THE SUMMONED: II
873 Words
The hook pulled again.
This time, it was more desperate, refusing to be ignored.
The taste of iron and wet earth filled his mouth. A vision of dark trees and the smell of pine needles threatened to overlap with the sterile, air-conditioned luxury of the office. The call was raw. It didn't have the practiced, rhythmic flow of a high-coven ritual. It was jagged and bloody. It was a command that bypassed his mind and spoke directly to his blood.
Elias felt a bead of sweat form at his hairline.
He sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the man across from him, but his vision was blurring. The mahogany table seemed to turn into a dark pool of water. He felt the weight of his true age pressing down on his physical shell. He was a god-spirit anchored in a body of flesh, and for the first time in centuries, the anchor was being dragged.
Across the table, a woman in a navy suit paused mid-sentence. “Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Vale?”
“I am fine.”
His voice was quiet and didn’t even raise a pitch, despite the pain of the summoning.
He straightened slightly, forcing his focus back to the present.
“Shall we finalize the terms?” he asked.
Pens lifted. Papers slid forward, and while all this was going on, the pull intensified.
For a fraction of a second, the room tilted.
He saw it then.
Not clearly. Not fully.
A glimpse of trees. Cold air. The scent of soil and blood.
Across the room, Avan noticed.
Avan stood near the wall, tablet in hand, posture relaxed but watchful. He looked human enough. Early thirties. Dark hair neatly styled. Gray suit. Observant eyes that missed very little.
He had served Elias long enough to recognize the smallest deviation.
The senator continued speaking, unaware. “We will need a written guarantee—”
Elias rose.
“My apologies,” he said. “We will conclude here. Avan will finalize the documents.”
Confusion rippled across the table.
“But we have not—”
“You have everything you need,” Elias replied.
One by one, they nodded, just like they always did.
Avan stepped forward immediately. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll ensure all signatures are collected.”
Elias walked toward the doors without another word.
The corridor outside was quieter, and the pull surged again. More desperate this time.
He placed a hand briefly against the wall.
Avan caught up to him. “Is it a threat?”
“No.”
That was what unsettled him.
If it were an attack, he would crush it. If it were an enemy, he would eliminate it.
This was neither.
It was a call. One that he couldn’t ignore.
Avan lowered his voice, immediately understanding the situation. “You have not been summoned in a very long time.”
“Centuries.”
The word tasted old.
Avan studied him. “Will you answer?”
Elias exhaled slowly. “I am trying not to.”
They reached the private elevator. The doors closed and silence settled around them.
He had sworn never to be used again. Never to be dragged into bloodshed at the whim of desperate witches who believed they could control what they called.
He had been a weapon once and had sworn never to be one again.
His office stretched wide and severe. Dark wood. Black marble. No personal photographs. Images of Elias Vale never came out clear, so he never took them.
Avan followed him inside.
The pull was unbearable now. The summoner was dying, and he could feel it.
The thread between realms burned.
Avan closed the doors. “I will secure the floor.”
“Do that.”
Avan hesitated. “If this is a summoner…”
“I know what it is.”
Avan inclined his head and stepped out.
Elias stood alone in the center of the room.
He loosened his cuff slightly. Removed his watch. Placed it carefully on the desk.
Control. Always control.
He lowered himself into the leather chair behind his desk and closed his eyes.
For a moment, he resisted again.
He thought of peace. Of predictability. Of centuries spent building influence so he would never again be dragged into chaos by someone else’s desperation.
The pull tightened.
A final tug.
He let go.
The office disappeared.
Cold air struck him first.
The scent of pine. Wet earth. Iron.
He stood within the ruins of an old house swallowed by forest. The walls were broken. The roof partially collapsed. Moonlight spilled through gaps in the wood.
And at the center of the floor, drawn in blood, was a symbol he had not seen in a very long time.
Within it lay a girl.
Young.
Her dark hair was matted with blood, and her skin was pale beneath streaks of dirt. One of her hands was still outstretched toward the symbol as if she had forced herself to finish it.
Impossible.
Elias stepped closer and as he did, the circle pulsed with the last of her strength.
He could feel how much it had cost her.
Too much.
She would not survive long enough to complete the binding.
- Writer
