The Night Magic Died

Cyler, a skinny 18-year-old, tossed restlessly in his bed. The usual creaks of their old house, which usually felt comforting, were annoying tonight. Worry, a feeling as constant as his lack of magic, gnawed at him.

His grandma, Elara, slept on a cot across the room. Her once-shiny silver hair was dull now, messy around her tired face. Wrinkles marked her skin, but her eyes, even shut, held the same fierce spirit Cyler had. Sadly, that spirit couldn't conjure magic, which was everything in their world of Aethel.

Cyler was a null – a blank page in a world where everyone had a special power, like making light appear or moving things with their minds. He longed to even light a tiny flame, anything to prove he wasn't different. Instead, he was left out, a ghost at school and ignored by most everyone.

Elara raised him since he was a baby after her son and daughter-in-law passed away. She always believed her grandson had something special.

At night

Suddenly, a loud scraping sound ripped through the night. Cyler shot up, his heart pounding like a drum solo. A rough curse echoed from the main room. Fear, cold and sharp, iced his veins. Elara!

He scrambled out of bed, his bare feet slapping the cold floorboards. Moonlight, pale and ghostly, peeked through a crack in the boarded window, making long, scary shadows dance on the walls.

"Elara!" he yelled, his voice raw with terror. He burst into the room, his breath catching at the sight before him.

A shadowy figure, cloaked in darkness, was rummaging through a dusty chest in the corner. Moonlight glinted off a dagger strapped to their hip. Elara, frail and thin, sat squeezed into a chair, her eyes wide with defiance despite her trembling form. A single, glowing ball of light, the last bit of her fading magic, hovered protectively above her hand.

"Stop it!" Cyler screamed, charging at the figure. The figure spun around, the dagger flashing in the moonlight. They muttered strange words, like a creepy chant, and waved their hand in the air.

Cyler felt a whoosh of invisible force slam into him, sending him flying across the room. Pain shot through his shoulder, but the scream that rose in his throat died before it could come out. Fear choked him, like someone tightening a rope around his chest.

Elara, fueled by a burst of love and wanting to protect Cyler, screamed his name. The force of the scream, with the last bit of her magic, shattered a vial the cloaked figure was holding. Thick, choking smoke filled the room, hiding the figure from sight.

Coughing hard, Cyler scrambled to his feet. The smoke started to clear, revealing the thief disappearing through the window, their form blurry and distorted.

"No! Wait!" Cyler cried, rushing after them.

But the figure was gone, vanished into the night like a shadow. Cyler stumbled back to Elara, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.

"Grandma?" His voice cracked with a sob. He knelt beside her, reaching out to touch her wrinkled cheek.

Her eyes, once warm and loving, stared blankly ahead. The glowing light in her hand, the last bit of her magic, was gone.

"No," he whispered, his voice thick with denial. Tears streamed down his face, hot and stinging. He pressed his ear to her chest, but the steady beat of her heart was silent. Grief, a heavy weight, crushed him, stealing his breath.

He was alone. In a world of magic, he was truly null, lost at sea with only the memory of a love that could no longer shield him. But in the darkness of his grief, a spark flickered to life – a spark fueled by loss and anger. It was a spark of defiance, a promise whispered on the wind. He would find the thief. He would get justice. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere along the way, he would find his own place in this world, with or without magic.

Weeks turned into a blur for Cyler. He searched everywhere – dark alleyways, bustling markets, even the creepy abandoned playground down the street. He questioned everyone he dared to approach, from the grumpy old baker to the twitchy secondhand store owner, but no one had seen the thief who stole his grandma and her magic. Discouraged, Cyler kicked a pebble down the street, his whole body heavy with defeat.

"Where am I even supposed to look?" he mumbled to himself.

Just then, a flash of sunshine glinted off something across the street. It was the old library, a place filled with dusty books and forgotten stories. Cyler hadn't been there in years, but a tiny spark of hope flickered inside him. Maybe, just maybe, there could be a clue he'd missed, a hidden whisper in one of those old books.

With a deep breath, Cyler pushed open the heavy oak doors. The smell of aged paper and forgotten adventures filled his nose, a strange comfort amidst his grief. The library was quiet, except for the rhythmic tick-tock of a giant clock and the occasional soft snore coming from a librarian napping behind a mountain of books.

Cyler tiptoed past towering shelves, his fingers trailing along the worn spines of countless leather-bound adventures. He scanned for anything related to magic, lost artifacts, or even robberies – anything that could nudge him in the right direction.

Finally, in a section roped off with a thick, red velvet cord, a book stood out. It was locked inside a glass case, like a rare treasure in a museum. The cover was worn but beautiful, decorated with swirling patterns and strange symbols that seemed to glow faintly. The title, written in a fancy script Cyler didn't recognize, sent shivers down his spine.

Something about this book felt familiar. Cyler squinted, trying to remember where he'd seen it before. Then, it hit him like a wave – his grandma's attic! There was a book exactly like this tucked away on a dusty shelf, hidden amongst her other treasures. Could it be...?

Excitement bubbled in Cyler's chest. Maybe, just maybe, the answer he desperately craved, a way to honor his grandma's memory, was hidden within the very pages of this mysterious book. He had to get a closer look.

"Excuse me, miss?" Cyler approached the napping librarian, his voice barely a whisper.

The librarian, a woman with a bright purple streak in her hair and mismatched socks, startled awake with a snort. "Whoa there, young fella! Didn't see you there. What can I do for ya?"

"That book," Cyler stammered, pointing at the one in the glass case. "The one with the weird symbols. Do you know what it's about?"

The librarian's eyes widened. "Ah, the Tome of Arcane Secrets," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That one's off-limits to most folks. Powerful magic locked away in those pages, some say."

Cyler's heart pounded. Powerful magic? Could this be the key to finding the thief and maybe even… maybe even bringing his grandma back? He had to find a way to unlock those secrets.

Cyler practically burst through his front door, his heart hammering like a drum solo gone wrong. He raced up the creaky stairs to the dusty attic, a place filled with cobwebs and forgotten memories. He dodged a spider dangling precariously from the ceiling and pushed aside a cobweb curtain, finally reaching the dark corner where his grandma used to keep her treasures.

There, nestled amongst chipped teacups and a rusty kaleidoscope, lay the book! The worn leather cover felt warm under his fingers, the strange symbols seeming to hum with a secret energy. It looked exactly like the one in the library, except...it was locked with a tricky spell.

Disappointment crashed over him like a rogue wave, threatening to drown the tiny spark of hope that flickered within. But then, he spotted something scratched faintly on the bottom of the cover. It was a single word, barely visible: "Say it."

Cyler squinted. "Say what?" A wave of memories washed over him, warm and comforting despite the sadness they carried. He remembered his grandma, her voice filled with love as she taught him a poem. She called it his dad's favorite, a poem passed down through generations in their family. A beautiful poem that talked about bravery, about facing the darkness with even the tiniest flicker of light.

Taking a deep breath, Cyler closed his eyes and began to recite the poem, his voice echoing softly in the dusty attic. The words tumbled out, filled with the love and loss he felt for his grandma, a heartfelt tribute to the magic she carried within even without spells.

As the last verse faded into silence, a warmth spread through the book in his hands. A faint click echoed through the attic, and the lock on the cover vanished in a puff of smoke. Awe filled Cyler as he carefully opened the book, its pages filled with strange symbols and fancy writing that looked like someone spilled glitter on their homework.

His eyes landed on a particular passage, highlighted in a faint, shimmering light. It talked about a spell, an ancient whisper! Hope, bright and warm, bloomed in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this was the key he needed.

Taking a shaky breath, Cyler started reading the words aloud, his voice gaining confidence with each syllable. The air crackled with a strange energy, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. He stumbled over a few words, a shiver of fear dancing down his spine. But then, with a final burst of determination, he finished the incantation.

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of light and sound. Cyler squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. And in an instant, he teleported to another place, seemingly vanishing into thin air.