"You better hope I don’t catch you vandals here again!" You yell as the fleeing figures of two adolescents escaped down the hallway, empowered by the Wind Walk cast not a minute ago. You drop a furtive glance towards the classroom they just emerged from, eliciting a groan as you discover the reason for recent presence.
A blood ritual sigil.
You groan again and whimper, wishing you were scrubbing the latrines rather than dealing with this dangerous mess. No, it wasn’t the fact that you’d have to touch pig blood that unsettled you, but rather deconstruction process.
Even incomplete sigils posed a threat, as it could easily be transformed into another, complete one by a swing of the brush, with the unpredictable effects that followed. A deep understanding of rune-work was key if one wanted to survive unscathed.
Fortunately, you possessed it. The mere cleaner was once an aspiring thaumaturge – valedictorian in magic theory, surprising even the professors with your innovative ideas. A bright future had awaited you.
Yet all those prospects shattered once your ineptitude for spell working came to light. Your classmates quickly outpaced you, your professors stole your ideas, and you were forced out of the imperial college. Finally, as if to spit in your back, you were diagnosed with mana degeneration, an incurable disease that festered since your childhood, progressively worsening as you aged. Your wife fled, leaving your young son Hendrick behind.
Hendrick… he was the only light left in your life. You would’ve ended your life long ago, had it not been for that childish smile you had to protect.
You also didn’t have much luck with parents. Your mother had disappeared right after your birth. Any questions about her would prompt a wry smile from your father and the same, exact answer, “she’s no longer of this world.” Lucius, your father, would go missing himself for days on end, – only returning occasionally to restock the supplies at home. But one day, he never returned. Your adolescent days were spent in an orphanage at the slums until you were picked up by a travelling scholar for your talents.
Cough, cough. Your reminiscing ends as you stare at the hacked-up phlegm and blood in your palm. You grimace. About a year or two left, huh…
The degeneration had already spread through your body, as you took on more challenging endeavors to line your purse. You had no personal motivations, you just… didn’t want your son to repeat your life. Fortunately, his talent in practical magic was far superior to yours and the fortune you’ve accumulated doing odd jobs would last him to adulthood. Your only regret was the lack of time spent together.
“I hope he’s better at picking women than me and pops,” you chuckle, making your way to the sigil with a mop and bucket. “Now, let’s see what I’m working with…”
You take a closer look at the compacted runes within the sigil, examining them. It wasn’t anything like you’ve seen before.
“Strange… a double star over Mercury… the cross marks the Moon…”
You were no expert in the art of runes, but it was a familiar topic. Yet you were confident this complex sigil would stump even the world-renowned rune scholar: Professor Brussand.
“Where did those brats even get something like this? Does it even do anything?!”
Finally, you notice an empty spot near the bottom right corner, most likely the remaining piece of this puzzle.
“I suppose I better start from there and work my way around. The inverted Earth should be my first target,” you ponder, dunking the mop into the bucket. You drag it forward, carrying the bloody contents, until you reach that inverted Earth.
“Oh shit!” You yelp as you see the illuminating light spring forward. Not good!
You step backwards, but it was already too late as the darkness consumed you, leaving behind the solitude pair of a mop and bucket.
What do you open your eyes to?
  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2025 tivanenk (UN: aivan021 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Yote has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author