"So let me get this straight," Salomon said, squinting slightly. "When I go after the next ring, I'm supposed to bring along a 'Hobbit' so I don't get tempted to put it on early?"
The Sorcerer Supreme nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. You wear all of them at once. That's how you take full control of the Vishanti's power."
She paused, then added calmly, "This was just a test. To see if you could handle even one."
Salomon rubbed his temple.
"So I need someone who won't suddenly start whispering 'my precious' under their breath."
He glanced at his hand, remembering the heat that had surged from the ring the moment magic touched it.
Yeah… that kind of temptation isn't theoretical.
But that raised a problem.
Where was he supposed to find someone completely untouched by magic?
The Sorcerer Supreme didn't hesitate.
"Wong."
Salomon blinked.
"He hasn't formed a contract with the Vishanti," she continued. "His training is purely Kamar-Taj's internal disciplines. No direct exposure to their power."
…Well.
That solved that.
They settled on Wong as the "Hobbit" with alarming ease.
After saying his goodbyes, Salomon returned to his room.
This time, the gains were real.
He could finally start working through one of the archmages' memories at a manageable pace.
Step one. First two rings of spells.
Until he finished those, he wasn't going anywhere.
Not London.
Not anywhere.
Not even if child services showed up with a warrant and a school uniform.
Nope.
He mentally cut the "internet cable" to his old life.
This was a magic world.
He didn't need anything else.
…For now.
His plan was simple.
Use the Vishanti's energy—
To run spells from other systems.
Magic was still magic.
At its core, it was just structured energy.
The Weave, mana, raw aether—it didn't matter what you called it. As long as the spell structure held, the source could be adapted.
There were limits.
The Vishanti's power leaned heavily toward light and order.
Necromancy still required his own magic.
But overall?
The system worked.
At least—
Until someone knocked on his door.
"Salomon."
He looked up.
Baron Mordo.
Mordo was… friendly.
Almost too friendly.
Every time he showed up, there was always some variation of—
"I used to hold you when you were a baby."
Salomon didn't remember that.
He didn't want to remember that.
But it did explain a vague sense of discomfort from those early years.
Mordo stepped inside.
"I hear you've been progressing well."
"…Define 'well.'"
"Enough that it's time to expand your training."
Mordo smiled.
It was the kind of smile that meant trouble.
"You've learned how to fight with your body," he said. "Now you need to learn how to fight with tools."
Salomon immediately raised a hand.
"I feel like I should say—hand-to-hand is fine. More than fine. I'm good with that."
Mordo ignored him completely.
Kamar-Taj's artifacts were… unconventional.
There was the so-called Staff of the Living Tribunal, which had very little to do with the actual Living Tribunal—and functioned more like a whip than a staff.
Then there were the Boots of Voldo.
Which—
Let you double jump.
Not exactly elegant.
But undeniably useful.
"Magic isn't always about standing still and chanting," Mordo said, still smiling. "Out there, nothing waits for you to finish a spell."
Salomon took a slow step back.
"I feel like this is a philosophical disagreement."
Mordo grabbed him by the back of his collar.
"Come on."
And just like that, Salomon was dragged out like a particularly uncooperative cat.
"…I hate this," he muttered.
——————
"So let me get this straight," Wong said, arms crossed, expression flat. "You're here to pick up an artifact… and I'm here to play your 'Hobbit'?"
Salomon glanced at him.
"Well… you do fit the role."
Wong narrowed his eyes.
"I'm not Frodo."
A beat.
"I'm Sam."
"…Physically, that checks out," Salomon said. "But you can't cook."
Wong snorted.
"Besides," Salomon added, "I might need your fists."
That earned a grin.
"So you finally admit it. Punching things works better than magic."
"Only because you keep attacking me mid-incantation."
"Skill issue."
It was 2007.
Salomon was twelve now.
He had already learned parts of both Kamar-Taj's system and Toril-style spellcasting. Basic manipulation of magical flames was well within his range.
The two of them stepped through a portal—
—and into London.
The rain had just stopped.
The streets were slick, reflecting dull gray light off stone and pavement. The air carried a faint sharpness, a trace of ozone that cut through the usual heaviness of the city.
Not as clean as Kamar-Taj.
But better than most places.
Splash.
Salomon stepped straight into a puddle.
He froze.
His shoe was soaked.
Wong didn't even try to hide his amusement.
"You've got British citizenship now," he said. "Better get used to it."
Salomon grimaced.
"I refuse."
"Pretty sure the Sorcerer Supreme wants you in a normal school too."
"That's not school. That's 'foundational logical training.'"
Salomon lifted his foot slightly, wincing at the squelch.
"Math. Physics. Chemistry. Apparently those count as 'essential cultivation.'"
"…I didn't have to do that."
"You were born at Kamar-Taj," Salomon said. "You don't even have paperwork."
A pause.
"But once you start using Vishanti magic, they'll probably fix that."
He left out one detail.
The part where he technically wasn't bound to the Vishanti.
Officially, he was.
In reality?
He was just… borrowing.
"Anyway," Salomon added, glancing sideways, "this artifact requires someone with minimal exposure to their magic."
Wong stiffened slightly.
Salomon noticed.
"…Don't overthink it," he said. "The Sorcerer Supreme has her reasons. And you're already stronger than most of the contract casters here."
Wong exhaled slowly.
"…In what way?"
"You don't need sleep."
"…That's not comforting."
They walked in silence for a moment.
Then Wong asked, "So what's the plan?"
Salomon looked ahead.
The British Museum stood before them.
"Step one," he said, "we go inside."
The moment they crossed the threshold—
Something shifted.
The air felt… heavier.
Denser.
Magic.
Everywhere.
Wong frowned, glancing around.
"You feel that?"
Salomon nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
He pointed.
Statues.
Artifacts.
Fragments of history pulled from every corner of the world.
A bronze Shiva.
Wooden carvings from island cultures.
Marble figures from ancient Greece.
Relics from Egypt.
And more.
Much more.
Each one carried something.
Not obvious.
Not loud.
But—
Present.
"…That's a lot," Wong muttered.
Salomon swallowed.
Even knowing what to expect—
The sheer density of it was overwhelming.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" Wong asked quietly.
Salomon didn't answer right away.
"…We're not stealing anything," he said finally.
Wong blinked.
"…Good."
Salomon's eyes shifted slightly.
Scanning.
"Not the artifacts," he corrected.
Wong's expression tightened.
Salomon lowered his voice.
"It's the guardians."
A beat.
Wong frowned.
"…Guardians?"
Salomon didn't look at him.
Instead—
His gaze slid sideways.
"Tell me you can see them," he murmured.
Wong followed his line of sight.
And saw—
Nothing.
Salomon exhaled slowly.
"…Figures."
His voice dropped even further.
"They're everywhere."