But his light found nothing. The tome registered as completely inert, devoid of any active magical matrices or lingering divine manipulation.
His brow creased deeply. He didn't believe in coincidences, and he certainly didn't believe a possible artifact could suddenly develop a natural, harmless magnetic attraction to his specific soul.
Deciding to test a theory, Tyrion opened his hand and let the tome fall. It plummeted through the canopy, landing with a soft thud on the damp forest floor.
Slowly, Tyrion rose back into the air, flying backward to put distance between himself and the dropped book. He kept his senses sharp, waiting for that familiar, instinctual tug to pull at his chest, or for some invisible tether to drag him back to the clearing. He flew further and further, weaving through the trees until the clearing was completely out of sight.
Nothing happened. No pull, no sudden headache, no spiritual whispers. The air remained perfectly still.
