“Don’t get discouraged,” the Voice says, right into my ear. Which is weird, because there’s no one there, and I’m not wearing an earpiece. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” it continues, “so I expect it will take you more than one to solve this puzzle.”

I’ve been here for what feels like ages now. The room, if that’s what it is, is completely dark around me. There are no walls that I can detect, which is what makes me question if this is an actual room. Before me, lit from above somehow, is a short pedestal. It is the only illumination anywhere that I can see.

The pedestal itself is just about waist-high. It’s flat, and the surface is about four feet by four feet square. Scattered around the top of the pedestal are pieces of marble in various shapes, not unlike puzzle pieces. I’ve been moving them around for hours now, trying to come up with a “solution,” just as the Voice suggested I do. But I’m no closer now than I was when I arrived here, which in itself is a puzzle to be solved because the last thing I remember was that I was asleep and dreaming dark dreams. Somehow, it seems, one of my dreams was a little too real, and I slid from my bed down through the dream and landed in this place.

I pick up a puzzle piece and turn it in my hand.

“Are you sure there even is a solution?” I ask of the empty air. The only response I receive is a low chuckle in my ear.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s getting a little old.”

I return the puzzle piece to the pedestal. The problem is, there doesn’t even seem to be enough pieces to solve the puzzle. Earlier, I had counted 37 pieces. Most of them are about the size of a silver dollar. If the puzzle is supposed to fill the surface of the pedestal, then I am missing a significant number of pieces.

I examine the rest of the pedestal. The base of the thing is square, recessed from the top by at least a foot on each side. There are markings and engravings on each side, none of which are duplicated. But if they spell out a message, I am ignorant as to its meaning.

I get down and trace one of the etchings with the tip of my finger. As I do so, part of the engraving withdraws from my touch, leaving a shallow depression in the stone. And the thing of it is, that depression looks familiar.

I look back to the puzzle pieces and sort through them until I find the one I’m looking for. The piece I pick up has a marking on the front that matches the depression that just formed on the base. Excited now, I squat down next to the engraving and press the puzzle piece against it. Magically, it stays put, and the piece itself begins to glow.

“Very good,” the Voice says. “One down, 36 to go.”

Now that I have the idea of the puzzle, it is easy to slot the rest of the pieces into place. Around each side of the pedestal, I repeat my steps. Trace, match, slot. And when I am done…

…I still have one piece that won’t slot in anywhere. I have 36 pieces fitted into to various places on the pedestal base, all glowing, but only one in my hand that doesn’t appear to have a place to fit.

“What the hell?” I say. I look up into the empty air above and shout, “Your stupid puzzle is rigged!” The scream tears at my throat, but I don’t care. I’m outraged at this development.

Laughter again, just in my ear. “You can solve this. It isn’t hard,” the Voice barely whispers to me now. Frustrated, I throw the final piece as hard as I can into the darkness. There is a clink, and the piece lands lightly back on the pedestal. I scream again, a guttural roar that doesn’t even have the decency to echo.

I reach out and pick the piece up again. This time I examine it more closely. It has a more intricate set of markings on it, loops and whorls crisscrossing over each other. And now that I notice that, I realize the piece is slightly bigger than the others. An idea dawns on my mind, and I set the piece down on the pedestal again, but on a corner this time. I want to examine the top of the pedestal in closer detail.

There are no etchings, markings, or engravings on the top’s surface. It is as utterly smooth and unremarkable as a blank sheet of paper. But I can feel something there, just the same.

Starting at the middle, I begin to trace a line. Then I trace another, looping into the first and crossing over it. I keep tracing, using the entire surface of the top of the pedestal as I work. And as I trace, the invisible lines from my fingers manifest into the pedestal as a thin, red line. By the time I’m done, there is a brand, new etching to match the final piece of the pedestal. I pick up the piece and take a step back.

The etching itself glows brilliantly in the dark, outshining even the illumination from above. Suddenly, there is a clunk from inside the pedestal. The top pops up a quarter of an inch then spontaneously slides to one side and falls to the floor, revealing an opening in the base of the pedestal.

I approach again, cautiously. But what I see is a small space lined in velvet with a place just the right size for the final piece. I slot the piece into that space and step back again, waiting.

“I told you you could solve it,” the Voice says into my ear. “And in less than a day, too. Welcome to a whole new world.”

As the Voice says that, the floor beneath the pedestal slides back, opening a passageway that goes down a stairwell lit by torches.

“Proceed,” the Voice says. “We invite you to join our ranks, Artimancer.”

“I don’t know what means,” I say in response.

“You will, soon enough. You have proven your skill and ingenuity — and your power. You will join our coven, and we will teach you our ways.”

“Proceed,” the Voice says again. And I do, taking the first steps downward into an unknown future.

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