Chapter 457 A Room Full of Unspeakable Magic
The sky above the Valley of Zhiem, where the Hall of Codified Spells stands, looks gray even though the sun is shining.
The air around feels heavy, not because of magical pressure, but because of the silent rejection floating among the ancient stone supports of the space. As a faint breeze brushes against them, as if signaling or perhaps warning, Fitran's heart beats irregularly, creating an atmosphere of tension that is almost overwhelming.
Beelzebub and Fitran stand before the door carved from the early days of magic, pausing for a moment in the almost palpable tension. Fitran's expression shows deep anxiety, his lips trembling as his fingers grip the sleeves of his robe tightly.
Above it is inscribed in classic glyphs:
"Magic is not born to be understood. Only to be summoned with a sincere will."
But now, the door does not respond to anyone. For a moment, peace becomes a distant luxury. Beelzebub gazes at the door with a look of doubt, as if waiting for an answer from an unseen entity. Both feel a historical bond, like a thread of time binding them to long-forgotten past events.
Fitran raises his hand.
He tries a simple opening spell—"Verum Apertus." His voice trembles, indicating the doubt creeping into his mind. The silence grips their hearts, each beat seeming to choke with hope that struggles to survive against emptiness.
The Struggle
Nothing happens.
He tries an ancient glyph from the Archive of Pentarh—but that effort proves futile. A look of disappointment crosses his face, and he bites his lower lip, trying to hold back the feeling of emptiness that creeps into his soul.