Two hours remained before the flying enclave was due to rise.
The first pale light of dawn brushed the horizon. Beneath the thin strip of land in the distance, the sun still seemed too shy to reveal itself, casting only a frosty glow across half the night sky. The stars faded, and the waning moon slipped from sight.
A large ship approaching from the eastern sea circled the island before finally docking in the southern harbor, the banner of Candlekeep snapping loudly in the wind.
Five battered wooden rafts from the northern islands followed close behind and landed on the harbor beach. Kobolds clad in mismatched pieces of rusted metal beat on clay pots while singing hymns in praise of dragons.
The scholars and priests from Candlekeep, who had come in pursuit of knowledge, met the kobolds from the northern islands, who had come in pursuit of a dragon, on the beach.
First Reader Bookwyrm and Bishop Ulen of Oghma disembarked together, exchanging exceedingly polite words. Both men remained wary of the other. This atmosphere of competition had already spread through Candlekeep before they boarded the ship. Ever since the white-robed warlock's visit, the citadel's once-tranquil scholars had grown restless.
Countless people dreamed day and night of obtaining The Oghma Infinium and the limitless knowledge promised by the man in white. A bear that had tasted honey would endure the bees' stings, and a butterfly that had smelled flowers would never willingly settle among weeds again.
Any seeker of knowledge who had seen that book became as obsessed as though tempted by a devil. They lost their appetites and could barely sleep. When they leafed through the spell notes in their possession, the words seemed as flavorless as chewed wax. Whether meditating or lost in thought, they could not stop remembering that sinister and unfathomably profound tome.
The memory of its words and diagrams still sent excitement surging through their bodies and made their mouths water. Of course, there was also the endless torment of having the text cut off before its secrets were revealed. That frustration lingered like a scar that itched every day. The complicated feeling was like having a pebble trapped inside one's shoe, impossible to ignore no matter how one stepped.
When the white-robed man transformed into a dragon and flew away, it was as though he had carried the scholars' souls out to sea with him, leaving only empty bodies wandering the mainland. Over the past few days, Candlekeep had become filled with pitiful creatures who wandered around distracted and absentminded, little better than walking corpses.
An invisible specter seemed to hover over the Sword Coast, calling every scholar toward the Sea of Swords.
Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes, had used divination magic to observe the Cimarine Isles. He had clearly witnessed the earthshaking miracle taking place upon the lonely island. As a spellcaster himself, he naturally understood the immense power required to alter the natural environment across such a vast area.
He immediately summoned the Readers to discuss how they might obtain a complete copy of The Oghma Infinium from the white-robed figure who appeared to be a dragon.
As proud scholars of Candlekeep, they believed themselves the guardians of a great historical legacy, heirs to the banner of Alaundo the Seer. They had no intention of abandoning their institution and pledging themselves to another so easily.
Ulraunt therefore proposed reaching an agreement with the stranger. Candlekeep could contribute both money and labor in exchange for access to his collection. After some discussion, they concluded that paying between five hundred thousand and nine million gold pieces for the right to copy a legendary spell would fall within a reasonable price range.
Considering that the white-robed man had solemnly declared his intention to create a flying enclave, he would undoubtedly require large numbers of spellcasters and craftsmen. Candlekeep could serve as one of the project's principal contractors and take responsibility for at least part of the construction.
The mere thought that their offer might actually secure what they wanted filled the Avowed with joyful energy. They worked throughout the night without sleeping, riding transparent force platforms created by repeated castings of [Tenser's Floating Disk] as they searched Candlekeep's ocean of books for every surviving record concerning flying enclaves.
Anyone bidding on a project had to demonstrate both sincerity and professional competence.
After an entire day and night of frantic preparation, Candlekeep's normally unhurried scholars displayed unprecedented efficiency. They gathered ancient Netherese scrolls and arcanists' notes, then used them to assemble the beginnings of a standardized blueprint for a flying enclave. Their work even included fragments of authentic construction plans associated with Xinlenal, Ioulaum's legendary first flying enclave.
This was what it meant to possess the weight of history.
Filled with confidence, Candlekeep's representatives boarded their ship and sailed toward Skyl's island, intending to meet the great spellcaster whom they suspected of being a dragon.
The priests of Oghma had plans of their own. Their objective was also The Oghma Infinium, and they had prepared their own bargaining chips. As representatives of a lawful divine faith whose influence extended across the continent, their resources could not be underestimated.
The two ordinarily harmonious factions within Candlekeep had developed a degree of uncomfortable distance because of their conflicting interests. Naturally, none of this would destroy the deep bonds and connections between them.
Compared with the secret calculations of civilized people, the kobold tribes from the northern Cimarine Isles were far more straightforward.
They had come to find a dragon and pledge themselves to it.
As kobolds, they possessed a fanatical reverence for evil dragons. When other races trembled beneath a dragon's presence, kobolds alone became so happy they nearly fainted. A mighty dragon had finally arrived, and their prayers had been answered. From this day forward, they might have the honor of serving as the dragon's loyal minions. Countless creatures would kill for such a privilege.
The encounter between the kobolds and Candlekeep's delegation was almost like a beautiful misunderstanding.
"Bishop Ulen, what do you recommend?" Bookwyrm asked softly.
Candlekeep's delegation included not only spellcasters but also numerous elite warriors. On paper, they possessed enough strength to wage a small war. Using such a force against kobolds would be excessive.
"We have entered a dragon's territory," the elderly priest replied with measured dignity. "As guests ourselves, how could we drive away another guest?"
"Then we will leave them alone."
The kobolds descended into confusion for a while. After realizing that the humans had made no threatening movements, they reluctantly calmed down.
The two groups watched each other cautiously as they passed through the forest, crossed the streams, and began climbing toward the summit in the north.
"Who could imagine that only three days ago, this was a barren island where not even grass would grow?" Bookwyrm murmured.
He was an eminent dragonborn sage of green-dragon ancestry. Emerald scales covered parts of his face, but his eyes were clear and showed none of the malevolence associated with chromatic dragons.
"Can you feel it?" Ulen asked solemnly.
He gazed toward the mist-shrouded summit. A faint radiance flickered there, beautiful enough to take one's breath away. Magical energy filled the surrounding region in extraordinary abundance. Natural portals leading into the Feywild had even formed deep within the forest, and gentle fey creatures could occasionally be seen slipping between the trees.
"An abnormally powerful high-magic zone," Bookwyrm said with a nod. "It may have been created by a magical device similar to a mythallar."
"That would be unfortunate," Bishop Ulen muttered.
Their proposed payment included valuable information concerning mythallars. It would be rather embarrassing if the other party had no need for their knowledge.
As they drew closer to the summit, strange magical phenomena began to appear.
No matter how long they walked, the summit seemed no nearer than before.
"Space has been stretched," one of Candlekeep's scholars quickly concluded. "The distance from the mountainside to the summit is far greater than it appears. However, as long as we continue forward, the path itself will not end."
Encouraged by this explanation, everyone redoubled their efforts. Not far away, the kobolds beat their pots with renewed enthusiasm as they marched.
Suddenly, a tremendous magical shockwave erupted from the summit.
The earth shook violently as the entire island began to rise. Breaking free from the pull of gravity, it slowly ascended into the heavens.
The kobolds, who had been marching with such excitement moments earlier, instantly lost all courage. They threw themselves flat on the ground, raised both hands over their heads, and begged for mercy.
The scholars stared at one another, their faces flushed with excitement. Several of them completely abandoned the usual tranquility of the Avowed and shouted so violently that spittle flew from their mouths.
"A flying enclave! A flying enclave is truly being born!"
As the island left the ocean, the surrounding seawater surged toward the immense void it had left behind. Viewed from above, the surface of the sea resembled a gigantic open maw. Anything caught in that violent convergence would meet a terrible end.
That included Candlekeep's ship.
The scholars who had remained aboard desperately attempted to save themselves, but ultimately had no choice except to abandon the vessel. The coins and cargo stored belowdecks could only be surrendered to the sea.
The loss exceeded two million gold pieces, enough to make many archmages clutch their chests in agony. Even a great city such as Waterdeep or Neverwinter collected only about half that value in taxes over the course of an entire year.
Yet not even such catastrophic news could overshadow the spiritual shock of witnessing an island rise into the sky.
If the spellcasters of Faerûn shared any collective dream, the flying enclave was surely among its brightest jewels. Like Dalaran in the hearts of Warcraft players, it represented the pride of an entire magical age.
"Oh, who in all the planes is that man?" one of Candlekeep's scholars groaned in astonishment.
Old Ulen shook his head with a helpless smile.
"It seems we greatly underestimated this mysterious spellcaster. Perhaps he is an ancient dragon. How else could he have accumulated enough wealth to hurl an entire island into the sky?"
"Whatever the truth may be, let us continue our pilgrimage," Bookwyrm said reverently. "We are the first guests ever to set foot upon this flying enclave."
At those words, Candlekeep's scholars straightened their backs with pride. At the same time, they cast disdainful glances toward the trembling kobolds.
What made those wretches think they belonged in the same company?
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