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In a desperate attempt to assuage Atarka's anger, the hunting band plies her with the tale of an ancient war…between dragons. When Yasova and the twins reach Ugin's grave at last, they find a mysterious, and potentially deadly, stranger awaiting their arrival.

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Yasova and the twins hear the end of Ugin's version of history and risk defying Nicol Bolas himself. In the wake of the disaster on Amonkhet, Liliana and Gideon struggle to move forward against Nicol Bolas on a plane with its own storied past. Discovering her lost brother commands the Cabal in Aerona, Liliana enlists Gideon's aid in laying him to rest before striking at Belzenlok. Gideon, Liliana, and Jhoira muster their forces for the showdown with Belzenlok. Jhoira takes Liliana and Gideon for a timely reconnection with a very old—and very powerful—friend.

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The mystery of Chandra's disappearance is answered and she finds herself caught up in the legacy of Dominaria's darkest past. Chandra, Jaya, and Karn's situation becomes critical as Chandra presses Jaya for the guidance she now knows she always needed. As companions old and new prepare for the final showdown with Belzenlok and the Cabal, a stowaway is discovered on the Weatherlight.

Huatli is a Warrior-Poet of the Sun Empire. Her talent in combat and creativity know no bounds, but when faced with a frightening encounter and an even more astounding vision, she must overcome discomfort to live up to expectation. Vraska has never been happier. Finally able to be the leader she always knew she could be, she captains The Belligerent with the skill of the greatest of commanders. She had kept Jace Beleren alive initially to utilize his talents, but soon discovers that they make quite the team.

With so many different groups seeking the golden city of Orazca, how will the River Heralds keep the city's power from falling into the wrong hands? Meanwhile, Huatli and Tishana team up to track down the compass that could lead them to the Golden City, and Vona pursues.

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The race to the Golden City picks up the pace as each group jostles for position. Everyone needs the Thaumatic Compass to reach the city, but who will get there first? Unfathomable, reality-warping cosmic horrors known as the Eldrazi are said to be born there. It is inextricably associated with magic within Magic's shared fictional universe and the use of the word in several Magic cards implies that casting magic involves channeling and manipulating Aether. Similarly, "summoning" the creatures around which combat and much of gameplay in Magic revolves is described as "pulling them from the Aether".

The majority of the Magic story was set on the plane of Dominaria prior to Mirrodin , encompassing long time periods each detailed in certain card sets or books. Dominaria is a unique nexus between all the other planes of the Multiverse. Occasionally, such as in Time Spiral , the storyline returns to it. There are numerous other smaller plots and subplots that take place in Dominaria and on the many planes of the multiverse of Dominia as well as events after the invasion of Dominaria by the Phyrexians.

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She had already made more contact with the local population than she was comfortable with, and she was pushing up against the limits of her natural silence and stealth. To penetrate the inner libraries, she would need a story—a story to tell the world around her. An old scroll, one of her first and favorites, floated open from her side. It was a story from her home, and it was precisely the story she needed.

This is the story of the world gone dark, and He Who Frightens the Sun. His shadow brought night to those in his wake, and his hunger was never sated. The akki knew what the oni concealed, a lifetime of loot and of plunder. But none dared risk the oni's wrath, save one who felt no fear. When that akki came upon a long flat stone, she held it above her head.

From high up above, when the oni looked down, she seemed no more than such a stone. And so disguised she went to his cave, assured that she was safe. I promise that if I see any thieves, I will let you know! The oni heard truth in the akki's words, and decided that all was well. He went to sleep, and the akki proceeded to take as much as she could carry.

Gold, jewels, and a shining platter, in which her reflection grinned. Remembering her promise, the akki replied, "Yes! I saw the thief, a clever little akki! Perhaps you should go and search for her, and punish her for her wicked ways! The oni agreed, and went off in search, and while he was gone, the akki once more made off with more stolen treasure.

The greedy little akki came back to the oni's cave a third time, stone overhead and greed in her heart. The oni's heart held only rage. It has happened again! I could not find the thief, but once more my treasures vanish! I do not know what to do, except to go to the akki warrens to the west, and devour them all, just to be sure I get the right one! Fearing for her home and friends, the akki replied, "Great one! Akki are tough and bitter, not at all delicious! It is best to leave them be, and continue your search for the thief! But while the oni did not know a stone, he knew a lie quite well.

He scooped up the little akki, stone and all, and swallowed her in one bite. The akki tell this tale to remember that the truth is a better deception than any lie ever told. The story invoked, its magic became real, and Tamiyo faded from view. To any who saw her now, she would appear to be something that belonged there—another cathar, or a decorative vase—up until the moment she told a lie, or no longer desired deception. It was a very useful story, but as she did every time with every story, she whispered an apology for using it in this way.

Stories were sacred, and to use them as tools felt just a little bit blasphemous every time. She carried twenty-nine story scrolls with her this day, not including the three in iron bands—the ones that must never be used. She walked feet touching the stones now, quite cold with purpose past a pair of cathars, who offered a crisp salute. She returned the gesture with less efficiency, and all saw what they needed to see. The central library was just ahead.

She started mentally cataloguing the stories she brought with her, trying to determine how best to deal with the locks that would likely be up ahead, when she noticed something amiss. The door was already opened a crack, and candlelight flickered from within. She gestured, and a slight push of wind opened the heavy door a few degrees more. She stepped into a deeper stance, her feet now gripping the stone evenly though she still thought of tiptoeing, for reasons she could not explain , and crept toward the door, equally ready to flee or to pounce.

The well-oiled hinges parted further as she heard an unmistakable sound, a moment before her eyes confirmed it: A librarian, aged, unarmed, and unarmored. And standing over him She took in as much information as she could in the moments before she needed to decide to fight or flee. Planeswalkers were to be avoided in her work, almost at all costs.

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They were brash and unpredictable, and could carry the biases of any unknown world or means of thinking—they were, in short, a liability to a truth-seeker. This one appeared human, male, young, though the wisps of mana that surrounded him smelled of deception. He had acquired some local clothing, but decorated them with sigils that were clearly not of Innistrad—a curiously poor disguise. His eyes glowed, panicked, wild, possibly afflicted a thought she had not considered—if a Planeswalker contracted this plane's madness, could they spread it to other worlds?!

She waited two more heartbeats and resolved to let him make the first move, though a scroll had already drifted from her belt and begun to unfurl. His eyes were confused. Furious, terrified, curious, then they settled on something like recognition and relief. You brought me here.

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  • No, not you, this, this journal. You brought me here to meet? No, but how could you? A command, oppressively powerful, battering at her mind like wind at the shutters. But her mind withdrew to a far-off castle, and the winds could not reach her. Four more heartbeats to think, then she smiled as peacefully as she could manage.

    With a thought, she covered the Planeswalker in her veiling spell and removed a different scroll from her satchel. She slipped into the library and closed the door quietly behind her. She had never used this story in precisely this way, but a mad planeswalking telepath was a danger of the sort she had never contemplated. The story was one she gathered many, many years ago, from a world with five moons and gleaming metal as far as the eye could see. With their creator gone, the creatures known as the myr were lost.

    Some continued with their last known instructions, repeating their tasks without direction or purpose, while others simply shut down to await commands that would never come. The loss of Memnarch did not kill them, but with no true consciousness within them, their continued life was scarcely life at all.

    Some of the myr had been tasked to monitor the myr population, and create new myr to replace those that had been damaged or destroyed. One of those had been in hibernation for months when its instructions demanded that it act—myr of its kind were too few, and it needed to make another. However, without its maker to guide it, it did not have clear instructions as to how to proceed. It did what it knew to do—it gathered the proper materials, took those materials to the crafting chamber, a small spherical room, and assembled a myr, completely identical to itself.

    This was the point in the process when the Master would gift the new myr with life and a mind, such as it was. But the Master was not there. Still, his instructions persisted. The myr decided to use his own mind as a template, and copied itself into the new myr, creating a being completely identical to itself in every way.

    Its instructions satisfied, the myr went to leave the chamber The myr tried to let its duplicate go first—but the duplicate had the same thought at the same time. They waited an identical length of time, and then tried to go again, each colliding into its other self once more. The myr and its duplicate tried everything they could to break this impossible symmetry, but nothing worked.

    Eventually, in frustration, the two destroyed each other. A third myr arrived some time later, being tasked with repair, and restored one of the myr—the restored myr stopped the repair myr before it could repair the duplicate and start the whole problem all over again. Instead, it decided to try something different, and copied its mind over again, but this time left it incomplete. The newly awakened myr was able to create others in the same way, and these new myr, created with minds partially unformed, were able to multiply and modify themselves, act autonomously, and ultimately took the myriad forms that they have today.

    The myr celebrate this story as their creation myth, but the reason they celebrate it is curious. There are three theories as to which of the myr in this story was actually the first myr of their kind. Was it the first myr who created another without a specific instruction from their creator?