The instructor stood before the hall and delivered the results with measured authority. Students who had earned an A-grade or higher were permitted the privilege of selecting their classes, while all others were bound to attend the full course of study. Those who ranked the lowest would be subjected to additional training.
At length, my name was spoken.
"Damien von Todesmal. No successful summon has been recorded in your case. A period of ten days will be granted for you to produce results. Should you fail to do so, your continuation here will no longer be possible."
I sighed. It was hardly surprising. In truth, it was a miracle I had been granted even a second chance. Perhaps my place within the main family had earned me that leniency, though it felt less like mercy and more like a disaster merely postponed. I had no idea how to accomplish a successful summon. Nothing in my memory offered guidance, and the instructor had given me no solution.
The thought came to me that perhaps the library might hold an answer. If there was knowledge to be found, it would be there.
That evening, once the extra classes had ended, I slipped quietly past my classmates, unwilling to endure their mockery before it could even form. We had been told to share dormitories, but those of the lower ranks were so burdened with their additional lessons that most had not yet visited them. By now they would be preoccupied with moving in, making introductions, and establishing their little circles.
That suited me well. It meant I could go to the library alone, where fewer students would gather, and I would have a chance of finding a seat in peace.
The librarian was a young woman with spectacles perched upon the ridge of her nose. Her hair was a plain brown, her eyes a pale blue, and her expression one of practiced indifference. She did not so much as glance up when I entered, and my greeting was ignored entirely.
Hours passed in the dim silence of the library. The shelves were filled with tomes on summoning, diagrams of circles, and endless commentary on mana, yet none of it helped me. Page after page repeated what I already knew, as if mocking my failure. Not a single line offered a method that could make the difference I needed.
Still, my efforts were not entirely wasted. I came across several passages on miasma, though they were tucked away in side notes rather than central lessons. Unlike mana, which flowed freely through all living beings, miasma gathered where death was plentiful. It was described as stagnant, heavy, and dangerous something to be avoided, as it corroded the living.
For me, though, it sparked a different idea. If miasma is denser in places of death, perhaps I could try summoning there maybe sense something and gain deeper insight. Summons, after all, are connected to the boundary between life and death. Where places with less death failed, perhaps the sheer presence of death might elicit a response.
I closed the book quietly and set it back on the shelf. The conclusion was clear. If I wished to attempt again, it would not be in the library or the practice halls. The cemetery, where death lingered in the air like a shroud, would be the place to try.
It was already late. The gates were closed, guards patrolled the academy grounds. I wore a dark hood to conceal my face. Old habits do not die easily. Slipping through the shadows, I moved toward the town.
The town itself was gothic in style. Black iron lamps glimmered with dim orange light, casting long, spidery shadows across the cobblestones. The night was too deep for most people to be out, yet here and there a few strolled under the lanterns, speaking softly as they walked off their meals. I kept my head down and moved quietly toward the edge of town.
The cemetery lay far from the heart of the streets. It took me an hour to reach its gates, and by the time I arrived it was near midnight. No one stood watch. The old gravekeeper was asleep in his cabin, his head sunk on his chest, exhausted by the day's work.
I slipped through the entrance without a sound.
The miasma was thicker here. I could feel it clinging to my skin, whispering at the edges of my hearing. At the cemetery's center I stopped, drawing a deep breath. My focus narrowed to the overflowing miasma that churned around me like a storm. Its weight was unbearable—the dread, the terror of death, the hunger of all things lost. I could feel it spilling into me, ravaging my mind, gnawing at my thoughts.
Then it struck.
A surge of cold pressed into my chest like a hand. My vision blurred. My own breath rattled. The emotions were no longer just around me; they were inside me. Hate, grief, despair, all clawing at my heart.
I staggered back, clutching at my head.
I was being possessed.
Panic broke my focus. Gasping for air, I spun around and bolted toward the exit, the mist and shadows trailing behind me, clinging like they didn't want to let me escape.
But before I could make my escape, the air before me cracked like glass. A soundless shatter rippled outward, and the space itself fractured. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer in the cemetery.
I stood again in the dark room.
Serpentine miasma coiled around me like living chains, cold and slick, winding tighter and tighter. It rose from the floor in tendrils, hissing as it touched my skin. My breath caught; my face burned and then turned cold, the color draining to a deep, unnatural purple. It was strangling me, not only my body but my mind.
The miasma lifted me from the ground, holding me in the air as though I were nothing more than a doll. A seeping hiss slithered into my ears, a sound that was not a sound. Within it was a voice cunning, whispering, a chorus of promises and commands. It tried to worm its way into my thoughts, to break me and make me its slave.
It was the specter.
I was its captive now.
I struggled, clawing at the tendrils, but my strength was nothing against it. My consciousness began to slip, my vision dimming at the edges. In the distance, I thought I saw it, the darkwood door. It creaked open slowly, as though pushed by an unseen hand.
Before I could reach it, my eyes went dark.