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Clara’s boots sunk into the mud as she explored the ruins. Ancient tree stumps and scattered piles of stones broke up the landscape, the last remnants of the buildings and gardens created by her ancestors centuries ago.
There were plenty of historical records of the encroaching glaciers and freezing storms that had driven her people to flee south, abandoning the northern continent. They'd kept only what they could carry, allowing their magical traditions to continue, but not without a certain amount of lost knowledge. Legends spoke of great libraries that had been sealed underground to preserve them for future generations, in the event that they were someday able to return to their ancestors' homeland.
In recent years, the ice had been retreating, which finally opened up opportunities to explore along the coastline each summer. The ground was treacherous out here, prone to sinkholes and landslides, but many brave explorers were uncovering treasure troves of fascinating artefacts as a reward for their perseverance.
This spring, Clara had finally graduated with all of the skills required to make a name for herself.
The leftover fragments of fallen walls indicated that a particularly large building had once stood here. Very promising. She drove her spade into the earth until it hit something solid, and set about clearing the sediment until she could see the flagstones underneath.
The floor was remarkably intact, beneath the grime. She worked inwards from the edge of the building, pausing every so often for a sip of water from her flask. Eventually, she uncovered a trapdoor, its brass handle gleaming as it caught the sunlight for the first time in a great many years.
Once she'd hoisted the thing open, the entryway revealed a set of stone stairs leading down to a narrow chamber. She summoned a ball of magelight and sent it down into the gloom. The soft green light illuminated an ornately carved door and a brass panel, both set into the far wall.
After giving the air a minute to circulate, she descended the steps and started to inspect the room. An alcove beneath the stairs was split into a broad set of shelves, but there was nothing else to add to her initial observations.
When she tried the door, it wouldn't budge.
The brass panel nearby was on hinges, and it swung open easily, revealing a manastone set inside the wall. The dull surface revealed it to be completely drained of charge.
She'd never seen such a large manastone before, but she'd hoped to find something like this. Usually, they varied from palmstones at the large end of the scale, to small gems inset in jewellery, or rock dust suitable only for use as a low-grade spell component. They couldn't be mined in the southern continent, so the ones brought along during the great migration formed an extremely limited supply. Usually, people managed their energy using cheaper alternatives, such as the potions brewed from ingredients found in the southern forests and fens.
This manastone was as long as her arm, two handspans tall, and presumably as deep as the interior of the wall. If its purpose was to power the building, then recharging it was her best shot at getting any further inside.
She laid a hand on the glassy surface and poured a steady flow of energy into the stone. By the time she'd drained herself, a faint glow suffused the manastone's core, though it was still dull around the edges. The door still wouldn't open.
Fortunately, she'd come prepared. She retreated to the alcove and set down her bags, then rummaged around for a potion. Once she'd downed it, she washed away the bitter taste with a few slices of dried fruit and a swig of water. While she was waiting for the effects to kick in, she took off her muddy boots and cloak, and jotted down some notes in her journal.
It wasn't long before she felt refreshed. She padded over to the door in her socks, and had another go at charging the manastone. The glow at its heart was slightly brighter when she'd finished, though it was still clearly a long way from full power.
She tried the door again. This time, it slid open soundlessly, revealing a vast and dimly lit room.
Most of the floorspace was taken up by wooden shelves filled with ancient books. Everything seemed to be in remarkably good condition. She stepped inside, hardly daring to breathe as she looked over her treasure trove.
A brass plaque near the entrance caught her eye. It was covered in the old script, the written language that her ancestors had used before they'd adopted some of the conventions of the other southern peoples. She'd studied it thoroughly enough to be confident that she could translate it with the aid of a dictionary, which was more than any layperson could manage. Only a small number of experts could do any better.
She took her dictionary from a pocket of her tunic and started translating the text, talking to herself as she worked.
"The heading looks like... 'commands'. Then the first line is 'to pause' or 'to hesitate', then a conjugation of 'to speak', then, uh... why isn't that word in here? Oh, nevermind, I'll make some notes later."
For now, she wandered over to the nearest bookshelf. The thick volumes there were bound in a variety of materials; leather, fabric, and things she didn't even recognise.
She picked up a book with a purple cover. The gilt writing on the front had mostly worn away, but the titlepage was undamaged.
"Day, fruit tree, growing… visiting… oh, a day visiting the orchard!"
She felt a spark of pride at figuring out the title, then a fizz of magic as her surroundings faded away.
A split-second of darkness washed over her, followed by a blinding light. She blinked as her eyes adjusted.
The sun shone overhead. A warm breeze carried the scent of vegetation and ripe fruit. Quite a contrast to the dim basement that she'd been in mere seconds ago.
Trees rustled in the wind, stretching out as far ahead as she could see. A cottage stood nearby, smoke rising from its chimney.
A stranger stood beside her and met her gaze with a smile. "Are you ready to proceed?"
The words were unfamiliar, but she understood them anyway.
"What? Where are we?" Basic questions, perhaps, but she had to start somewhere.
"I'm glad to hear it," her companion replied, as if she'd said something completely different. "We do try to make the entire tour enjoyable, but you're certainly not the only one to anticipate this part above all else."
"What?" She blinked, then decided to look elsewhere for answers.
When she set off towards the cottage, her companion kept pace beside her.
Feeling rather contrary, she turned and headed in the opposite direction. The trees cast the path in partial shade, letting through beams of golden sunlight.
Nobody followed her. She was starting to think she was free to explore when she suddenly found herself transported. One moment she was walking along the path, and the next, she was right in front of the cottage, about to walk into the wall. She stumbled and caught herself.
Her guide was busy unlocking the door. Once it was open, he stepped back and held out an arm in invitation. "Guests first."
"What sort of tour is this? What's inside?"
Her question received no response. She glanced over her shoulder, but she clearly wasn't going to be able to walk away. Her mana was still too drained to attempt any spells to sense or negate illusions. Besides, didn't this match the title of that book? Perhaps this was a recording of someone's experience, or a fiction created to entertain.
She stepped across the threshold, then followed the guide upstairs to a surprisingly large attic bedroom. A dozen or so people were already there, talking amongst themselves and admiring the view through the barred windows. The floor was covered with mats and cushions. A large bed rested by the far wall. Several storage boxes were spaced around the room, their lids still closed.
"A fine suggestion," her guide told her, patting her shoulder.
"What? What do you think I said?"
It was no use, of course. Her companion walked off, leaving her to wait by the door.
Another guest approached her. "Having fun?"
"Uh..."
"The citrons were my favourite, too. Gosh, this is awkward, isn't it? Do you think this counts as breaking the ice?"
Music started playing from an unknown source.
"Yes, come along, I'll introduce you."
Her new friend took hold of her hand and pulled her along, catching her off-balance.
They sank into one of the cushions together. Someone else's hands rubbed her back, then started pulling off her tunic. She tried to break away, but she couldn't shift the arms encircling her waist.
"Wait, wait..."
"Thank you."
A soft pair of lips brushed her cheek. Firm hands tilted her face up, and then she was being kissed, a warm and inescapable pressure against her closed mouth.
One of her hands was pressed against someone's breast. She tried to pull away, but her palm was squished into the soft flesh.
How could this be happening so quickly? She couldn't get her bearings.
She was tipped back, sinking further into the cushion. Someone laid across her chest and started sucking off another guest. So much skin against skin.
Her leggings were being pulled off. It didn't feel right to kick out. She might hurt someone. Or she might not be able to hurt anyone, and then she'd have to face up to the cold hard fact that she couldn't control what happened to her.
The music trilled like birdsong.
She was kissed by someone whose tongue carried the taste of strawberry liqueur.
A hot, wet mouth sucked a path up her thigh, biting and licking, until it found a more sensitive target between her legs.
She heard herself whining, an involuntary sound deep in her throat. Fingers slid into her cunt, making her gasp, and a tongue pressed in alongside them before returning to her clit.
Someone was sucking on her left breast and squeezing her right. Maybe multiple someones. She kept her eyes screwed shut as tingling pleasure built up, stoked by every touch. Could she trust that this experience would continue without taking a turn for the worse, without introducing anything painful or damaging? Whoever had written this book had surely intended for it to be enjoyed, but their tastes might not line up with hers...
Nobody else would ever know about this. Nobody here would judge her, no matter how her body responded.
Warm hands stroked her hips. Wet heat pulsed against her. Something larger than fingers slid inside her, so slick and hard that she wasn't sure whether it was a cock or a toy. The sensation rocked through her, making her press up into the pressure on her chest and moan in a wordless plea for more attention.
Kisses were pressed into her neck. Hot breath ghosted across her skin. Friction and fullness stoked the heat at her core until it overflowed, spilling molten pleasure through her veins. Her scream was muffled by something soft and warm. She reached out for whoever she could grasp, and pulled them closer.
Even while she slumped into the cushion, the slick pumping of something inside her continued. She was wet enough to take it, so she amused herself by kneading the soft flesh of someone's side while she waited for her system to perk up again.
Her lovers nestled against her, playing with her hair, licking the sweat from her skin, pulling her legs even further apart... When she was left empty, she whined in frustration, but she was soon filled again. This time, she had a clear line of sight, so she knew that it was definitely a cock being pressed into her. A new rhythm was set, rocking into all the right places to coax her to a surprisingly swift orgasm. She melted into the sensation, and found she didn't quite come back down afterwards, kept simmering by the ongoing pleasure.
Her thoughts grew hazy as waves of heat washed through her, more times than she'd thought possible. She couldn't keep her eyes open. The others weren't finished with her, but she didn't have the energy to watch, or do anything more than breathe, drawing air into her tired lungs.
She passed out eventually. Her dreams were heated and spiced, thudding in time with unfamiliar music.
When she woke up, she was mildly confused by the cold stone beneath her. She opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor of the ancient library.
The book she'd been reading was lying nearby, half-covered by her tunic. Something about its presence had changed. While all of the shelved books felt dormant by comparison, the one she'd delved into felt awakened. The air felt charged with magical anticipation, as if she'd caught its attention. As if it was keen to taste her again.
She hurried to get dressed, without touching the book again. The chill air was harsh on her skin, fresh out of a fantasy. She was still sweaty and sticky. Her mouth tasted of other people. Had it all been real, in a sense? Real enough for the seed spilled inside her to take?
Unfamiliar magic was bound to be unpredictable. She could study the secrets buried here so that nobody else would walk in unprepared.
If that meant keeping it all to herself for a while longer, so much the better.