The New York Sanctum stood atop one of Earth’s greatest nexuses of magical power, hidden within a pocket dimension suspended above the city. Almost no one in the mortal world even knew it existed, yet its guardians watched every significant magical disturbance across the entire Northern Hemisphere.
A circular portal rimmed with golden sparks opened in the Sanctum’s central hall.
The investigation team returned in silence.
Their mission had been simple: identify the source of an unfamiliar magical signature that had appeared in New York.
Evenson Richter.
As the other sorcerers dispersed to file reports, the young woman who had asked the endless questions during the investigation stepped forward.
"Master Olifan."
The leader paused.
Master Olifan oversaw the New York Sanctum itself. Any unknown magical phenomenon occurring within New York fell under his responsibility, which was why he had personally led the investigation.
Once inside, everyone lowered their hoods.
Olifan appeared to be in his forties, though no one foolish enough to judge a master sorcerer’s age by appearances lasted very long. Calm intelligence shone in his eyes.
"What is it, Claire?"
Claire hesitated before asking, "If we eventually find that dark warlock... what do we do with him?"
Olifan resumed walking through the Sanctum’s halls, and Claire matched his pace.
"This isn’t the Middle Ages," he said. "And we are not the Inquisition. We don’t execute spellcasters simply because they practice a forbidden discipline."
Claire finished the sentence for him.
"We judge them first... and then execute them."
She tilted her head.
"That doesn’t sound all that different."
"He would be given the chance to defend himself," Olifan replied without denying the comparison. "The tribunal would be fair. If he truly hasn’t committed any evil, we would not condemn him solely because of the source of his magic."
He paused.
"That said, most dark practitioners earn their reputations."
Claire looked unconvinced.
"Really?"
"You’re still young."
His expression hardened.
"The things they’ve done would be difficult for you to imagine."
He began counting them off.
"Some summon horrors from beyond our universe. Others bargain with demons. Some steal the life force of innocents to prolong their own existence. Others harvest souls for sacrifice."
"They deceive."
"They manipulate."
"They turn people against one another."
"They spread chaos simply because they enjoy watching others suffer."
"Those people deserve every sentence they receive."
"Ah... choo!"
Back in his tiny occult shop, Evenson jerked awake after an unexpectedly violent sneeze.
Still groggy, he looked around.
Nothing seemed out of place.
Doorstop was standing faithfully in its usual corner.
Hubbs was watching television.
Tripsy had become completely absorbed in the back pages of a magazine advertising miracle height supplements.
Sarah was drooling over a centerfold in Playboy.
Taylor remained outside, silently intimidating anyone tempted to take advantage of the city’s recent chaos with a little opportunistic looting.
Whether it was Taylor’s terrifying appearance or the shop’s painfully unimpressive inventory, nobody had even attempted to rob the place.
Evenson rubbed his nose.
"Everything looks normal..."
He frowned.
"So why do I suddenly feel like someone just spent the last five minutes insulting me from head to toe?"
Claire remained thoughtful.
"I don’t think this one fits your description."
Olifan glanced at her.
"He stopped those monsters. A lot of people are alive because of him."
"Darkside magic often wears a friendly mask," Olifan answered. "Acts of heroism can be calculated. Compassion isn’t the only possible motive."
A different motive?
Getting revenge on the monsters that wrecked his car certainly counted.
"...Or perhaps it really was compassion," Claire insisted. "Maybe he genuinely wanted to help."
She smiled.
"Maybe he wants to be... a superhero."
Olifan stopped walking.
"A superhero?"
His brow furrowed.
"You’ve been reading too many comic books. Especially the ones whose own writers can’t keep their stories straight."
Behind him, Claire rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see.
She loved superhero comics.
She knew they made little sense. Entire cities were flattened before lunch, somehow rebuilt by next month, and nobody ever stayed dead for long. Still, she devoured every issue she could find.
Part of her couldn’t help imagining that maybe, one day, she’d become the kind of hero children looked up to.
Olifan continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
"If your optimistic interpretation proves correct... if he truly has committed no crimes..."
He spoke carefully.
"I would consider sealing his magic instead."
Claire froze.
"What?"
She hurried around in front of him.
"Why?"
"If he’s innocent, if he’s genuinely a good person, why punish him at all?"
Olifan answered only with a long, stern look.
Claire immediately lowered her head.
"...Forgive me, Master."
"I spoke out of turn."
"It’s all right, my child."
He stepped past her.
"The problem is not whether he’s good."
"It’s that he’s becoming entangled with the ordinary world."
"If he insists on acting as a costumed vigilante, he will eventually appear before the public again and again."
"And sooner or later..."
"He will expose the existence of magic to the entire world."
Claire frowned.
"That’s the reason?"
Keeping magic hidden from ordinary society had always been one of the Sanctum’s oldest laws.
To Claire, however, it had always felt outdated.
Every secret organization in the comics behaved exactly like that: rigid, suspicious, and hopelessly convinced they alone knew what was best.
Olifan sighed.
"Perhaps raising you entirely within the Sanctum was a mistake."
"You should have spent more time living among ordinary people before beginning your magical education."
"Then you wouldn’t still see the world with such innocent eyes."
Claire said nothing.
Her parents had died shortly after she was born.
Recognizing her extraordinary magical talent, the masters of the Sanctum had taken her in while she was still a child.
Since then, the Sanctum had been her entire world.
Comic books had become her only real window into the outside.
Perhaps that was why, despite everything she’d learned, a part of her still viewed the world with the uncomplicated hope of a little girl.
Olifan’s voice softened.
"The Ancient One established the law of secrecy long before either of us was born."
"It was never about hoarding knowledge."
"Nor was it blind adherence to tradition."
He stopped walking and looked directly at his apprentice.
"It exists to protect ordinary people."
"And to protect the world itself."
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