The battle ends. Reyna crouches halfway up the spiral staircase leading to the dormitory rooms while Rubina sits just above her, shaking her head at the chaos below. The massive meenlock’s corpse jams the stairwell, blocking passage. Its slick carapace forces anyone wanting past to scramble over it.
Near the door to the Quad, Aurora’s normally porcelain skin glows sickly green from poison. KFC—no longer a kobold—stands beside her, along with Greta, recently restored from pillow form. KFC plucks the soggy pillow from the flooded floor and deposits it gently on the sofa facing the ruined fireplace. “We can’t have you molding, Greta,” KFC whispers. Water leaks from the cushion onto the already-destroyed furniture, covered in dust and mortar from the lightning bolt that demolished the fireplace.
Through the blown-open front door, the sheep known as Gwyfeyr moves out of view to graze on the verdant lawn.
Cadorus moves stiffly away from the hole blasted through the fireplace wall, eyeing it with suspicion. He has no desire to spend more time as a jar of sourdough starter. His blood-soaked, tattered clothing clings to his weak, injured frame.
Rain from the Storm Sphere and melting sleet from Hester’s Binding Ice and Vex’s Ice Storm have left a vast flood of cold water covering half the Common Room’s polished oak floors. A kazoo bobs serenely on the surface. Aurora plucks it up as she sloshes past, placing it carefully on a scorched study table. “There you go, Rosie,” she murmurs to her polymorphed classmate.
Aurora’s green complexion deepens. She rasps to KFC, “I think I’d like to go upstairs, but I can’t get past the bug.”
KFC strides over and seizes several of the meenlock’s legs. “Let me move that for you.” She pulls fiercely. The creature doesn’t budge.
Scrambling down to the meenlock’s back, Reyna calls, “You pull, KFC, and I’ll push from up here. One… two… three!”
The meenlock remains stubbornly stuck.
“All the polymorphing really took it out of everybody,” KFC pants.
“Maybe,” Reyna gasps, “but I didn’t even polymorph once.”
“I’m not used to not being a hat,” KFC begins explaining as Quentillius sloshes up.
“Stand aside,” he declares, sweeping his spindly arms toward the creature’s segmented appendages. He strains, then falls backward into the water, losing his grip.
Aurora glides into the kitchen and returns with the first aid kit. She opens it to find a dozen bottles, hands two to Reyna without checking contents, then offers some to Hester and Quentillius.
“Hey,” Hester says, “all but one of these vials are empty!” She offers the last to Quentillius, whose eyes fill with emotion.
“I didn’t think you cared for me, Hester!”
“I don’t like you, Quentillius,” she snaps. “That doesn’t mean I want you dead! Can we just move past this?”
Outside, no one notices when the sheep silently departs.
Wiping his eyes, Quentillius calls out, “Let’s heft this beast out of the way, fellow students! You, Reyna, push from up there and I’ll pull.”
Reyna rolls her eyes. “Sounds good to me. God…”
KFC steps up. “Sure thing, Quentillius. I feel like this might be a team effort type thing.”
Quentillius seizes one leg and counts down. “…Three!” The meenlock barely moves.
“Alright,” Quentillius says sheepishly. “I’m more of a writer, anyway…”
“We know, Quentillius. We know.” Reyna grins down at KFC.
The trio gives a final mighty heave. The meenlock springs loose, landing atop Quentillius. Unhurt but trapped in a cage of legs, he waits as Cadorus moves to help.
Before descending, Reyna examines the helm dropped by Vex. She turns it over, studying the arcane symbols incised above the face opening. They look vaguely familiar from an Introduction to Archeomancy textbook left lying around the hex.
Her eyes widen. “Could this possibly be a Helm of Disjunction?” The powerful magical helm was said to emit a wave of force strong enough to knock down nearby creatures. Useful, but it carried a known downside: it destroys potions and scrolls close to the wearer and suppresses other magic items in the area for one minute. “It’s a ogod thing that it can only produce such a pulse every few days,” thinks Reyna.
Titania stands at the window, staring across campus. Everywhere, they see odd things. Pot holders on a bench. Baskets of ferns on the path to the Biblioplex. A single, bruised banana near a stack of books on the lawn. A pair of spider monkeys shivering together in an old tree.
These were students. All sorts of things went awry when the administration sent this morning’s notification warning everyone to stay inside. “You will be safe inside,” the message said.
Clearly incorrect. The attack in Titania’s own hex proves it. They stand in two inches of icy water, shuddering in wet shoes, thinking hard about the polymorphic energy engulfing campus.
They’re almost positive it involves the big sculpture in front of the Biblioplex. Something has gone wrong with that famous landmark. As first years at Strixhaven, they were warned not to cast spells beneath the Great Snarl. Within the Biblioplex, the Lesser Snarl also warps arcane energy, affecting spells with unexpected results.
“It’s a magical node,” Titania thinks. “Spells don’t always behave as expected. For whatever reason, the area of effect has become massive. It’s affecting everything on campus.”
Titania turns back to face their hexmates. “We need to get to the Biblioplex. We might be able to do this safely using the tunnels beneath campus.”
In the kitchen, the trapdoor entrance to the tunnels stands open where Debbie disappeared down the narrow steps, carrying the Crown of Winter’s Last Dream, which complained until it was out of hearing range. Squid followed Debbie into the tunnels.
Titania disappears into the hatch gaping from the kitchen floor. One by one, their hexmates follow.
At the bottom of the narrow stairs, the group becomes aware of a very far off whining—a deep male voice. Another voice sounds like Debbie. Speaking over them, a shrill female voice yammers in a scolding tone. The Crown of Winter’s Last Dream.
The echoing corridors distort the voices until the group comes closer. They begin to understand that Debbie has captured someone who’s begging her not to leave them in the tunnels to starve.
The Crown insists otherwise. “This fellow deserves to be left. I demand that you leave him, Debbie. He deserves it.”
The large man, bound in rope and seated at Debbie’s feet, bursts into tears. Debbie responds very patiently, “This is why people don’t really like you…”
The Crown sputters in outrage. “If you’d put me upon your head so I can see properly, I mightn’t make such assertions…”
Squid rushes up to Titania and hugs them. “I’ve been having so much fun, Titania!”
Titania absently pats the child’s head. “Oh, I’m glad you had a good time.”
Squid pushes away. “Debbie gave me a knife. Wanna see it?”
The fey blinks, cocking their head. “You know, I would actually.”
Squid produces the heavy dagger, drawing it from their belt.
Titania does their best to look impressed. “That’s pretty gnarly, dear. Just don’t poke yourself like I did. Poking is for other people, right?”
The Crown’s voice reverberates down the hallway. “Well, it’s about time you’ve come! Quick. Somebody put me on so I can see what’s going on! This creature simply refuses to set me on her head. I can’t see why not. You, chicken, you’re tall. Put me on!”
KFC backs up several steps. “Oh. Oh, no. The last time I put something on my head, it did not do great things for my mental health. I think I’ve learned enough from the Headband of Intellect to not do that again.”
The Crown snarls. “Well, fine. Be that way. You! The woman with the long hair standing next to the bird! Put me on!”
“Which one?” Reyna and Titania speak in tandem, exchanging confused looks.
“Not you, Titania. You owe me money. I don’t wish to end up in one of these filthy culverts so you might avoid paying up. You! Put me on your head. I command you!”
Gently, Titania suggests, “What if one of you just holds you, but not put you on?”
“I don’t want to be held!” the Crown shrieks. “I want to be worn. I’m meant to be worn. I’m a crown after all!”
“Well, you’re just gonna have to wait, darling,” Titania purrs, trying and failing to hide a smile.
“So we’re under siege right now…” Reyna begins.
The Crown snorts. “Did she say ‘under sea?’ Of course we’re not under sea. We’re under the ground, not under the sea. Under attack, as well. And being turned into various things…”
Reyna snaps, “I said ‘under siege!’”
“THIS!” the Crown explodes. “This is the reason I absolutely MUST be worn. My hearing is muffled when I am held! SOMEONE PUT ME ON!”
“Darling,” Titania murmurs, “you were turned into an orangutan once. Pipe down or you could be an orangutan again.”
After an uncomfortable pause, the Crown grumbles, “Somehow, I don’t find that tempting.” It falls silent in Debbie’s hands.
They move down the dank hallway toward the Biblioplex. Soon they reach a confusing tangle of intersections and staircases rising into darkness. Fortunately, they’re marked: one points upward to “Main Quad,” another reads “Silverquill Campus,” and a third points toward the Biblioplex.
They navigate to where water runs through the tunnels—a vast expanse of murky liquid.
“Good thing most of us still have our Brooms of Flying,” KFC remarks.
Debbie frees Dragomir and takes back her rope. The thug scuttles away into the darkness.
They soar over the water to steps leading up to the Biblioplex. As they fly, the hum that’s been in their ears since entering the tunnels grows. At the base of the steps, the humming grows so loud they need to shout to be heard.
“Anyone know where this stairway lets out?” asks KFC. No one is sure whether the door opens within the Biblioplex itself or somewhere outside in the plaza, possibly right under the Great Snarl itself.
KFC’s query meets blank looks. She sighs. “I can go up. It’s fine.”
As she seizes the hatch, her companions hear her loudly whispering, “Nothing bad ever happens. Nothing bad ever happens…”
KFC emerges through the top of a fountain in one of the interior gardens inside the Biblioplex. She pulls herself through and calls down, “All clear. We are inside the Biblioplex.”
The cavernous space is dark and quiet. Various tables, now abandoned, are set up for student activities. Stuff is everywhere, but no people.
In deep shadow, the dark figure of an enormous cogwork archivist stands inert on its wheels. Titania strides up and knocks on the construct’s side. This yields a hollow echo. Yellow and green lights illuminate as the creature wakes.
“Could we request your assistance?” Titania demands.
A mechanical voice responds smoothly. “Of course, sir or madam or other. How may I be of service?”
Titania smiles. “Thank you. Do you have any books that might assist with our research on this polymorphing crisis happening on campus? Is there anything similar to this in Strixhaven’s history? Please, bring us all you have.”
The robot stands before the group. They aren’t sure if it’s facing them—it doesn’t have a face, and it rolls both forward and backward. The cogwork archivist whirs. It pings. Its lights illuminate. Finally, it rolls off into the stacks.
After twenty long minutes, it returns with an enormous stack of books.
In a mechanical voice muffled by reference books, texts, files, and loose pages, it demands, “Your Strixhaven student ID card, please.”
Titania produces theirs. The archivist drops the tall stack on the table. The loud bang echoes throughout the library.
The hexmates divide the stack. Each settles in to search the materials. For a long while, there is only the sound of turning pages and heavy sighs. “Now would be a good time to have the Headband of Intellect,” KFC thinks.
As they approach the fourth hour, Debbie cries out in triumph.
She’s discovered an interesting history involving Strixhaven and Murgaxor during his time as a student.
In the first years of Strixhaven University, the Founder Dragons collected seven powerful magical items: one from each school and two from elsewhere. The Founders believed magic should not be restricted by class—wizard or cleric—but that all spellcasters would have equal access to any arcane spell they wished.
Therefore, Lorehold’s affinity for magiohistory, Prismari’s ties to elemental arts, Quandrix’s affiliation with mathematics and the natural world, Silverquill’s gifts for eloquence and words, and Witherbloom’s powerful connections to life and death studies would be irrevocably bound together. With these forces combined, there would be no wizard spells or cleric spells or druid spells. Just spells, and any caster might access any spell.
That was the theory. The Founders used these items in their ritual: the Crown of Winter’s Last Dream, the Sewermancer’s Staff, the First Student’s Spellbook, the Fractured Bell, the Orb of Unspent Stories, the Founder’s Fountain Pen, the Architect’s Original Compass.
When these items were combined with arcane words in the ritual, the Founders didn’t anticipate that the fabric of magic across Strixhaven University would shred, leaving two great tears. A smaller one inside the Biblioplex, and the great one outside, marked by the statue the Founders used to bind the rift closed.
The Founder Dragons swore never to attempt such a thing again, nor would anyone else.
That was true, until fifty years ago.
Murgaxor, the most brilliant student at Strixhaven University, decided to replicate the ritual successfully. He believed the Founder Dragons performed it improperly. He believed they simply weren’t skilled enough casters. They weren’t good enough. But he was foiled before he could perform the ritual on the seven magical objects he’d brought together. Murgaxor was expelled from Strixhaven.
Brilliant as he was, he was booted from school.
“Murgaxor. He’s back now,” Debbie gasps. “He’s collecting the items. To try to perform the ritual again.”
Grimly, Reyna adds, “We know where a couple of these items are. We actually have possession of a few of them.”
