Beginnings

Magic exists all around. Across every corner of the globe.

"Madness!" - one would say - "To believe in magic is folly, in that only children and those addled in the head would".

That is... correct. But also wrong. Naive even.

In Japan, spells were thought of as words that bind a thing to another. Utilizing paper or other objects as a medium, sorcerers would draw out mystic powers to sort out many a situation. But that's not particular to Japan. Many peoples across the African continent have rituals that mixed words, in the form of chants and music, with physical mediums to conjure supernatural phenomena.

In Europe, the Vikings had a runic alphabet that was believed to have magical properties. Odin, the Allfather, whom the creation of said runes is credited to, acquired these powers by using his own life as medium.

In South, Central and North Americas, indigenous tribes, guided by the words of a shaman, made use of plants in rituals to convey visions, dispell evils and heal the ill.

The examples pile up, from all over the world.

Alas, more importantly, the majority of information on magic states that "names" are amongst its most powerful forms and expressions. A magic wielder, in possession of someone's - or something's - name, would have complete power over them.

And the funny thing is we commonly use words to name everything. From objects to animals, to people, to actions, thoughts, smells, feelings, etc. Words are needed to structure perception. "They" - as in "words", and also symbols - are the materials that compose our very beings.

How would you, dear reader, describe anything without them? How would you understand this?

Words are fascinating aren't they? They are vessels, as in their capacity to convey information; yet they are also things themselves. The very fabric of any and all information in what we call humanity. The bricks upon which our reality is built of.

There are even philosophical trends, such as "nominalism", that revolve around the importance of language and it's symbols. Nevertheless, this subject, I'm afraid, would bore you to death. So I'll cut it short:

This story is about words. And, of course, about magic.

Some dare say that our words - yes, even the ones we use and abuse on our daily lives, on a daily basis - are but faint remnants of these powerful "names" that once existed.

Well, then, without further ado, this story unfurls...

****

"... You should carve these words in your memories, class: this historical find is perhaps the most important of the century. Hells! Of the millennium, even!" - the teacher exclaimed, palms hitting the table beneath him. "Class is now dismissed" - he added, closing the slide presentation projected in the board on the wall behind him. The teacher then stepped down the grandstand and headed outside, accompanied by some students.

William had dozed off for most of the lecture. As he woke up, he could only catch a glimpse of the last slide the teacher had shown the class: an artifact, a stone slate of sorts, weirdly shaped and engraved with symbols and patterns all over.

As usual, he'd chosen a chair in the far back of the room. Not because he naively thought it would somehow help him conceal the explicit disinterest he felt towards that particular class and subject, for the architecture of the classroom would make it impossible. He had been having nightmares. Weird flashes of people he'd never seen before. Scenes of people amidst a myriad of different situations, but only confusing fragments of something that would've been definitely spun out of a fantasy or science fiction novel.

The problem wasn't the frequency; although, the fact that he'd been waking up all night for the past two weeks with these strange images was indeed taxing. The problem was it all felt too real.

Will was an average caucasian guy. Dark blonde hair cut short, about 1,80 meters, not too muscular, but fit, with 21 years of age and in the 1st year of college.

Shaking away those disturbing images, Will stood up and headed towards the cafeteria, as his schedule was plenty full and he needed something to keep him awake. It was nearing the end of November, which meant not only that summer vacations were coming, but that the final exams were right the next corner.

Upon reaching the cafeteria he leaned towards the counter and glanced past the menu - "Good morning! I'd like a double espresso, please".

A moment passed without notice, but it seemed his mind wasn't the only one lost in thoughts. He had heard no reply from the attendant. Being a shy person, he'd usually avoid eye contact, but due to the silence, he decided to look directly to the attendant. He was a guy in his mid-twenties, a little out of shape and in a uniform. Gawking, jaws dropped, eyes shot somewhere behind Will, entranced even.

The young man followed the line of the attendant's gaze. He laid off the counter, turning his back to the perplexed man. As he moved, Will realized the cafeteria was unusually silent. He then took notice of the fact that everyone, without exception, had their eyes fixed on the same place.

Across the room was the source of the eerie scene: a television, airing the local news. It's sound was either very low, or even muted, but that didn't matter.

He then focused his eyes in the device's direction - aggravating the aching and chaffing sensation from the lack of sleep and adapting to the new source of clarity, outside.

As the image became clear, he didn't quite understand why those people were staring so dumbfounded.

"We're they actually watching a TV show or something?" - as quickly as the thought crossed Will's mind, it went away, after what came next.

The camera was aimed at a cloaked figure amidst a townsquare, seemingly bustling with people. The cloaked figure's hands were held high with an indiscernible object. That in itself, wasn't the main issue: around the figure were several bodies, suspended as if held by invisible threads, floating.

A scarlet liquid oozed amidst the scene, enveloping the various levitating bodies, behaving strangely. The liquid didn't fall towards the ground, rather, it went up, as if being attracted to the strange object.

"Blood" - someone in the cafeteria whispered.

Will's first reaction was to cringe from the commentary, but as the people passing by the area being recorded noticed the strangeness and approached the ominous figure to make sense of what was happening, a flash occurred. Faster than Will could discern, those curious people's bodies moved spasmodically and started floating among the others.

It was then he realised the comment to be true; the recently affected people started to produce that same scarlet liquid. Dripping out of their ears, mouths, eyes, noses, blood would be drawn upwards towards the mysterious figure and object. The blood accumulated above. Like a puddle, growing ever larger.

As quickly as that happened the other bystanders realised the strange event for what it was: a threat to their lives.

Panic immediately unraveled.

The journalist's face transpired their realisation, quickly changing from curiosity to alertness to desperation.

The cameraman too, started to move frantically among the despairing mob and the transmission was soon lost.

On the cafeteria, a few moments - no, maybe minutes - had passed in complete silence after the television screen went static. No one in the cafeteria moved or spoke, as if everyone were still catching their breaths.

A crackling voice then broke the silence as if it was glass.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I-I didn't catch your order" - the attendant finally responded, stuttering. "S-sir? Do you still want to order?" The attendant then carefully approached his hand towards Will's shoulder, patting softly.

The young man turned slowly, his face terror stricken, his whole body shaking.

He said:

"it's happening".

****

2 weeks before

"Hey, Kyle, did you catch what the boss said?" - a mid-aged guard casually started talking, poking the coworker at his side with the tip of his elbow. Kyle reacted quickly, moving the mid-aged man's elbow away with the side of his arm.

"'bout what?" - he shrugged, his tone clearly annoyed. At least 10 years younger than his new co-worker, the man had just recently reached his thirties.

"That new thing!" - the older guard, Edgar, replied, emphasizing the word, as if pointing out an obvious fact, only to be greeted with silence. Ed then added: "the thing they put in vault nº2! The one with 'classified contents'" - and gestured the quotation marks, his fingers moving up and down.

"What of it?" - Kyle replied, disinterested, clearly contrasting Ed's excitement.

Kyle wasn't really up to small talk. He had just been moved from the night patrols to this desk job, watching the security cameras all night. He didn't like it one bit.

Ed carried on: "d'you think it has anything to do with that stuff that's in the news?" - he stopped, as if trying to remember the word - "the art... Artifact or something?"

Kyle hadn't really thought about that. He liked that the profile for the job just required keeping unauthorized people out of the building. Simple, objective; he wanted things to continue that way. Now... Now he had to work side by side with someone that talked a lot. All because he had beaten a trespasser too much.

Some people, like Ed, would think this job better: better pay, no need to walk around, ocasional naps. He thought of it as punishment.

"Don't know" - Kyle shrugged again, sipping the last drops of coffee in his mug.

Ed decided to let the subject die. He wasn't disheartened by his coworker's actions; he had a big reason to be jolly: he was retiring in a month. Nothing would bother the old fellow.

"Ed, want some more coffee? - Kyle stood up.

"Yes, please. Thanks" - Ed replied, a bit surprised by the young man's actions.

The merry old man hummed and casually looked back at the several screens flashing in front of the table. He glanced the images, as if accompanying his new co-worker heading towards the lab's kitchen. What the employees called a lab was actually a research center in an university. And the kitchen wasn't really a kitchen, but a staff room that had an old small oven and a microwave to heat up water and homemade food for the employees during their shifts. Atop a small table in the corner of the room was a thermic bottle, a sugar dispenser and other kitchenware.

Ed scratched his shin. Eyes darting from one screen to another. He yawned. The job was usually calm. In his 15 years working there, he could count the number of incidents in his fingers.

Yet, as Ed was closing his eyes, something caught his attention. He sat straight in his chair. It could've been just his mind or maybe the old surveillance cameras acting up. He was sleepy, after all.

It wasn't. The blur he had glimpsed appeared again. From one camera to another a cloaked figure moved quickly. And as fast as it appeared all power went down.

The older man's hands instinctively reached for his gun. He then grabbed his radio: "Kyle, perimeter breach. Unidentified subject, cloaked, moving fast. Last seen in sector 5. Do you copy?"

Standing up, flashlight on, aimed towards the door, Ed tried again: "Kyle, do you copy? We've been breached, cloaked figure last seen in sector 5".

The man felt chills down his spine and started to sweat profusely.

What seemed like an eternity passed in a few seconds. A familiar static sound and voice finally broke the silence:

"Copy that, Ed. The lights came down and I dropped burning hot coffee in my everything. Sorry about that. Going over sector five and following. Over".

Ed felt instantly relieved. His knees weakened for a moment. He grabbed the radio: "Roger that, Kyle. Got me worried there for a second. Over".

As he said that, the energy came on again. First the screens, then the lights. He turned over to look at the surveillance feed again, to try and locate the figure. As the images loaded, his gaze quickly glimpsed past every screen, only to stop in sector nº8's.

He took a second to process what he saw. Have you ever seen yourself in a live surveillance feed, dear reader? Your brain takes a second to process your movements in the image as your own, especially if what you see is mirrored. It's something minor, surely, if you're used to work with it; but in that security guard's gaze, at that exact moment, he saw something he wasn't expecting to see. Ed saw two people standing in the room he was.

In the time he took to realize the cloaked figure was behind him, it was already over. Ed felt but an intense ache on his neck. It sounded like the snap of a finger. His body then tumbled down on the ground, motionless.

As the image of the vaults' room came into focus, something changed. The whole scene seemed off. The image of the last moments of security guard Ed suddenly looked distanced. It hadn't been a "scene". Until the old man's body had hit the floor, everything was "lived". As if what had happened until that very moment suddenly changed perspectives. Now, the shock, the ache, everything had simply ended. As if the plug had been pulled out of the socket. As if the perspective's focus started distancing itself from the scene, tunneling, ever farther... The last shreds of distinguishable images were the cloaked figure calmly approaching the screens, and a whisper...

Will woke up.