more thing—one thing to make it all work. Magic.