Episode 6 – The Summoner's Mark
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Zane woke to whispers.
He was back in the upper sanctum, lying on a stone bed layered with enchanted silk. The torches above burned with cold blue light. The scent of wild lavender and scorched iron hung in the air.
The whispers weren't real—at least, not physically.
They came from the mark.
> We see you… Broken Godling… Bound but not broken…
Zane sat up sharply, clutching his hand. The mark on his palm—ink-black and webbed with fine golden lines—was alive. Pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.
That thing I summoned… wasn't in the Codex. And it obeyed me. No chant. No glyph.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. His mana was still dangerously low. The depths had drained him, not just physically—but spiritually. Like something had fed off him down there.
But he felt stronger too.
More… aware.
Like he could feel the magic in the air now. Sense the ley currents pulsing beneath the Temple floor. Hear the faint hum of runes inscribed centuries ago.
---
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
It opened before he could speak.
Kaela stepped inside, her face tight, expression unreadable.
"You passed," she said flatly. "So did I. Grath too. Ren… didn't make it."
Zane frowned. "He seemed strong."
Kaela didn't respond. "They said he summoned a Devourer. Got the spell wrong. It turned on him."
Zane swallowed.
Kaela's eyes narrowed. "What did you summon down there, Zane?"
He hesitated. "I… don't know. It just… came."
"Bullshit."
He looked up.
Kaela stepped closer, voice low and tense. "I felt the magic from across the catacombs. Like a void swallowing the light. You didn't summon from the Codex. You summoned something ancient."
Zane didn't respond.
Kaela's voice dropped to a whisper. "You didn't just summon a beast, Zane. You called a Willborn. A creature shaped by your own soul. That shouldn't be possible for beginners. Not even among high-bloods."
Zane's breath caught.
Willborns were theoretical. Forbidden. Summons that weren't plucked from the Astral Chain, but generated—creatures born from instinct, will, and spiritual depth. They were tied to the summoner's fate. And they didn't die. They evolved.
Kaela studied him.
"You're not normal."
Before Zane could respond, the door opened again.
This time, it was Sylfa.
"Come. The High Magister demands all surviving candidates report to the Prism Hall."
---
The Prism Hall was alive with tension.
The three survivors stood on a circular glass dais etched with interlocking glyphs. Above them, magical lights refracted into a floating constellation—showing their results.
Kaela. Grath. Zane.
Vaelik stood at the center, his wyrm-bone staff glowing.
"You are the only ones remaining," he said. "Three out of thirty-seven."
The silence stretched.
"Normally, this would mark your initiation into the lower court of summoners," Vaelik continued. "But this time… the Flame Trial did not go as expected."
He turned to Zane.
"You summoned a Willborn. A construct of boundless potential—one that was not catalogued. You did it without a grimoire, without glyph sequence, and without sigil chains."
He raised his staff.
"Explain."
Zane stood still. "I don't know how. I just… reached."
Vaelik didn't look convinced.
Sylfa stepped forward. "The boy bears a mark—an ancient binding crest of lost magic. I recommend immediate containment and—"
"No," Vaelik interrupted. "We will watch him."
Zane's heart thundered.
"Such power could reshape the way summoning is done," the High Magister murmured. "If this is Willborn Theory made manifest, we must observe it closely."
He turned to the others. "From this moment forward, Zane will be assigned a Sealing Mentor. He will undergo continuous surveillance and will be placed under restricted summoning. Any violation…"
He tapped his staff.
"Will be treated as a declaration of war on the Sanctum itself."
---
Later that night, Zane sat on the edge of his new quarters. A room within the inner sanctum—a step closer to being recognized. Yet he felt no triumph.
Instead, he felt the mark again.
It pulsed.
A faint shape flickered in the corner of the room.
The Nightmare Beast.
It knelt in shadow, watching him silently. Its form wavered—less stable now, like it was in conflict with the world around it.
Zane looked at it.
"You're… part of me, aren't you?"
The beast tilted its head.
> "You called. I answered. We are bound."
Zane nodded slowly.
And for the first time… he smiled.