—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
The Grimoire was strangely intact — as if it had warded off dust and decay itself.
Tsshh.
Arion brushed his hand across the silver-stitched cover. The texture stirred something old — a memory layered deep beneath exhaustion and survival.
He remembered the first time his mother had handed him a notebook. Cheap leather, soft corners, half-filled already with her sketches of atoms and stars. She'd said, "Every discovery deserves a home."
He'd filled that book until the spine cracked, pages blotched with ink and coffee, every margin a battlefield of equations and doodles.
The weight in his chest tightened. Those evenings in the kitchen — wires, smoke, laughter.
He almost smiled. She'd said science was just another form of faith — you build, you test, you trust.
Now here he was, touching a relic that still survived through the ruin, and the ache of it nearly undid him.
He exhaled, steadying himself. "You'd lose your mind seeing this, Mum."
The humour barely caught in his throat before fading into the quiet hum of the shard above.
…
After steadying himself, he tried the cover again — but to his surprise, it didn't budge. The book refused to open, as though it meant to guard its own secrets.
After several attempts, frustration took hold. He slammed it back down on the desk, muttering under his breath. Everything in this temple seemed like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
He studied it again. The only thing separating this Grimoire from the ruined tomes scattered across the room was the silver shard set into its spine — a shard alive with glistening specks, like starlight trapped in glass.
He narrowed his eyes, suspicion lighting behind them as if he had found his culprit.
Humm.
He tapped the shard — and it pulsed, a ripple of energy brushing through his Vitalis, a resonant thrum like heartbeat meeting current. The sensation was strange yet unmistakable, like a coded signal pinging back at him.
I wonder…
He brushed his hand over it again, drawing Vitalis into his palm.
Vmmm.
The response was instant — communication, resonance. It felt like the familiar dialogue between Vitalis and Luminary Essence, yet somehow more alive, more personal.
Then the shard flared. A sharp burst of light bloomed above the Grimoire, threads of essence weaving into form.
"What the—"
Tzzshhhk.
Letters and symbols floated in the air — lines of text sculpted from light, data hanging like a constellation of thought.
—— ❖ ——
❖ [Shard Codex]❖
[Grimoire of Vitalis]
Attuned: [Arion]
[Common]
Tool/Grimoire
[Vitalis Traits]
Pages drink true knowledge and never stain or rot; the tome answers eager hands.
Unusually resistant to most elements, resists time and weather alike.
Knowledge Is Infinite: When fed genuine knowledge, the Grimoire conjures a spectral quill and records without cost.
[Luminary Boons]
Page of Memory — Once per day, the Grimoire allows the use of a prepared spell without any Vitalis cost. Only if the wielder meets its tier.
[Temperament]
Attentive, curious—rewards honest pursuit; rejects falsehoods and hollow scribbles.
[Description]
Slate-and-leather binding stitched in silver thread; the edges of its pages glimmer like wet ink, and the quill's feather glistens faintly when writing.
He wrote until the ink ran dry, and the Grimoire refused him — for his words had become an echo of madness.
—— ❖ ——
Arion stared, wide-eyed — the first time he'd seen writing appear on its own outside the journal.
"Grimoire of Vitalis?" He read it aloud, half disbelief, half awe.
"So that's your name."
Attuned to… me?
"My Vitalis," He cupped his chin, "a signature print?"
He let out a short laugh. "Explains why I couldn't open it."
His gaze drifted to the inscription at the bottom.
Echo of madness… hmm. He smirked.
I wonder who that could be.
When he pulled his hand away, the floating text dissolved — threads of essence unravelling back into the shard.
He tried the book again. It opened easily now, as if it recognised its owner.
But to his surprise, the pages were blank.
"Huh. No previous owner? Or maybe it wipes itself for confidentiality."
With a shrug, he leaned in.
"Let's see what you can do, then."
He placed his hands on the page, mimicking the weight and motion of a pen. Faint Ink began to appear beneath invisible strokes, lines forming deliberate, confident shapes.
Then, as if in quiet approval, a quill shimmered into existence — weightless, balanced, and familiar, as though it had always belonged to him.
As the final line formed, the ink shimmered faintly—then sank into the paper, lining his handwriting. It was as if the ink was weaving into his handwriting, like it was learning who its new owner was. A quiet thrum pulsed through the spine of the Grimoire, a slight approval, better than rejection.
The quill twitched once in his fingers, like something alive deciding whether to trust him.
There, on the first page, he wrote his entry:
—— ❖ ——
Attunement — Signature Imprint:
Hypothesis: the shard's lattice doesn't just respond to Vitalis; it records it — like a form of energetic genetics. Every wielder's Vitalis carries a distinct structural code, microscopic in variation but precise enough to be recognised. Through feeding this unique code, the shard's crystalline matrix begins to align with that pattern, creating, what I call, a Signature Imprint.
It isn't ownership. It's recognition at the molecular scale — coexistence written into the shard's very structure.
—— ❖ ——
"Nifty little fella — seems we've got ourselves a proper conversation starter."
He was still scanning the silver shard when a glint caught his eye. Beneath torn paper at the desk's edge lay another shard — green, smoother, its surface rotating around an oval core.
It reminded him of the Grimoire's shard, only this one seemed designed to fit into something — a power relay or conduit, maybe.
Curiosity won instantly. He reached out, channelling Vitalis toward it.
Vhhhmm.
Thumm-
Whshh!
The shard flared to life, light bursting outward and twisting into shape. In a blink, matter formed around it — a brilliant Quarterstaff replacing where the shard had been.
Before he could even process the transformation, the familiar script of the Shard Codex unfurled again above it, pulsing with essence.
"Wow," he muttered. "Talk about a dopamine kick."
He grinned at the flickering flame on his shoulder. "Ahh, I don't think I'll ever get tired of this. How about you, buddy?"
The flame quivered in shared excitement.
—— ❖ ——
❖ [Shard Codex]❖
[Quarterstaff of Recall]
Attuned:[Arion]
[Uncommon]
Weapon / Quarterstaff
[Vitalis Traits]
The staff shines brightest when its enemy moves to its wielders rhythm — Vitalis flow intensifies in rhythm with opposition, turning balance into momentum.
Channels minor kinetic flow from the wielder's Vitalis for improved leverage and accuracy.
[Luminary Boons]
Bound to Hand — Anchored through a Vitalis resonance signature. When thrown or displaced beyond reach, the staff obeys the signatures magnetic recall, reversing its course through Luminary flow until it strikes the wielder's palm once more.
[Temperament]
Loyal, ferocious — answers precision and rhythm; resists erratic Vitalis signatures.
[Description]
A quarterstaff of deep red-tinged hardwood, its grain threaded with faint essence shimmer. Iron-dark fittings reinforce both ends — plain but enduring, etched faintly with circular groove lines that pulse when Vitalis is channelled. When thrown, the air behind it ripples faintly as if pulled by an unseen tether.
It never left his hand — even when he no longer had the strength to hold it.
—— ❖ ——
When he lifted his hand, the text dissolved once more. Arion turned his attention to the weapon in front of him.
The quarterstaff felt strong, reliable, smooth to the skin — the faint shimmer of Vitalis dancing beneath the grain. Iron-dark fittings capped either end, etched with fine circular grooves.
Unc would've lost his mind over this one
He laid it flat on his palm, testing its balance. Then, with a sudden drop of his arm, the staff fell — only for his foot to catch and flip it neatly back into his grasp.
"It's incredibly even," he murmured. "Whoever made this knew what they were doing."
He grinned. "You'd have acted like a kid with this."
He twirled it through his fingers — smooth, fluid.
Even with this new body, I've still got it. Feels like subconscious muscle memory's driving the wheel.
He ran his thumb along the wood, studying the finish.
"Beautiful. No warps, no tool marks."
The grain under his thumb carried faint warmth—like Vitalis threading through microscopic veins. He'd seen similar reactions in test rods back home, but never in organic material. Whoever crafted this understood both timber and energy conduction.
Clnk.
Bracing one end to the floor, he pressed down, feeling it bend. The staff hummed, vibrating with soft resonance.
"The vibrations feel immaculate."
He let go. It sprang back, and he caught it mid-arc, spinning it as his eyes tracked the motion. It was the kind of test only someone who'd broken many staves before would make — a subconscious check for recovery speed, drag, and rotational fatigue.
When he stopped, a satisfied grin tugged at his mouth.
"Okay, I'll admit. Worth the headache."
He recalled how the staff had materialised from the shard. Testing a theory, he channelled Vitalis into the embedded green crystal. The staff blurred, deconstructing into pure essence, folding neatly back into its shard state.
"And here I thought you couldn't get any better."
He did the same with the Grimoire, watching both items shrink to gleaming shards. He tucked them carefully into his robe.
The air shifted. A ripple passed through the hanging ash, as if the ruin itself exhaled. Shards buried in the walls flickered once, faint as old stars. For a heartbeat he thought he heard whispering—a rustle of pages turning far below.
"Well–This can't be everything, right?"
He looked around the study. "Now… if I were an insane madman…"
He began searching the room with obsessive energy.
Secret button under the desk — nothing.
Hidden lever in the shelves — nothing.
Push-in stone brick for door activation — still nothing.
"Damn it. I've checked all the stereotype spots."
He paused, frowning.
He stood in silence, eyes scanning the walls — half-amused, half-determined.
No — I have to think like a real madman.
A grin appeared across his face.
What would I do…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——