Prospero stretched and rubbed his eyes.

Another candle, he yelled.

This one was getting low.

Knowing hunger and his stomach kept his eyes from drooping too much, though he was worn

out.

That and his research.

Years upon years in the great libraries of the world, months of translating, and days

without food had all led to this very night.

He dipped the quill and continued on.

He had found them by accident.

Hints had led to clues buried in tombs older than the city he ruled, and he plunged head

first into the search for more.

How many books did he bought from unsuspecting nobles?

They hadn't known the truth what they had, and unknowingly let the mysteries of the

universe leave their libraries for nothing.

He guarded his growing collection, locked away for safekeeping.

But after decades of work, he had finally found the key.

Inside these pages lay something beyond mathematics or astronomy, beyond alchemy even.

Prospero, the Duke of Moan, had discovered magic.

The candle was getting low, and Prospero called out for a servant.

Probably asleep.

Prospero rolled his eyes.

...