All the cabinets were each a magician’s long-lasting home. And each object held a part of a magician’s breath, in form as an inhabitant.

The cabinets creaked with the whispered echoes of ancient incantations, as if voices were trapped in the wood grain itself. A peculiar fragrance emanated from their interiors—a blend of dried herbs, aged paper, and that distinctive metallic scent that lingers after lightning strikes.

The soul fragments are artistically brought into the form for the future. Then the home – a large cabinet holding objects – each infused with the loving power. It is all one object, one being, one field – another body for the magician. And the wonderworker.

As if responding to its mention, an active cabinet emits a faint humming vibration, almost like distant chanting. The wonderworks that is a wonder cabinet!

My goal is to create my own cabinet before death. Die before death. Why is it good to do that? To create a lasting cabinet? Like a space station, ringing crystal tones of celestial spheres. I couldn’t tell at this stage what the purpose would be. I had to learn more, but it was time to get back to the work.

Returning to the warehouse and reporting after a time of wandering lost, everything had changed. It was as if the air itself carried the abandonment and dust of spaces long undisturbed and forgotten. Like a hollow silence, broken only by the dripping of water somewhere in the distance.

The cabinets had all been moved from their warehouse and taken elsewhere for protective storage. We weren’t sure if they had been destroyed, taken, or traded to another unknown group, or simply hidden as were books in a monastery during the dark ages – the onset of the dark ages. Of course the very hiding of these treasures may in fact have brought about this new dark age.

The archivist was deeply shaken by the news. Her cup rattled on the saucer as she tried to retain a calm exterior but the shaking hands belied her seeming composure.

I stood at the doorway holding my one last notebook – here it is, the last of them. I did my best trying to document the most active or high potential cabinets, those that hadn’t had the governor put into them.

The governor was a small device that neutralized any energetics potential in the object held in the cabinet. All magic and connection to the ancient source removed. Like a febreeze scent container diffusing a sterile, artificial freshness that masked the true essence beneath— synthetic lavender covering the scent of death.

When they were activated, the governors emitted an almost imperceptible high-frequency whine that made teeth ache.

I told her I had seen the clerk checking one cabinet to see if the governor had expired. A small green light indicates its charge, but once it flashes green to red, it is losing power. The red signals to HQ and the clerk comes and replaces the power source tablet, a tiny metal disc. The disc is kept and taken to HQ for decoding. It not only neutralizes all the energy of the artefacts in the cabinet, it also records and takes in the imprints of the objects’ inner energy pattern and source. These are mapped and dated as to their origin, tracking them past and present in an interactive museum display – a display of dead things unconnected to any real source. The electronic beeping of the governor checking process echoed through all the objects in the room.

Thank God HQ had become so inefficient they had miscalculated the number of governors they needed, and at least a third were on back order – each manufactured in the high security offshore facility. It could take weeks for them to arrive, and another several weeks for them all to be installed and set to the right frequency. We had a little more time after all.

The archivist and I ran down the darkened avenue toward the home of her old colleague. I’d never met him but of course had heard of him and seen his name on countless documents and reports. He was legendary and I was a little surprised to hear he was still alive.

Our footsteps pounded urgently on the pavement, our breathing labored and loud in the quiet night.

His companion opened the door as if we had been expected. We bolted inside breathless. Walking majestically toward us, leaning slightly on his smooth Brownwood cane, the founder opened his arms – welcome! He led us into the drawing room nearest the entry hall. The tapping of the cane created a dignified rhythm on the hardwood floor, while the founder’s voice resonated with the deep, rich timbre of aged wisdom. His companion brought tea and as we settled in, I took a moment to take in my surroundings.

What used to be known as “oriental décor” was interspersed with rare objects, floor to ceiling bookshelves, an open window with fine white lace curtains billowing softly in a breeze, a vase of garden flowers, Turkish carpet, and unlit fireplace with an unusual modern painting above the mantle.The painting was like DNA patterns, colourfully arranged in a simple grid, like interior walls of the Kaaba. It seemed to emit its own subtle symphony—a barely perceptible harmonic oscillation that made the air around it shimmer with potential. The room was comforting, and I wondered if it had been infused with a subtle incense that seemed to enhance clarity of thought.