"Look, I need a little time...to digest all this," you stammer, not liking the look in Phix's eyes when you use the word "digest." "You said my grandfather had a computer. Where is it, I don't see it?" You can see the disappointment in Phaunos' eyes and the impatience in Phix's, but you're still trying to think of a way out of this insane asylum. Maybe dear old grandpa could help you come up with an excuse.
"As I said, many of those here are sensitive to electronics," Phaunos replied. "Your grandfather's study is specially shielded, and it is the only room in the house with electric power and an internet connection. Please, follow me." You follow Phaunos out, but as you exit, you catch a strange frown on Phix's face. By the time you turn around to wait for Phaunos to close the library door behind you, it is gone, and Phix is smiling as charmingly as ever. You and Phaunos remain in the same wing of the house, but walk down to the opposite corner of the hallway from the library. After going down a short flight of stairs, Phaunos stops before what appears to be a simple yet old oaken door with a large iron keyhole.
"I believe you have the key, Miss," Phaunos states, and for a moment, you nearly shake your head negatively. However, an idea pops into your head at that instant. Reaching in your pocket, you pull out the iron key which opened the gates to the zoo, which you had kept on you in case you wanted to make a quick getaway. Cautiously sticking it in the lock, you find it slides in easily, and smoothly turns. The door, which swings open quietly on its hinges, actually feels heavier than you thought, and you realize that it is not made of wood alone. Phaunos was right, the entire room, including the door, is lined to prevent any electrical signals from exiting. There aren't even any windows.
However, the room doesn't look like the inside of a bank safe. Rather, it looks like the study in an old manor house, the walls lined with dark wood curio shelves, some containing leather-bound books, others what look like artifacts. There is a globe in a corner, leather-bound chairs, the soft incandescent glow of electric lights, and a large antique oaken desk with an incongrously modern computer atop it. Even the floor appears wooden, with what looks like a large persian rug. There is also a fireplace, which you are not sure is actually usable, but seems convincing enough. If it weren't for the lack of windows, it would probably seem quite comfortable. You remove the key and step in to admire the room, but only then do you realize that Phaunos is remaining well outside the door.
"If you please, Miss, I will leave you here for now," Phaunos says with a slight nod, a frown of discomfort flitting across his face. "While I can enter the Master's study, it is not a pleasant experience for me. When you are finished, please ring for me." Phaunos indicates the bell-pull in the corner of the study, and you nod affirmatively and close the door, remembering what Phaunos said about being sensitive to electrical signals. Finally alone, you walk over behind the oaken desk, stare around the room for a moment, then flop down in the large leather chair. Maybe you can get some answers from the computer. Turning it on, the login screen quickly pops up. Luckily, the login account is already filled in: "Ragnarok." You're not sure what that means, it sounds like something out of mythology, but at least you don't have to look it up right now. Unfortunately, the password is blank. You try the desk drawers, but they all feel locked.
"Damn," you curse, slamming your hand against the desk surface. "OW!" you cry out, and lift your hand to see a drop of blood fall on the desk. Putting the bleeding finger in your mouth, you realize that there is a very thin sharp piece of metal, almost like a needle but extremely short, sticking out of the surface of the desk. Great, now you probably need a tetanus shot too. However, just as you are about to shut the computer off in frustration, you notice something odd. The drop of your blood is not simply sitting on top of the wooden desk, but is traveling across it to form thin lines which eventually create a complex pattern. Suddenly, the pattern glows slightly golden, and the shimmer moves to form one word: "phaethon." You stare dumbly at the desk as the word fades, until something clicks in your head. Quickly, turning to the computer, you type in "phaethon" as the password. To your amazement and delight, the computer begins to log you in. To your astonishment, not only does it log you in, but it automatically opens up a text file. Curious, you begin to read:
"Greetings, my blood successor and heir. I suppose the first thing I should do is apologize for the danger I have drawn you into. Since you are reading this, I must now be dead, and unable to finish that which must be done. Please rest assured, I have done what I can to leave you the tools to defend what must be protected, and to destroy what should never have been.
As I traveled the world, I learned much, perhaps too much. I relished the power of magic, and enmeshed myself in its webs too deeply. I thought this land which I leave to your care could be a haven for all magic folk, but I did not understand the responsibility. I did not see that not all magic should survive. Have I betrayed humanity and magic folk alike with my curiosity and my naivete? I cannot say.
There is much I cannot tell you directly, but when you have studied my research, perhaps you will begin to understand. Those who reside on this estate believe that all of my research is housed in the library, but that is only the beginning. When you have comprehended those notes, return to this computer. It was the only place I could ensure no one would be able to access but my true heir by blood, as only by blood is the password revealed.
All I can tell you now is to be careful who you trust on this estate. I feel certain someone in my inner circle is betraying me, but I have not been able to identify who it is. It is doubtful they will take any action against you at the moment, for they need you to carry on my research. Nevertheless, your time here will not pass easily. Be careful, my successor, and good luck."
For what seems like a long time you sit there in silence, staring at the screen. Danger? What danger? Destroy? Betrayal? None of this sounds good. Need you to carry on research? What will they do to you if you don't? You turn the revelations over and over in your head and debate your next course of action.