Erick approached the counter with measured steps, the sound of his boots echoing softly on the uneven wooden floor of the shop, as if each step were calculated so as not to disturb the precarious balance of that place full of secrets. The air was thick with a dense mixture of burning incense, dried herbs, and something more organic, almost metallic, as if time itself had a scent there. The surrounding shelves seemed to bend under the weight of artifacts that defied logic: dusty glass bottles containing viscous liquids of impossible colors—fluorescent green that pulsed like a living heart, dark purple that bubbled without an apparent heat source—oxidized metal amulets with runes that seemed to move when observed for too long, and books bound in aged leather, yellowed pages with texts in archaic Latin, ancient Greek, and languages that didn't seem human, symbols that made the mind ache just trying to decipher them.
Erick was waiting for a cue, an opening to make his request—he had come seeking knowledge, grimoires that could refine his improvised alchemy, perhaps potions or rituals that would elevate the elemental anchored in his soul to levels beyond mortal. But before he could speak, the woman stared directly at him, her white eyes narrowing as if seeing beyond flesh and bone, penetrating layers he didn't even know existed.
"Would you be willing to sell?" she asked, her voice soft as velvet, but laden with a sharp curiosity, as if each word were a blade testing the flesh.
Erick blinked, caught off guard, the hood shadowing his confused expression. He tilted his head slightly, feeling the elemental pulse in his chest like a subtle warning, a comforting warmth that anchored him to reality. "Sell what?" he asked, his voice low and controlled, echoing in the confined space of the shop, where the air seemed denser now, as if his words had weight of their own.
The woman gave a low laugh, a melodious sound that echoed off the shelves, making the candle flames flicker slightly, as if responding to her amusement. "Don't be silly," she said, tilting her head to the side, her purple hair cascading like silk over her shoulder, revealing more of her soft, tanned skin. "What you've created. This method of gaining power, something extremely rare. I've never seen anything like it. So it must be something new, because it's very difficult for there to be a spell I haven't heard of. Especially for someone who doesn't possess any kind of magical power, or at least didn't."
Erick felt a shiver run down his spine, the elemental warmth slightly stirring in his chest as if on alert, a tingling that spread through his nerves, making his skin prickle subtly beneath his coat. How did she know? He had been careful, years of isolation in the basement, hidden rituals, no leaks. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice firm but with a cautious tone he couldn't completely mask, his blue eyes narrowing beneath the hood, analyzing every micro-expression on her face—the slight arch of her eyebrow, the glint in her white eyes that seemed to probe his soul.
The woman stared directly at him, her white eyes fixed on his, as if reading layers that transcended the physical, penetrating memories, intentions, secrets kept deep in the mind. "You really are self-taught," she said, her voice now with a tone of observation, almost as if she were appraising a rare piece in a collection. "A layman, a layman to be more precise. But I can share this little piece of information with you. Basically, our world is divided into people who possess magical blood and people who don't."
Erick frowned, processing the words, the elemental pulse in his chest like a distant echo of understanding, a warmth spreading through his body, keeping him alert. "Like Harry Potter?" he questioned, the reference escaping almost involuntarily.
The woman blinked, tilting her head slightly, her purple hair swaying like a silk curtain, revealing more of the deep neckline that exposed her soft, tanned skin. "What is Harry Potter?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity, her white eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a new enigma, something outside her vast repertoire of arcane knowledge.
Erick shrugged, feeling the hood brush against the nape of his neck, the rough fabric against his warm skin. "It's not important," he replied, shifting his focus, his mind already racing to the implications of her words, the elemental warmth in his chest a reminder that he had crossed boundaries that shouldn't be crossed.
He continued, his voice low and thoughtful, echoing in the confined space of the shop, where the air now seemed heavier, laden with secrets whispered by the shadows. "So you mean there are two worlds. A world where there are people who use magic and people who don't."
The woman nodded, her white eyes gleaming with an inner light, like endless wells of milk reflecting ancient wisdom, the purple dress adjusting to the subtle movement of her shoulders, revealing more of the generous curve of her breasts. "Almost," she said, her voice soft but correcting precisely. "There is a world as it is. People with magic hide from normal people, because we are an extremely tiny percentage of people."
Erick absorbed the words, feeling the elemental pulse in his chest like an echo of agreement, a warmth that spread through his limbs, keeping him anchored in reality in the face of that revelation. He found it difficult—after all, there were powerful magicians like Zatara, Doctor Fate, figures who shaped reality with words and gestures, capable of defying gods and demons. Why would the magical community hide in this way, living in the shadows when they could dominate the world with a wave of a wand or a whispered incantation? His mind raced, questioning the implications, the balance of power that this suggested, the elemental warming as if it were intrigued too, a shared sense of curiosity that made him feel less alone at that moment.
The woman, as if reading his thoughts—or perhaps sensing them in the air charged with arcane energy around her—smiled slightly, her full lips curving in an arc of ancient wisdom, her white eyes fixed on his as if probing the depths of his mind. "If you're wondering why we mages don't hide, right?" she said, her voice patient, as if explaining a basic lesson to a curious child, but with an underlying respect for his intelligence. "Because, however powerful magic may be, sometimes a bullet is stronger than we can react. Even though there are mages like Zatara, Doctor Doom, those guys are the pinnacle, the pinnacle of magic. Most magical people don't possess that kind of knowledge or that kind of power."
Erick remained silent, processing the words, the elemental calming his chest as if absorbing the revelation along with him, a comforting warmth that helped him maintain focus, his blue eyes fixed on hers, analyzing every nuance—the glint in her white eyes, the slight movement of her lips as she spoke, her relaxed yet confident posture. He understood now: the magical world was not a hidden empire dominating the shadows, but a fragile minority, hiding to survive in a world where technology and brute force could equal or surpass spells. A bullet faster than an enchantment—simple, yet profound, a vulnerability that humanized those who manipulated the arcane.
The woman, as if remembering something, blinked once, her white eyes returning to focus, the purple dress adjusting to the subtle movement of her shoulders, revealing more of her soft, tanned skin. "Ah, right, I was explaining," she said, her voice soft but with a renewed tone, as if the digression had been a passing distraction. "Basically, I can tell you weren't like us. You couldn't use arcane powers, but you changed something." She pointed to his eyes, her long, elegant finger extending in the air, as if tracing an invisible line to his soul, her white eyes fixed on his blue ones, penetrating layers that transcended the physical. "And that's what I want."
Erick instinctively took a step back, the elemental pulsing in his chest like an alert, a heat spreading through his limbs, making his skin tingle slightly, the hood shadowing his expression of surprise and caution. He felt the weight of that statement—she wanted what he had created, the elemental anchored in his soul, the method that had transformed him from an ordinary human into something more, something that defied the rules she had just explained. The air in the shop seemed thicker now, the candles flickering as if responding to the growing tension, the shadows on the shelves dancing like restless specters.
The woman smiled, her full lips curving in an arc of genuine amusement, her white eyes gleaming with an inner light, like endless wells of milk reflecting ancient wisdom, her purple dress adjusting to the subtle movement of her shoulders, revealing more of the generous curve of her breasts. "Tell me what you did," she said, her voice low and hypnotic, like a whisper of wind in an ancient forest, laden with a subtle compulsion that seeped into his mind like mist, her white eyes fixed on his, as if reading layers that transcended the physical.
At that moment, her eyes shone with a deep pink, an ethereal glow that spread like waves on a disturbed lake, penetrating the surrounding air, creating an aura of emotional warmth that enveloped Erick like an invisible embrace. He felt a shiver run down his spine, the world around him losing focus, the shelves and artifacts blurring like distant memories, while the woman before him became the center of everything. Suddenly, she was the great love of his life, the most important person he had ever known, someone for whom he would give everything, reveal everything, without hesitation. His heart raced, a different kind of elemental warmth spreading through his chest, a lightness that made him feel as if he were floating, the secrets he kept like treasures now seeming like nonsense he longed to share with her, the only one who deserved to know.
He opened his mouth, words forming in his throat, ready to escape—the elemental anchoring ritual, the digital grimoires, the nights of pain and experimentation in the basement—but the instant he was about to speak, a fire warmed his chest, a heat that grew like a furnace being stoked, spreading through his limbs, making his skin begin to flush, as if being heated from the inside out. He felt no pain, no burning—it was a calming, comforting sensation, like a hot bath after a cold day, anchoring him to reality, dissipating the lightness like mist in the sun. The heat combated the strange feeling, burning and destroying any influence it was creating in his mind, the layers of compulsion dissolving like melting wax, the world around him returning to sharp focus, the shelves and artifacts solidifying once more.
He looked at her and took a step back, the hood shadowing his alert expression, the elemental now a beacon of clarity on his chest, pulsing like a secondary heart protecting him from the shadows. The woman smiled, her full lips curving in an arc of genuine amusement, her white eyes gleaming with an inner light, like endless wells of milk reflecting ancestral wisdom, the purple dress adjusting to the subtle movement of her shoulders, revealing more of the generous curve of her breasts. "Interesting," she said, her voice low and laden with genuine admiration, as if appraising a rare piece in a collection, her white eyes fixed on his, penetrating layers that transcended the physical. "It seems that what you have created is stronger than I imagined. Very interesting."
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