Night in the Wizard City was never truly silent.

  Founded by wizards upon land that once belonged to no one, the city stood at the very center of the Central Continent. Its octagonal walls lay across the plains like a vast, unfeeling sigil, encircling a forest of towers within.

  At every angle of the walls rose a watchtower and a great gate, and from the tower tops burned elemental lamps—Wind, Fire, Lightning, Water, Earth, Wood, Light, and Shadow. Eight colors of light swayed slowly in the night air, casting the city in a glow that made it seem less a settlement than a spell laid bare.

  In the heart of the city, the towers of the Wizard City’s own institutions were still lit. From time to time, light flickered behind the latticed windows—experiments underway, records being copied, or someone who had finally bent over a desk and fallen asleep.

  Night at the Institute of Magibeast Research was colder than the rest of Wizard City.

  The building itself resembled a massive block of hewn stone, its windows tall and narrow, its doorway carved with a stark, abstract sigil—one that stood for knowledge and control.

  By day, the halls were thick with voices, wizards in robes of every color moving through them, each hue marking a different field of study. By night, only sparse lights remained, and the occasional low growl drifted in from the distant Magibeast pens.

  A young man stepped slowly out through the gates of the Institute of Magibeast Research.

  Moonlight traced the lines of his tall, slender frame. He was handsome, though marked by the quiet detachment common to wizards. He wore the formal uniform of Wizard City: a long robe of fine white wool, over which lay a ceremonial mantle edged at the collar and hem with red trim and gold thread—the mark of a Senior Wizard’s rank. Thick, slightly wavy black hair fell to his shoulders, and beneath it, pale green eyes stood out in sharp contrast. He looked no more than twenty years of age.

  “Mobius.”

  A voice called out from behind him.

  Mobius turned. A middle-aged man with brown hair and a long beard was emerging from the shadows of the portico. His eyes were black and keen, and upon the chest of his robe hung the insignia of a Grand Wizard—the Director of the Institute of Magibeast Research. Corvin Halbrecht. Mobius’s immediate superior.

  “Director Halbrecht,” Mobius said, coming to a stop. He inclined his head in a restrained bow.

  Corvin Halbrecht offered a smile, weary yet sincere. “I have read the Magibeast observation reports you submitted of late,” he said. “Very well written. In the Tome of Magibeasts: The Eastern Volume, whole sections—habits, preferences, natural predators, hereditary traits—were once nothing but gaps. Now, at last, we have data we can trust.”

  “My duty, Director,” Mobius replied evenly.

  Director Halbrecht studied him for a moment, the approval in his gaze undisguised. “At twenty, you are already a Senior Researcher,” he said. “That is without precedent in this institute.”

  He paused, his tone turning more solemn. “When projects of a higher tier become available, you will be my first consideration. In time—if the moment is right—you may even be granted a research division of your own.”

  A faint light flickered in Mobius’s eyes, quickly mastered. He answered with a composed smile. “Thank you, Director. I will do my utmost not to fall short of your expectations.”

  After a few brief courtesies, the two went their separate ways.

  Mobius passed through the outer gates of the Institute of Magibeast Research. The moment his foot touched the stone steps, a vast white shape loomed before him.

  It was an enormous hunting hound, its coat pure as snow. Its back rose nearly to a grown man’s waist, and beneath the dense, heavy fur, corded muscle was unmistakable. Massive paws struck the flagstones without a sound. Only its eyes caught the light—four of them, yellow and metallic in the dark, unnaturally distinct—for it had two heads.

  “Gru,” Mobius called.

  The Two-Headed Hound trotted over at once. One head after the other pressed against him, nuzzling insistently, as if reproaching him for coming out so late.

  Gru was a Magibeast Mobius had raised with his own hands. Years ago, when Mobius was still an Apprentice at the Wizard Academy, he had accompanied his mentor on a field expedition to the Magibeast Woods east of the Wizard City. It was there, in a low-risk zone near the outer edge of the forest, that he found the abandoned Magibeast cub.

  Back then, Gru had been curled into a tight ball in the grass. His eyes had not yet opened, and his body was still smeared with blood that had not fully dried.

  His mentor told him it was the cub of a Three-Headed Hound—a creature born with three heads by nature. This one, however, had only two. Most likely, it had been cast out by its own kind for that congenital deformity.

  As for why a Magibeast that should have dwelled deep within the Woods had left its young in the outer reaches, no one could offer a certain answer. In private, Mobius had his own suspicion: perhaps the mother had been unable to bring herself to abandon it entirely, and had dragged the malformed cub to a safer place—giving it a chance to live.

  From that day on, Mobius became the first “family” Gru ever saw when he opened his eyes. From his years as an apprentice to the present, man and hound were rarely apart. In the past, Gru would wait for him outside the academy dormitory until his lessons ended; now, he waited for him at the gates of the institute when the workday was done.

  Mobius reached out and gave the hound a light pat on the shoulder. With a small gesture, he kindled a delicate magical lamp. The glow of lamp rose slowly into the air and drifted ahead of them, lighting the way home for both man and hound.

  Their home lay on the eastern side of Wizard City, near one corner by the Gate of Lightning.

  The Gate of Lightning was the city gate closest to the Magibeast Woods to the east. As a result, it saw little traffic from merchant caravans or ordinary folk. The surrounding area was sparsely populated—and for good reasons. Not everyone cared for Magibeasts, and even fewer were willing to live next door to a fully grown, highly dangerous Two-Headed Hound.

  For Mobius, this made it the ideal choice. He valued quiet, and Gru needed to pass through the Gate of Lightning often to hunt in the forest. This secluded, silent quarter suited both man and hound perfectly.

  It was a modest two-story house with a small courtyard, drawn quietly into the shadows.

  Once inside, Mobius removed the uniform of Wizard City and changed into a loose, comfortable robe of silk. He then went upstairs and pushed open the door to his study.

  The study was small, but kept in impeccable order. Along one wall stood a row of neatly arranged bookcases. Several notebooks lay open on the desk, filled with freshly compiled observation data of Magibeast. The handwriting was fine and precise, with the occasional line crossed out and rewritten, betraying an attention to detail that bordered on the exacting.

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  Mobius went to the bookcase and drew out a volume from among the rows of austere academic tomes. Its corners were worn pale with age. From the cracked layers of its leather cover, he slipped out a sheet of parchment.

  It was an unsigned document.

  The edges of the parchment had stiffened where sweat and reagents had soaked into it, and in several places the creases of repeated folding were still visible. The handwriting was far from neat—more like hastily penned experimental notes, or fragments furtively copied and stripped from a larger whole. Many passages had been brutally struck through or blotted out, yet what remained was still enough to sketch the outline of something deeply unsettling.

  — Guarding instincts markedly diminished

  — Abnormal nocturnal activity

  — Delayed-onset frenzy

  — Severe deviation from established behavioral patterns

  — Brief increase in obedience, followed by rapid collapse

  Line after fragmented line, sparse yet suggestive, sketched the outline of something amiss—and had become Mobius’s greatest source of unease in recent days.

  In all the reports filed by the Institute of Magibeast Research over the past year, there had been no mention of anything like this.

  And yet, these fragmented, seemingly illogical descriptions stirred an uneasy recognition. They called to mind several “irregularities” Mobius had encountered over the same year, while assisting in Magibeast suppression operations beyond the city walls.

  — When cornered by hunters or military forces, they abruptly exhibited behavior wholly inconsistent with their species.

  — No longer showed fear of fire; displayed no response to auditory stimuli.

  — Attacked indiscriminately, turning on their own kind and even their young.

  — In the moments before complete death, strange convulsions manifested across the body’s surface.

  At the time, he had thought only this—that it was highly irregular.

  As a Magibeast Researcher, Mobius was accustomed to seeking explanations first in environment and habit—changes in habitat, climatic irregularities, shortages of prey, territorial conflict. Any single variable could be enough to bend a wild creature’s behavior out of shape.

  Yet in the aftermath, he had examined the sites themselves with care: terrain, climate, species distribution. There had been no obvious anomalies.

  Now, looking again at the unsigned document, a thread of doubt took hold.

  — Had he been insufficiently rigorous, too quick to draw a conclusion?

  — And the “irregularities” described on the parchment… could they have been something not born of nature at all…

  What truly unsettled him was a single line that had been brutally blacked out with ink.

  Mobius lifted the parchment toward the candle, letting the light shine through it, straining to make out the faint strokes still lingering beneath.

  —Cross-reference: Mobius’s research.

  He had read that line over and over again.

  There was no other wizard in the Wizard City who shared his name. Mobius was not a common one. And the document itself had been discovered by chance, slipped among a stack of unfinished experimental records he had brought back from the Institute one evening. By every measure of reason, the conclusion was unavoidable—the Mobius mentioned in the document could only be him.

  What he could not determine was whether the document had found its way into his papers by accident—or whether someone had intended for him to see it.

  The thought left Mobius, cautious by nature, on edge in recent days, alert to the point of suspicion. He frowned, staring at the parchment as he sank into thought. The study was so quiet that only the faint crackle of the candle could be heard.

  — Why did his name appear alongside these anomalous descriptions… and in a document from the Institute of Magibeast Research, no less?

  — And what connection, if any, did those aberrant Magibeasts have to his own research…?

  Just then, the two-headed hound that had been dozing at his feet seemed to sense its master’s unease.

  Gru lifted one head and gently nudged Mobius’s knee with the tip of his nose. When there was no response, the second head rose as well. Together, they pushed his arm aside and pressed insistently into his open palm.

  Mobius came back to himself and looked down at the hound, his expression easing at last. He slid the parchment to the corner of the desk, then reached out to rub the larger head that had nudged him first, his fingers scratching lightly behind the soft base of its ear.

  That head squinted in contentment, its tail tapping softly twice beneath the desk. The next moment, the other head shoved forward in clear displeasure, bluntly pushing its companion aside. With an air both affectionate and faintly aggrieved, it rubbed its nose against Mobius’s palm and let out a low, drawn-out whine—whuff—as if lodging a complaint over favoritism.

  Mobius let out a quiet laugh. With no other choice, he brought his other hand down as well, rubbing back and forth between the two heads in turn.

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he said softly. “Just… a little troubled.”

  From his days as an Apprentice to now, they had walked together through many years. Whenever unease took root in his heart, this creature always seemed able to scent it out.

  The study window stood half open. A night breeze slipped through the gap, carrying with it the damp breath of the Magibeast Woods nearby.

  Mobius lifted his gaze toward the window.

  Beyond it, the outline of Wizard City was traced in lamplight, eight great towers standing like pillars guarding the natural order.

  He lowered his eyes, returning once more to the unsigned document. His fingers brushed lightly across the parchment as he spoke in a low voice to Gru.

  “There are some things I’ll have to find a chance to look into.”

  He paused, then added—half to comfort the hound, half to steady himself—

  “…I hope I’m only being overly cautious.”

  The candle flame trembled gently.

  The night over Wizard City remained bright with stars, yet the shadow of the distant Magibeast Woods was growing ever deeper…

  Three months later, the Wizard City was shaken by an incident grave enough to still every conversation and draw every gaze back upon itself.

  Gru—the Two-Headed Hound who had never once injured a soul within the city—had bitten an important figure on a street in the central district.

  The cry of alarm echoed through several streets, spreading faster than fire. Within mere hours, all of the city was abuzz with talk of a “grave incident” unseen for many years.

  When the Wizard City had first granted approval for Mobius to keep a Two-Headed Hound, the attached statutes had been stated with absolute clarity:

  — No incident involving injury to any person was to occur.

  — Every stage of the hound’s growth and any notable change was to be submitted to the Institute of Magibeast Research in the form of formal academic reports.

  Now that those statutes had been broken, the City Administration moved swiftly. The ruling was delivered without delay:

  A demotion in rank, and an ultimatum—within seven days, the two-headed hound was to be either expelled from the city or surrendered to the Institute of Magibeast Research for disposal.

  Before the magical lamps of the city had even been lit for the night, Mobius’s response had already spread through the Institute of Magibeast Research, the City Administration, and the Wizard Council.

  “Gru was raised by my own hand from infancy. What happened today is my responsibility, and mine alone. I am willing to relinquish my post and depart the Wizard City together with my hound.”

  The case concerning the Two-Headed Hound incident was ultimately submitted by the City Administration to the highest authority of judgment in the Wizard City—the Wizard Council.

  After multiple rounds of deliberation, the Council’s final ruling was as follows:

  — Mobius was permitted to be relieved of his official post;

  — He was permitted to leave the Wizard City in the company of the Two-Headed Hound;

  — In consideration of his past contributions, he was allowed to retain the insignia of the Wizard City and to continue holding membership within the Wizard’s Guild.

  At dawn the next morning, before the mist had fully lifted.

  Cloaked against the cold, Mobius passed through the Gate of Lightning. At his side, Gru followed in silence, its fur trembling faintly in the chill wind. Man and hound slipped away from the Wizard City together, their figures swallowed by the morning fog.

  For a time, the people of the Wizard City spoke at length of Mobius’s departure. Yet as a year passed, the talk gradually faded—along with the memory of that young wizard once so highly regarded, once thought destined to become the youngest Director the Institute of Magibeast Research had ever produced…