Willaby Beuford McWellan the 23rd's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Willaby Beuford McWellan the 23rd dragged the last stone into place. His blue-green fingers ached from the work. The hidden tower stood deep in the Kõmœdø wasteland, far from prying eyes. Here, he would store the world's most dangerous spells and forbidden texts. He stepped back and studied the structure. The tower was too grand, too obvious. Someone would find it eventually. Willaby pulled out his tools and got back to work. By dawn, he had transformed it completely. Short logs replaced the upper stones. Cast iron bands held everything together. He packed snow and ice into the gaps for insulation. The building now looked like a simple shed, humble and forgettable. He hung a few carved wooden trinkets on the door. They spun slowly in the wind. Perfect. No one would suspect what secrets waited inside. His sanctuary was ready. But there was a problem. The location was so remote that even Willaby might struggle to find it again. He sat on a frozen rock and pulled materials from his pack. Ship oak, purple glass, flintlock metal. His clawed fingers worked quickly, binding the pieces together. The wand took shape in his hands, part pipe and part compass. He called it the Dutchman's Decanter. When activated, it would point straight to his hidden shed, no matter how far he wandered. He tested it once, watching the glass glow and the wooden tip swing toward the cabin. It worked. Now he could always return to guard his collection of dangerous magic. The wasteland could keep his secret, and he could keep the world safe. One more task remained. Willaby entered the shed and cleared space on the floor. He pulled a heavy tome from his pack. The cover felt rough against his palms, made of gray-green moss and fish scales. Maara Jaana's Foggy Scripts contained spells for hiding entrances and creating false floors. He opened the book and began reading the instructions. His clawed finger traced the words carefully. By afternoon, he had carved symbols into the floorboards and spoken the required words. The floor shimmered once, then looked normal again. But now it concealed a trapdoor that led underground. When he needed more space for dangerous books, he would dig deeper. The shed would protect his collection above ground. The hidden chamber would protect what came next.