Albert sat at his desk, staring at the worn pages of the book he had discovered the night before. The candle beside him flickered, casting long shadows across the dimly lit library. His fingers traced the faded ink, his mind turning over the implications of what he had found.

  A sealed chamber beneath the academy.

  If this record was accurate, then the academy itself had been built on something far older. Something that predated the current era of magic.

  His heartbeat quickened. Could this be a remnant of the True Dragon era?

  Albert leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. This was dangerous. The last time he had chased after forbidden knowledge, he had nearly lost his life. But this… this was different. This was not a hoax or a desperate ritual. This was real.

  But if it was so significant, why had no one else found it?

  Albert flipped through the pages, searching for more clues. The text was vague, written in the archaic script of old scholars. It spoke of a gate beneath the academy, sealed by ancient magic.

  Not destroyed. Sealed.

  That meant whatever was down there still existed.

  Albert closed the book and set it aside. He needed to find the entrance.

  But first, he needed to prepare.

  Over the next few days, Albert carefully surveyed the academy grounds. He was cautious not to draw attention to himself, keeping up his duties as a teacher while subtly gathering information.

  Velhan’s Small Academy was built centuries ago, but it had undergone many renovations. Parts of the original structure remained, hidden beneath layers of newer construction. If the gate existed, it would likely be in the oldest section of the building.

  Albert started with the basement archives.

  It was the least-visited part of the academy, a place where old records and damaged books were stored. The stone walls were rough, untouched by modern masonry. It was cold, damp, and mostly forgotten.

  The perfect place to hide something ancient.

  Albert spent hours studying the structure, running his fingers along the stone walls, searching for inconsistencies. At first, he found nothing. But on the third night, as he pressed against a section of the farthest wall, he felt it—

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  A faint indentation beneath his fingertips.

  His pulse quickened.

  Carefully, he traced the outline of the stone. It was a square, slightly different in texture from the surrounding wall. Not a natural formation. A door.

  Albert stepped back, exhaling. He had found it.

  But there was no handle. No visible mechanism to open it.

  He pulled out the book again, scanning the text for anything he had missed.

  "The gate remains closed to those without the key. Only the resonance of the past may unseal it."

  Resonance.

  Albert frowned. That word had significance. It suggested something related to magic.

  He needed a way to activate it.

  Albert spent the next week searching for anything that could serve as the key. He poured through forgotten texts, cross-referencing symbols and spells. If this chamber was sealed with Old Magic, then a modern spell might not work.

  The answer came unexpectedly.

  While browsing the academy’s oldest records, he found a rusted medallion hidden within a stack of decayed scrolls. It was simple, unadorned—except for a single engraving.

  A spiral-like symbol.

  Albert recognized it immediately. It was the same emblem referenced in the book.

  Could this be it?

  That night, he returned to the basement.

  Standing before the sealed door, he held up the medallion. The moment the metal touched the stone, a deep hum resonated through the air.

  The wall shuddered.

  Dust rained down as the outline of the hidden door glowed faintly, old runes flickering to life. Then—slowly, with an agonizing groan—the stone receded inward, revealing a dark passage beyond.

  Albert’s breath hitched.

  It had worked.

  Beyond the entrance lay a narrow stone staircase, spiraling downward into darkness. A thick, heavy air pressed against Albert’s skin as he stepped inside.

  He summoned a small orb of light—one of the few practical spells he had mastered. It hovered beside him, casting a faint glow along the walls.

  The deeper he went, the colder it became. The air smelled of damp earth and something else—something ancient.

  Finally, he reached the bottom.

  The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. Strange markings covered the walls—old, unfamiliar scripts carved into the stone. At the center of the room stood a monolithic altar, its surface covered in intricate grooves.

  Albert approached cautiously. His fingers brushed the stone, tracing the worn symbols.

  This was no ordinary ruin.

  This was a remnant of the True Dragon era.

  And it was still intact.

  He swallowed hard. He had expected ruins, collapsed tunnels, something broken. But this place was preserved, as if untouched by time.

  What had the people of that era hidden here?

  Albert stepped closer to the altar. Something glimmered beneath the dust—a small, blackened fragment of stone. It pulsed faintly, as if still alive with energy.

  His hands trembled as he picked it up.

  The moment his fingers closed around the fragment, his vision blurred.

  A wave of pure, unfiltered magic coursed through him. His veins burned, his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Images flashed before his eyes—a forgotten war, a towering dragon engulfed in flame, cities reduced to ash.

  Then—

  Darkness.

  Albert collapsed to his knees, gasping.

  The fragment dropped from his grasp, its glow fading.

  His hands shook. His body felt wrong, as if something inside him had changed.

  Albert stared at the fragment, his mind racing.

  This was it. This was the key.

  The Old Magic still existed.

  And if he could harness it—if he could control it—

  Then maybe, just maybe…

  He could become immortal.