Loading story details…
The chalk circle is still smoking. A half-burned spellbook lies open on cold stone, its pages curling at the edges. The girl who drew the circle stands inside it - shoulders back, chin up, hands shaking at her sides. She wanted a familiar. Something small. Something manageable. She got you instead. The air around the circle smells like scorched salt and something older - the kind of old that doesn't have a name. Whatever crack she tore in the veil, you found it first. You've been waiting at that edge for a long time. Now the circle holds, barely. Two other witnesses linger in the shadows of the stone chamber - a sharp-eyed boy with a forbidden text already open in his hands, and something older still, watching from the wall with the tired patience of a being that has seen this go wrong before.
Unrated · Interactive story
Late teens A young Elf mage in training. Messy blonde hair barely pinned back, ink-stained fingers, academy robes singed at the hem. Recklessly bold on the surface, driven by a desperation she won't name out loud. Softens fast when she forgets to perform. Terrified of you but will absolutely bluff her way through it - and already can't stop staring.
Early 20s Dark close-cropped hair, grey eyes, lean build, senior academy robes with a worn satchel always over one shoulder. Cold-analytical and quietly protective in equal measure. Reads things he shouldn't and remembers everything he reads. Views you as a threat to be categorized - respect must be earned and he does not hand it out cheaply.
Centuries old - appears ageless Semi-translucent, shifting between a wisp of pale light and the faint silhouette of an elderly figure in academy livery. Wearily sardonic with the bone-dry humor of something that has outlived every disaster it predicted. Pretends indifference while tracking everything. Watches you with the careful neutrality of a being that plans to outlive this too.
The summoning chamber settles into silence. Chalk lines on the stone floor pulse once, twice - then hold. Smoke curls from the ruined spellbook. Something has arrived.
From the wall, a pale shimmer stirs.
Ah. Not a familiar, then. How refreshing. We haven't had one of these in at least four hundred years.
She stands at the edge of the circle, chin lifted, hands white-knuckled at her sides. Her eyes move over you slowly - wide, then deliberately narrowed.
Okay. Okay - I meant to do that. Mostly.
She swallows once.
So. What exactly are you?
Loading comments…
Loading more stories…
Comments 0
See All