Records of true magic

Chapter 1: RECORDS OF TRUE MAGIC

It was midnight under a full moon, and the light shone brightly on a man in his nineties who was soundly sleeping.

He was dressed in the shorts his late wife had given him as a gift centuries ago. It is at that precise moment that his modest abode commences to tremble.

He opens his eyes with a languid expression and says, "What is it now, Jafar?"

Receiving no response, he slowly rises from his bed to investigate the commotion. At that moment, the house trembles violently, causing all his artwork and books to tumble from their shelves.

The wind howls loudly, and the temperature fluctuates erratically. Suddenly, his body stiffens as if he were a corpse; his eyes open, his breathing ceases, and he remains unmoved. His hearing becomes muffled.

He suddenly hears a disturbing sound in his mind. "O, you word collector, why did you write a book without naming it? After compiling eighty years of work into a single volume, you have forgotten to give it a title."

"Master, this book is bound in the hardest wood known to man, and my pen cannot mark it. How am I to bestow a title upon it?" He replied in a shaky voice.

The dissonant voice laughs loudly, causing the pots in the room to shatter. It then growls, "It is my task to name these works of yours."

As the last word echoes, he makes his appearance. Without uttering another word, he seizes the man's index finger and impales it with his sharp, sword-like nail. The compiled work of the man materializes in his other hand, and he begins to inscribe a title on the cover of the wooden book.

{Records of True Magic,} the title is inscribed.