Twilight Arcana

The day was slowly fading, and the low sun set ablaze the worn stones of the ruined temple with its oblique rays. Shafts of light pierced the clouds, casting dancing shadows upon the moss-covered floor, while a cool wind swept through the broken arches, carrying with it the scent of loose earth. In that atmosphere, steeped in mystery, the edifice seemed suspended between two worlds - neither wholly deserted nor truly inhabited - as though the voices of long-departed scholars still whispered within the cracks of its ancient walls.

I crossed the silent nave, my steps echoing upon the cracked flagstones. Around me, the shattered flanks of the building let through slender beams of light where motes of dust hung, like mist caught in suspension. I paused for a moment, observing the remnants: a fragment of faded fresco still hinted at the outline of a star, while a half-erased inscription ran along the stone, a stubborn witness to a vanished age. The whole place breathed with the still memory of a sanctuary waiting to awaken.

Resuming my path, I reached the collapsed section where the concealed entrance I sought could just be discerned. There, I let my fingers glide across the damp wall, following the familiar pattern of disjointed rocks. At my touch, a section of the masonry trembled, then slowly pivoted, revealing a narrow opening. A warmer breath escaped from within, laden with the scent of burnt myrrh, melted wax, and aged parchment, as if the place itself exhaled the memory of bygone ages. Without further hesitation, lighting a torch, I crossed the threshold and began my descent.

The passage opened onto a vast vaulted crypt, whose walls were lined with niches filled with half-consumed candles. The wavering light of my torch joined that of other flames already burning, casting shifting gleams across the damp stone. Five figures stood there, cloaked in heavy mantles. Before them, various altars had been arranged around a circle drawn upon the floor with silvered powder. The flicker of the candles revealed, at times, an intent gaze, a hand heavy with rings, or the curve of an alchemical instrument. Each had come for this singular night, bearing with them a fragment of their art: one held a sphere of crystal between their palms; another slowly swung a censer, thick coils of smoke curling around her shoulders. Further on, black symbols covered the skin of a third’s arms, like living runes. The fourth whispered muted words as he poured, drop by drop, a dark liquid into a bronze cup. As for the last, bent over his work, he arranged fragments of mineral with meticulous care, like the pieces of some ancient puzzle. I was greeted with a nod, as though my arrival had been expected, and took my place among them.

The air trembled with a muffled tension, almost solemn, disturbed only by the crackle of fire and the soft hiss of censers swaying in the gloom. Each was absorbed in their own task, yet together they contributed to the silent harmony of the place. In turn, I set upon the last altar a blackened wooden chest. The hinges creaked faintly as I opened it, revealing the dragon eggs within, resting gently upon a fold of dark cloth. Beside me, one of my companions, his face still half-hidden beneath his hood, let a shard of crystal slide into a small bowl, crushing it into powder with a measured gesture.

Placing my hands on either side of the chest, I felt a warmth begin to stir. It gathered in my palms, then spread slowly, like a tingling, to the tips of my fingers. A subtle vibration, like the tremor of warm air, drifted towards the eggs as though to caress their surface. It was as if an invisible thread had been woven - a current of energy barely perceptible, yet undeniably real.

Around me, the other alchemists did the same: hands resting upon their own creations, their faces marked by the same deep focus. Gradually, whispers mingled, gestures answered one another, and what had been a mere collection of intentions became ritual. A litany rose - faint at first, then surer, carried by voices that sought and found each other, filling the space like a restrained tide. The sounds overlapped, receded, returned, until they merged into a single, continuous flow. Beneath this wave, the air itself seemed to tighten, and our thoughts intertwined with those of the others - poised in a fragile balance between tension and surrender. In that suspension, something took shape - imperceptible, yet certain - like a veil being gently lifted.

The light flickered - not from the wind. The flames wavered, bent low, then revived, while a deep heat rose from the ground, spreading through our arms, our temples, our voices. Each breath added its note to the whole; each heartbeat, its echo.

Little by little, the litany faded of its own accord, dissolving into a dense silence still resonant with the ritual’s echoes. Calm settled - the sign that our ceremony had reached its end. We remained there for a while, motionless, before the first measured words rose to discuss the results observed. In the warmth of the candles, our faces softened.

Then, as custom demanded, we exchanged our works: a mineral fragment for a vial of opaque oil, a powder for a symbol drawn in bright ink. I left behind the now-empty chest, my hands lighter, yet filled with new promises.

This collection, consisting of four medium-sized eggs and one larger egg, will be released on 15 October at 8:30 p.m.