Page 17 of Magic in My Bones

“We have no choice, Dorian,” Dean Vane shouted. “We must contain it, by whatever means necessary!”

I knew he was right, loath as I was to admit it. With a heavy heart, I reached into the depths of my coat, my fingers closing around the cool metal of the spirit container I always carried with me. It was a last resort, a tool I had hoped never to use, but in the face of such unimaginable suffering, I saw no other way.

As I withdrew the intricately crafted device, its silver surface etched with glowing sigils of containment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. This was not the path I had envisioned for myself, not the way I had hoped to use my gifts. I was meant to be a guide, a shepherd of souls, not a jailer.

But there was no time for such self-recrimination. With a flick of my wrist, I activated the container, its sigils flaring to life with a brilliant azure light.

The spirit container hummed with power as I held it aloft, the glowing sigils pulsing in time with the frantic beat of my heart. I focused my will, directing the device's energy towards the raging amalgamation of souls. Tendrils of shimmering light snaked out from the container, ensnaring the spirit in a web of arcane power.

The spirit thrashed and howled, fighting against the pull of the containment spell. The air crackled with the clash of opposing forces, the spirit's raw anguish colliding with the strength of the container's enchantments.

“Hold steady, Dorian!” Dean Vane called out, his own magic joining mine in a desperate attempt to subdue the rampaging entity. “We almost have it!”

I gritted my teeth, pouring every ounce of my strength into the containment spell. Sweat beaded on my brow as I strained against the spirit's resistance, my arms trembling with the effort of maintaining the flow of power.

For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed as though the spirit might break free, its fury threatening to shatter the delicate balance of the containment field. But then, with a final, agonized shriek, the amalgamated spirit was sucked into the vessel, its essences compressed and constrained by the powerful sigils etched upon its surface. The container shuddered in my grasp, its metal growing warm to the touch as it struggled to contain the raw, primal energy.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The ossuary gardens fell silent, the only sound our ragged breathing as we stood amidst the shattered remains of the once-beautiful skeletal displays. The spirit container pulsed softly in my hand, its sigils glowing with a steady, subdued light.

I stared down at the device, a mixture of relief and sorrow warring within me. We had succeeded in containing the rogue spirit, yes, but at what cost? The tortured souls within the container would find no peace, no rest, trapped as they were within its arcane confines. It was a fate I would not wish upon my greatest enemy, let alone these innocent entities who had already suffered so much.

Dean Vane straightened his coat, brushing bits of bone dust from his sleeves with a fastidious air. “Well, that was certainly more excitement than I had bargained for on our little stroll,” he remarked, his tone far too casual for the gravity of the situation.

I barely registered his words, my mind still reeling from the implications of what we had just witnessed. “This was norandom occurrence,” I murmured, my gaze still fixed upon the spirit container. “Someone, or something, deliberately created this... this abomination. And I intend to find out who.”

He huffed. “Just so long as it’s on your own time, Professor. And make sure that container makes it down to the reliquary. Can’t risk something like that getting loose again.”

I nodded absently, my fingers tightening around the spirit container. “Of course. I'll see to it personally on my way to the alliance meeting.”

Dean Vane gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “See that you do.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he left me alone amidst the ruins of the ossuary garden.

I stood there for a long moment, my mind racing with questions and possibilities. Who could have done this? What possible motive could they have for creating such a twisted abomination? And perhaps most importantly, were there more amalgamated spirits out there, waiting to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting world?

A chill ran down my spine at the thought. If this was just the beginning, if there were other tortured souls crying out for release... I shuddered to think of the implications.

But I knew one thing for certain: I could not let this stand. As a necromancer, as a shepherd of souls, it was my sacred duty to unravel this mystery and bring those responsible to justice. No matter the cost.

With a heavy sigh, I tucked the spirit container into the depths of my coat, its weight a constant reminder of the burden I now carried. I cast one last glance around the shattered remains of the ossuary garden, my heart aching for the beauty that had been so cruelly destroyed.

Then, with a sense of grim determination, I turned and left the garden behind. For now.

7

Chasing Joy

Ren

Luca peered at thecaterpillar with a mix of fascination and concern. “So he’s going to transform into a moth?”

“Eventually,” I said, absently turning another page in my summoning theory textbook.

Books were stacked in precarious towers around us, their leather bindings worn soft with age and use. I'd draped black velvet over the standard-issue desk lamp, giving the room a softer glow that made the brass fixtures gleam like cat's eyes in the dark. The whole effect was rather like studying in a Victorian naturalist's private library, if that naturalist had a particular fondness for the macabre.

A jar of cemetery dirt sat on my windowsill (properly consecrated, of course), next to a collection of oddly shaped bottles I'd been slowly filling with various magical essences. One contained captured moonlight, another held pressed flowers from the ossuary garden, and a third swirled with what looked like liquid shadows.

As Luca leaned in closer, his sprite familiar Thistle fluttered over to investigate the peculiar caterpillar. He hovered just above it, gossamer wings shimmering with curiosity. The caterpillar, seemingly unperturbed by the attention, continued its methodical journey across my desk, leaving a trail of minuscule silk strands in its wake. The silk wasn't ordinary either. In the right light, it seemed to shimmer with tiny runes, like the caterpillar was unconsciously weaving spells as it moved.

“What are you going to name him?” Luca asked, his voice soft with wonder.

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