A Wizard and a Sphinx

“A… singing starfish?” the man choked out, grasping at the impossible.

“Incorrect,” the sphinx intoned, final as a closing tomb.

The man scrambled backward, but the dead tangled his feet, dragging him down. Agony rang out, swallowed by stone, as the sphinx finished its task. Another stain.

Unhurried, Aethylweiz waited, watching as the sphinx idly cleaned its talons. It wasn’t the sphinx that held him still, but the game he played. The mercenaries had captured him in the middle of one starry night. Escape would have been trivial. But then they spoke of a sphinx, of magic woven in its plumes, and curiosity won.

Now, his captors lay dead, and the game had changed. The pyramid offered two paths, and he had to choose.

Feathers stirred. A purr curled through the air—Aethylweiz refocused.

“Now, listen close, and think with care. Shall you—”

“No, no, I’ll pass,” Aethylweiz cut in, decision made. “Much as I admire your feline flair, I believe our game ends here.” He gestured, precise and deliberate.

A golden thread shot from his fingertip, coiling tight around the sphinx, locking it in place.

“Now, you’re the riddle’s prey. Only one to give me what I need. What do you say? To let you walk free?”

The rhyme caught him off guard—his doing, or a trick of the sphinx? His curiosity soured as the sphinx merely stared, teeth flashing wet under a lazy swipe of its tongue.

The quiet lingered, thick with unspoken weight. Aethylweiz exhaled.

“Tell me, Sphinx—they say your feathers hold more than flight—that a stroke of ink upon parchment bends the world. Is it true?”

Nothing. Not a breath, not a blink.

“Fine, fine. I’ll answer your bloody riddle. What is it?”

The sphinx’s grin crept, all teeth and malice.

“I’m full of air, yet think I’m wise. I make bold claims but offer lies. I dazzle with words, but truth’s not near. What am I, oh mage so dear?”

Aethylweiz grunted. “Very clever, sphinx. The answer is a fool.”

The sphinx’s tongue flicked over its teeth, savoring something unseen.

“Now, will you give me what I seek?”

Again, the sphinx offered nothing.

Aethylweiz huffed, running a hand through his beard as he wandered.

“You know, I always thought it quite odd. The dealings of a sphinx. Always a temple or tomb, yet their currency is of twisted tongues and knowledge.”

Aethylweiz’s fingers brushed stone, and one dropped free. Then another. The wall shuddered, shedding the rest like old scales, uncovering a hidden door.

Feathers rustled. Claws scraped.

Aethylweiz stroked his scruffy beard, musing. “Even the greatest of castles have their weak point. Tell me, sphinx—will you crack, or will you hold?”

A slow glance to the door, then back to Aethylweiz—measuring, considering.

“One little answer, and I can be out of your pearly feathers,” Aethylweiz teased.

Muscles tensed. A paw dragged forward, barely an inch. Aethylweiz’s brow lifted. There were not many beasts that could wiggle in his spell.

“A touch of gold on parchment fair, and ink gives breath to magic rare,” the sphinx murmured, its gaze burning with restrained wrath.

“Lovely,” Aethylweiz breathed, eyes gleaming. He snatched a feather from the sphinx, swirled it through an inky pool, and scrawled an absurd circle onto the wall.

“Not my best, but it’ll work. Now, portal to outside.”

At his word, a crimson portal flared to life, gold streaking through its surface. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

The jungle’s heat pressed in, damp and heavy, turning his robes to a second skin—nothing like the brittle air of the tomb.

A flicker of white, a rush of motion, then a deafening roar. When Aethylweiz turned, the prism was gone.

“Well, not sure where the cat went. Hopefully, wherever it ends up, it will look into better security. I couldn’t imagine the wizard that walks out of that library.”