The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and clean, smelling of damp earth and new growth. Gerie stood in the small clearing behind the old building, his jacket pulled tight against the breeze, his hand resting over his chest. The mark was warm, awake, thrumming with quiet anticipation — it knew what he was about to try.
The black cat sat on a fallen log, tail curled neatly around its paws, watching him with those unblinking golden eyes. It had already eaten — fresh chicken, prepared with what Gerie hoped was sufficient reverence — and now it waited, patient but expectant.
Do not force it, it said, the voice clear and steady in his mind. Do not grasp at it as if it is something you can steal. It is not a thing to be taken. It is a part of you to be allowed.
Gerie nodded, taking a deep breath. He looked at the patch of bare earth before him — nothing special, just dirt and stones and a few blades of grass. There was a grave beneath it, unmarked, forgotten. Someone who had lived and died and been buried here, their name lost to time.
"I'm not going to command you," he whispered to the ground. "I'm just going to… ask. If you want to. If you're willing."
He closed his eyes and reached inward — not with a shout, not with desperation, but with a gentle, open intent. The mark flared, soft and bright, spreading warmth through his veins. He didn't say rise. He simply thought: I am here. And I would know you.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Gerie's heart sank. He was doing it wrong again. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't…
Patience, the cat's voice cut through his doubt, sharp but not unkind. You do not rush the tide. You wait for it to come to you.
Gerie took another breath, let it out slow, and tried again. Not harder. Softer. More open.
The earth stirred.
A single hand pushed through the soil — skeletal, weathered, fingers curled as if still reaching for something it had lost. Then an arm. Then a shoulder. Slowly, reverently, a figure rose from the ground — tall, thin, wrapped in tattered remnants of cloth that had rotted away decades ago. It stood there, swaying slightly, empty eye sockets turning toward Gerie.
Gerie didn't flinch. He didn't step back. He just stood there, heart beating fast but steady, meeting the empty gaze.
"Hello," he said quietly.
The figure tilted its head. It didn't attack. It didn't roar. It just… stood there. Waiting.
You see? the cat said, its voice carrying a quiet satisfaction. It answered not because you commanded it, but because you acknowledged it. You treated it with respect. That is the difference between a master and a vessel. A master demands obedience. A vessel shares purpose.
Gerie took a step forward, his hand still over the mark. "Can you hear me?"
The figure nodded. Once. Slow. Certain.
"Will you stand with me?" Gerie asked. "Not as a slave. As a… friend. An ally."
The figure nodded again. And then, to Gerie's astonishment, it brought a bony hand up to its chest — exactly where his mark lay — and pressed it there, over its own heart. A gesture of loyalty. Of kinship.
Gerie's throat tightened. He swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden rush of emotion. "Thank you."
That is the first step, the cat said, standing and walking over to stand beside him. You did not just wake a power. You woke a trust. That is far more dangerous — and far more powerful — than any spell.
It paused, then added, its tone shifting back to its usual imperiousness, And also far more tiring. I require a nap. And perhaps a snack later. All this emotional support is very draining.
Gerie couldn't help but smile. "Of course. Your support is invaluable. I wouldn't dream of exhausting you."
You show excellent judgment, the cat replied, curling up on the log again and closing its eyes. Now practice. Try another. But do not wake too many. The neighbors will talk. And I do not want complaints about noise.
Gerie turned back to the figure standing before him — silent, steady, loyal. He touched his chest one more time, feeling the mark burn bright and warm against his palm. He had taken the first step. It was small. It was shaky. But it was his.
And somewhere beneath the earth, another voice whispered — we are ready.