Chapter 9
894 Words
Three days later, Elizabeth decided to attempt the summoning ritual.
Her brother had sent her a book on summoning magic in his last supply delivery. Elizabeth had read it cover to cover twice, absorbing the theory, memorizing the incantations and ritual structures. The book described how to summon a familiar—a small creature that would follow simple commands. The familiar wouldn't be permanent; it would exist only long enough to complete a task before dissipating back into magical energy.
"Perfect for individuals living in isolation who require assistance with tasks," the book had noted. "Particularly useful for fetching items from high places or performing simple repetitive labor."
Elizabeth had considered this. A familiar would be useful. Logical. Efficient.
She didn't examine the small flutter of curiosity she felt at the prospect of something—anything—new happening in her routine. She didn't acknowledge that the castle felt emptier than usual after losing contact with her brother. She simply noted that a familiar servant would optimize her time management.
That was all.
The castle's basement was the ideal location for magical experiments—cool, isolated, with stone walls that wouldn't burn if something went wrong. Elizabeth spent the morning preparing the ritual space, drawing the summoning circle in chalk with precise measurements, gathering the required components: salt for the boundary, dried herbs for focus, a single drop of her blood for connection.
When everything was ready, she returned to her chambers to change.
If she was going to perform a summoning ritual, she should dress appropriately. The book had mentioned that ceremonial atmosphere could strengthen magical intent. Elizabeth selected a dress from her wardrobe—a Gothic piece in deep crimson, with black lace trim and layers of frills that cascaded down the skirt. The dramatic style suited the occasion. She brushed her silver hair until it shone, letting it fall loose down her back.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she appeared exactly like what she was attempting: a young sorceress preparing to call something from beyond.
Elizabeth returned to the basement, took her position in the center of the circle, and began the incantation.
Her voice was steady, clear, pronouncing each syllable with exactness. The chalk lines began to glow with pale blue light. Magic hummed through the room, building in intensity—
And then nothing happened.
Elizabeth waited. The glow faded. The circle remained empty.
She frowned and consulted the book. "First attempts may experience delay," it noted. "Magical channels require time to establish connection. Wait a minimum of one hour before attempting again."
One hour. Acceptable.
Rather than return upstairs, Elizabeth decided to wait in the basement. The temperature was comfortable, and leaving might disrupt the magical buildup. She gathered several books from the shelves lining the basement walls—volumes on magical theory she'd been meaning to read—and created a seat for herself atop a stack of grimoires positioned near the ritual circle, close enough to observe any changes.
She arranged her crimson skirts around her, spread her silver hair over the books beneath her so it wouldn't crease uncomfortably, and opened the topmost volume in her lap.
The basement lamp cast warm light over her reading spot, creating an amber glow against the dark red of her dress.
She began to read, occasionally glancing at the circle to check for results.
The book discussed the theoretical foundations of summoning magic—the way it created temporary bridges between the physical world and the realm of pure magical essence. Elizabeth absorbed the information methodically, turning pages at regular intervals.
Time passed. Elizabeth turned pages with methodical precision, absorbing information about magical resonance and summoning theory.
One Year Earlier
The Adventurer's Guild in the capital city of Serafina was always bustling, but tonight it was particularly loud. Krow sat in a corner booth, nursing a drink and listening to the conversations around him with half an ear.
"—heard Marcus tried the Nagitrious again—"
"i***t. That's the third party this month."
"Nobody comes back from that forest. It's suicide."
Krow's interest sharpened. The Nagitrious Forest. He'd been hearing about it for months now—a vast wilderness in the kingdom's interior, so dangerous that even seasoned adventurers refused contracts anywhere near it. Monsters, they said. Ancient magic. Trees that moved. Sounds that drove men mad.
No one who entered ever came out alive.
Perfect, Krow thought, feeling the first genuine spark of interest he'd experienced in weeks.
He'd left his old life two years ago—abandoned his family name, his title, everything that connected him to the suffocating world. It had all been so exhausting. So predictable.
At least fighting monsters was honest.
But even adventuring had started to lose its appeal. Quests were too easy. Monsters are too simple once you understand their patterns. Other adventurers were too impressed by his competence.
The Nagitrious, though. A forest that killed everyone. A challenge that no one had solved.
Now that's interesting.
Krow spent a full year preparing.
He started by interviewing survivors—not people who'd entered the forest, but those who'd touched its edges and lived to run away. Hunters who'd tracked game too close to the boundary. Merchants whose caravans had accidentally wandered near the treeline. Ex-soldiers who'd been stationed at the forest's perimeter.
Each conversation added pieces to the puzzle.
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