Yet what seized his attention most were the paintings.
The walls were draped with canvases depicting stories the bard knew all too well: the conquest of the stars, the fall of the Demon King, the apocalypse of the magicless world. In multiple paintings, he saw himself—portrayed as a god of music in one land, a troubadour in a vampire king’s court in another. Directly or indirectly, each piece testified to his journeys, proof his existence was neither dream nor solitary delusion.
“So… I was never alone in this,” he murmured.
For a moment, his mission gained new dimension. This wasn’t the end of his journey but the dawn of something greater. The existence of other planeswalkers—beings who, like him, traversed realities—meant his quest hadn’t been in vain.
“Your masters are artistic geniuses, I’ll grant. It seems we share something in common.”
He addressed the servant girl still clinging to his arm as if they were lifelong lovers.
“Y-yes… Master Alkhazar is… very skilled. He paints after his travels,” she stammered.
Her claim was proven as they reached the stairway’s end. At the chamber’s heart, around a round table, sat those who’d summoned him.
The bard studied the five figures awaiting him. Each radiated unique, imposing power:
- A minotaur, his body etched with arcane seals that seemed carved by the gods of magic themselves. In his hands, a colossal hammer thrummed with divine energy.
- A woman with fiery red hair, her eyes blazing like starfire. Majestic flame-woven wings unfurled from her back, complementing attire half-armor, half-gown.
- A mage swathed in bandages, his face shrouded, revealing only an endless void. His desert robes exuded an aura as ancient as time.
- A young wolf-woman with piercing gray eyes, flanked by two massive wolves standing guard.
- And finally, the apparent leader: Alkhazar, the artist. Even now, he worked on a canvas with masterful precision.
The bard paused, observing them with curiosity and respect. For the first time in ages, he felt he’d found kin.
“Mr. Bard, here are my kind and powerful masters. Masters… here is the mysterious bard you asked me to receive.”
“I see I’ve finally met the proprietors of this establishment,” said the bard, approaching the table with his trademark poise.
In one fluid motion, he took the prepared seat while the servant girl settled onto his lap with rehearsed ease, as if it were her rightful place.
“I can say—on behalf of myself and my audience—that my gratitude for this experience transcends words. I sincerely hope this humble visit from your servant will etch itself into the very heart of…”
He never finished. Suddenly, with jarring violence, the elf presiding over the table hurled the canvas he’d been holding across the room, smashing it against the wall, and drove an adamantine dagger deep into the table. The thunderous crash reverberated with centuries-old hatred—far older than the bard’s brief delay.
Though startled, the bard kept his composure. His gaze flicked to the discarded painting: a detailed portrait of every planeswalker in the room—the minotaur, the phoenix-winged woman, the shadowed mage, the wolf-woman, and their leader, Alkhazar.
The bard looked up, meeting the elf’s face for the first time. He was ancient, with long, straight white hair and a patch over one eye. His presence dwarfed even elven standards, radiating wisdom and power beyond mortal grasp. For the first time, the bard felt he faced someone who might rival—or surpass—him.
“We’ve barely met, and yet I can confirm every rumor about you is true,” said Alkhazar, his voice icy and controlled, yet laced with reproach. “Your artistic talent borders on the supernatural. And your skill at seducing your hosts’ servants seems even greater. But both pale beside your knack for making others wait.”
The bard inclined his head slightly—a gesture of apology and defiance—and replied with practiced elegance:
“I apologize if you found my actions impertinent. But a bard’s first duty is to his audience. They are my foremost commitment, one I cannot forsake. For their hearts, I’d keep even the gods waiting. And I swear to all present: only for them would I dare commit the unforgivable sin of delaying such lovely companions as those gracing me tonight.”
His words softened the room’s tension, drawing shy smiles from the phoenix-winged woman and the wolf-woman, whose ancient, weathered cheeks flushed like adolescents’ under his charm.
“Enough wordplay and empty flattery,” Alkhazar interrupted, his eyes blazing with reality-piercing intensity. “There is but one reason I allowed you here.”
The elf raised his hand, and blinding light flooded the chamber—magic so dense, so pure, it seemed to rewrite the laws of space and time. With precise gestures, Alkhazar shaped the energy into a familiar form: a colossal serpent chasing its tail in an eternal loop.
“The Serpent…” the bard murmured, almost involuntarily.
“Yes,” Alkhazar’s voice sliced the air like a blade. “You’ve seen it—a pivotal moment, I suspect. And you know it’s why we’re all gathered here.”
The bard’s hypothesis was correct: every planeswalker had gained their power through visions of The Serpent.
“I’ll admit this topic has piqued my curiosity,” the bard continued, calm but deliberate. “I’ve read a thing or two. Though I’ve yet to meet it in person—or I’d have charmed it with my talents by now.”
“Spare us your delusions of grandeur,” the elf snapped. “You’re here because you know we speak of something beyond mortal comprehension—the entity that began your journey, and ours.”
The serpent’s image vanished, replaced by towering stacks of books, manuscripts, and scrolls covering the table.
“Magic is not some hobby to dabble in,” Alkhazar intoned. “It is an art of secrets most will never glimpse, let alone believe. Even gods cannot fully grasp it. The more they unravel, the less they realize they know. Magic is the art of embracing the incomprehensible.”
The bard smiled serenely, though the weight of the discussion pressed upon him.
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“I admire your passion, old friend. In many ways, magic and music are akin. Both are paths to touch what lies beyond us.”
Alkhazar stared coldly, then replied after a pause:
“A valid analogy… to a point. But your arrogance lets you ignore rules we’ve studied for eons, sharing secrets never meant to be revealed. All here have sacrificed everything—families, lovers, lives—to grasp a sliver of reality’s truth. Yet you… you’ve used this knowledge to feed your whims, your carnal desires, your insatiable ego.”
Unfazed, the bard chuckled softly.
“Carnal desires and ego? I’d never deny it. I’d proudly crown myself history’s greatest hedonist, certain no god or demon king could rival my vanity. But hear this, Alkhazar: if I let what I’ve witnessed die with me—an immortal—I’d also be history’s greatest fool. My ideas aren’t mine alone; they’re threads of the reality I share with others. Forbid me from sharing my stories, and I’ll defy every god and entity I’ve ever met.”
Silence gripped the chamber. Alkhazar studied him, severity lingering, yet a spark of acknowledgment glinted in his visible eye.
The bard and the elf locked gazes, two overwhelming forces shaped by divergent, endless paths—now converging by cosmic design.
“Young bard, forgive our leader’s… confrontational demeanor,” rumbled the minotaur, shattering the quiet with his resonant voice.
The bard turned, intrigued.
“The Serpent has been our final frontier for eons. We’ve watched realities rise and fall without progress. As an artist, you must understand the agony of such frustration.”
The bard nodded, pensive.
“Since the day my journey began,” he said to himself.
“If you’ve waited that long, then help us,” interjected the wolf-woman, leaping up with childlike energy, her tail and ears twitching excitedly.
The bard eyed her, startled by her fervor—and by something else. Had she heard his thoughts?
“Forgive me… I keep forgetting it’s rude to eavesdrop on souls,” she said, bowing her head. Then, with a gasp: “Oh! I did it again. I promise it’ll be the last time.”
The bard smiled, more amused than annoyed.
“Telepaths don’t bother me. I only wish to know—”
“We knew you were the one to approach The Serpent after your visit to the Arcane Rift universe,” interrupted the phoenix-winged woman, rising. Her slender, regal form shimmered like starlight as her wings unfurled. “Don’t worry—I didn’t read your mind for that question,” she added with a smirk.
“The Arcane Rift… that’s what you call it, hmm?” The bard frowned, then nodded in recognition. He remembered that universe where magic had died. Though “Arcane Rift” wasn’t displeasing, he preferred his own name for it: The Gods’ Winter.
“Our magic failed when we tried to enter that universe,” said the bandage-wrapped mage, his voice echoing like a void. “Reality there defies all logic. Using magic—or even attempting escape—is like solving an equation where the rules crumble to nothing. Had we lingered, even our immortality would have vanished. Yet you… you were different.”
The bard smiled lazily, raising a corrective finger.
“I must say your description bears no resemblance to the charming place I visited. The people there have warm hearts—a fine remedy for a land abandoned by the gods.”
The planeswalkers exchanged glances, some skeptical, others tinged with envy. It was the very warmth they’d never found.
“Of course,” Alkhazar said dryly. “You’re an anomaly. Perhaps a desolate, godforsaken wasteland is the only place you truly belong.”
“Unintentional though it was, I’ll take that as a compliment,” the bard replied with a slight bow. “Though I regret to inform you I belong nowhere.”
Alkhazar inhaled deeply, temper simmering.
“Yet this proves you may be what we need to reach The Serpent.”
With a wave of his hand, pages from the books spiraled into a whirlwind, rearranging into towering paper structures that filled the chamber. Each spire held eons of knowledge—countless lives devoted to studying magic, the multiverse, and The Serpent.
“Despite centuries of study, our understanding of The Serpent remains hypothetical,” Alkhazar said, resignation sharpening his tone. “Our spells, calculations, and efforts to reach it have failed. But we have clues.”
Another gesture transformed the whirlwind into a colossal map. At its center glowed The Serpent, encircled by lines linking hundreds of universes.
“We theorize that each time The Serpent manifests in visions, it leaves traces of its essence. This map connects all realities through a central plane—a nexus at the multiverse’s core. Yet none of us can reach it.”
The bard crossed his arms, assessing the map.
“So that’s where I—unfortunately—come in, is it?” he asked, smirking.
Alkhazar’s gaze frosted over.
“Exactly. Your gifts—your ability to survive what we cannot—are our last hope.”
The bard laughed, a light, mocking sound.
“Ah, I see. Your formulas fell short. Now, those who’ve denied their hearts finally acknowledge the value of one. Yet your goal remains to hoard knowledge under lock and key. Am I wrong?”
Tension crackled. Alkhazar narrowed his eye, while the other planeswalkers watched the bard with conflicted stares.
“We know you better than you think,” Alkhazar said coldly. “You’re as desperate as we are to find The Serpent. You need us as much as we need you. Control your tongue.”
The bard held his gaze, smile fading. For the first time in ages, he faced someone who understood—and shared—his desperation.
“And If we depend on each other, I trust you’ll hear me out,” he said gravely.
Silence thickened as the room awaited Alkhazar’s response.
With a snap, Alkhazar conjured a scroll before the bard. It hovered, faintly glowing, as the elf crossed his arms, expression unreadable.
“In the end, even your art relies on formulas and calculations—though you scoff at them,” Alkhazar challenged. “You recognize this, don’t you?”
The bard took the scroll, studying it.
“Sheet music, isn’t it?” he said, arching a brow. “For a man of science, your composition technique is… quirky.”
At first glance, the notes seemed unremarkable—simple enough for a novice. But the bard knew better. This melody wasn’t meant for mortal or divine ears. It was crafted to resonate with something else entirely: the fabric of reality itself.
A fascinating concept. A song speaking to the universe’s invisible rules, designed by someone like Alkhazar—who hoarded knowledge, devoting his life to abstract equations. Yet the bard couldn’t ignore the parallel. This technique resembled his own method of traversing realities.
“This melody,” Alkhazar continued, gesturing faintly at the score, “is designed to transport you to the heart of the multiverse—where The Serpent resides. It combines our formulas with years of studying your own compositions. If you perform it successfully, you’ll be the only one capable of reaching that inaccessible plane.”
The bard smiled, though the sorcerer’s icy demeanor dampened any triumph.
“The only one? That sounds like a ‘but’ lurking, doesn’t it?”
“Correct,” Alkhazar nodded. “This is theoretical. There’s a significant chance you’ll never return, even if you find The Serpent. You could be trapped in a plane beyond escape.”
“And is that good news or bad for you?” the bard quipped.
“For you, it’s dire. For me, irrelevant,” Alkhazar replied, unmoved. “The sole drawback is you won’t bring back the knowledge you gather.”
The bard laughed softly, as if hearing an unexpected compliment.
“You know, dear Alkhazar, you’ll never agree, but I’ll say it anyway: nothing is duller than absolute immortality. No good story stays unfinished. If I’m to die before the one who began not just my journey, but all creation, wouldn’t that be a worthy end? A final song to stir the heart of creation’s first author. That’s a life well-lived.”
His decision was made. Death had never troubled him. Each day, he’d wondered if his immortality was truly eternal or if time would claim him abruptly. If his next journey reduced him to dust, he’d accept it with the same grace he’d lived everything else.
“So it’s settled,” Alkhazar said, almost resigned. “Bid your farewells. Say goodbye to lovers, settle your affairs. Believe me—leave anything unresolved, and you’ll regret it.”
“You’re surprisingly considerate for someone who claims to despise me,” the bard replied, tilting his head.
“When ready, meet us atop Mount Goliath in this realm. In twenty years, temporal flows will align to make the ritual possible. Until then… enjoy what time remains.”
The meeting had ended. Fate would reunite the players for that final act—the point of no return.