The report landed on my desk like any other.
Routine. Clinical. Contained.
And yet the moment I read the name, I knew just how wrong that assumption was.
The Darkhold.
Not just a dark magical object—but the dark magical object. A book that didn't merely contain forbidden knowledge, but actively wanted to be read. A relic capable of warping minds, eroding judgment, and turning even the most disciplined individual into a willing pawn.
This was not something you left to chance.
Containment protocols had already been enacted by the time the report reached me, and I had to admit—they were elegant. Brutally so.
A multilayered vault, each layer sealed independently. The access codes distributed to four separate individuals, carefully selected, isolated, and ensured to have absolutely no knowledge of one another's identities. No single person could even approach full access.
To open the vault required unanimous cooperation.
Even if one went rogue, they could only breach a fraction of the defenses. Even if guards were compromised, the Darkhold would still remain locked away, unable to manipulate its way into the wrong hands.
Redundancy layered on paranoia.
Exactly how it should be.
I delegated full operational authority to the Site Director and signed off without ceremony. From a logistical standpoint, the situation was already under control. Secure. Stable.
Handled.
And yet… the report lingered in my thoughts far longer than it should have.
Because the Darkhold was a reminder.
A reminder that not all threats fit neatly into containment chambers and protocol binders. That magic in this world wasn't just anomalous—it was ancient, subtle, and deeply intertwined with belief, intent, and consequence.
We had mastered technology.We had bent anomalies to our understanding.We had even chained gods' blind spots and built minds of fire that answered only to us.
But magic?
Magic played by older rules.
That realization crystallized into a single, unavoidable conclusion.
It was time to reach out.
The Sorcerer Supreme was not a threat—not yet, and not by design. Kamar-Taj stood as a parallel power structure, one that safeguarded reality through traditions and disciplines the Foundation did not fully comprehend.
And that was precisely why we needed them.
Not as subjects.Not as assets.But as partners.
If the Foundation was going to continue securing artifacts like the Darkhold—objects that blurred the line between anomaly, spell, and cosmic law—then cooperation with Kamar-Taj was no longer optional.
It was inevitable.
I leaned back in my chair, already considering how best to initiate first contact—not with force, not with containment teams, but with diplomacy.
Careful. Respectful. Strategic.
Because some books don't scream when you lock them away.
They whisper.
And I had no intention of letting the Darkhold—or the forces behind it—be the ones dictating the next chapter of this world.