Chapter 7: Rituals and Magic

It had been nearly an hour since the fog had passed by, and Abel had learned firsthand about the dangers that lay beyond his village. The fog had easily placed him in a powerful illusion, and if he hadn’t snapped out of it quickly, he might have found himself lost to the ocean. Seeing that the Apostles made no effort to protect the recruits from the fog suggested that making their way through it was a test of some sort—a test of mental fortitude or luck.

As he reflected on his earlier interaction with Ronald, Abel steeled himself for what was to come. He made sure his dagger was securely on his hip, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. With determination, he left his room, walking down the dimly lit hall lined with numbered doors. The wooden floor creaked under his steps, and occasionally, he caught glimpses of curious eyes peeking out from slightly opened doors, watching him pass.

After a few moments, he reached door number eighty and knocked twice, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Creak!

The door opened slowly, revealing Ronald, whose face brightened upon seeing Abel.

“Abel! How wonderful of you to join us today. Come in!” Ronald gestured for him to enter, and Abel stepped inside. The room was identical to his own, except the window faced the setting sun, casting a warm glow across the small space. The pink and orange hues of the sky painted a serene backdrop, contrasting the tense atmosphere inside.

Abel’s eyes widened as he recognized a familiar face—Sena, who was sitting on the floor with a surprised expression, clearly not expecting to see Abel there.

Beside Sena were two other people. A young boy with curly hair resembling an afro sat cross-legged, his skin a glossy copper hue and his sharp hazel eyes observing Abel closely. Next to him sat the same girl Abel had seen confront Edmund earlier—Isabella. Her posture was relaxed, but her expression was guarded.

They formed half of a circle on the floor, with space for two more, completing a small group that barely fit in the cramped room. In the center of their circle were various items: two lit candles, a large bowl of water, a small bag of spices, and other strange artifacts that Abel couldn’t immediately identify.

Nando, the curly-haired boy, scowled slightly. “Ronald, I said no more people. We can barely fit as it is, and if the Apostles catch us, it’ll be on my head.” His tone was anxious, clearly uncomfortable with the growing number of participants.

Isabella glanced at Abel, her voice softer but still laced with skepticism. “And we don’t even know if this guy will be useful to us in the tower. No offense,” she added, offering Abel a half-hearted smile.

Before Ronald could respond, Sena stood and extended his hand toward Abel. “Good to see you’re doing better. Welcome to room eighty.”

Abel shook Sena’s hand, feeling more at ease with the gesture. It was a silent endorsement that he belonged here.

“Ah, so it seems you and Sena already know each other. Great,” Ronald said, gesturing toward the group. “This is Isabella and Nando. Come, sit with us; we’re about to discuss tonight’s plans.”

Abel nodded politely at the pair, and with Sena’s and Ronald’s approval, Isabella and Nando appeared slightly less wary. Abel moved to sit between Ronald and Sena, completing the circle.

Nando eyed Abel before speaking. “Since we’re nearing the Stone Port and will soon reach the shore, I think it’s time we attempt the Mirror Scrying Ritual I found in my family’s hidden library. You all made it through the fog, so I’m sure you’ve got the mental fortitude for it.” He looked at each member of the group, gauging their readiness.

The others nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of curiosity and caution.

“A few days ago, we discussed the six magical attributes—Wind, Fire, Earth, Water, Light, and Darkness,” Nando continued. “We also touched on the concept of being ‘touched by magic.’ Abel, are you familiar with this?”

Abel shook his head, trying to play off his complete lack of knowledge. “I’ve heard a little, but I’m not familiar with the details.”

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Nando nodded. “The general population of the world will likely never encounter magic. It flows around the mundane world like water around a rock, but sometimes, it touches the ordinary in unexpected ways. When someone experiences a magical encounter—whether through an artifact, a phenomenon, or some other means—they become ‘touched by magic.’ From that moment, they are more likely to encounter magic again.”

Abel listened intently, his mind racing. He wondered if the dagger his parents had given him was why he ended up on this ship. Had it marked him in some way?

Nando continued, “Not everyone who encounters magic becomes touched by it. It’s a rare occurrence, but those who are touched will face more magical events in their lives. That’s the potential power of the ritual we’re about to perform.”

Nando presented the items in the center: five strands of hair tied together, a small bag of white powder, the lit candles, various spices, and a large bowl of water.

“Will the ritual make us ‘touched by magic’?” Sena asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

Nando shook his head. “Not necessarily. Becoming touched by magic could be a side effect, but the primary purpose of this ritual is to reveal a potential magical treasure we might miss in the near future. It’s about foresight and preparation. Of course, as with all rituals, there are risks.”

Ronald leaned forward, his skepticism clear. “What risks?”

Nando sighed. “Rituals can attract malicious entities. They can corrupt the ritual, turning participants into mindless creatures, cursing them, or worse. It’s rare, but it happens—especially to those without strong mental defenses. If anyone feels uncomfortable, now’s the time to back out.”

Abel felt a mix of fear and curiosity. The allure of seeing real magic was too strong, and he found himself leaning in, eager to witness what would unfold.

Seeing no one move to leave, Nando began the ritual. He carefully placed the hair, salt, and spices into the bowl of water, then started to chant in a language that sounded ancient and powerful. The room fell silent, the only sound being the occasional creak of the ship as it cut through the water.

At first, nothing happened. The candles flickered, and the room remained still. Just as Nando was about to speak, the candles’ flames began to twist wildly, and the water in the bowl rippled violently, splashing over the edges. A foul stench filled the air, reminiscent of decay, making their eyes water and their stomachs churn.

The clear water darkened into a black, oily substance that reflected a faint purple glow. The surface began to shift, revealing a vivid image of a crumbling tomb surrounded by ancient, half-destroyed caskets. The tomb’s stone doors shuddered and slowly opened, revealing a dark void. From within, shadowy silhouettes emerged—figures that moved unnaturally, their forms barely distinguishable.

After the fifth silhouette passed through the doors, the tomb quaked violently, causing the bowl to rattle on the wooden floor. A murderous aura emanated from the black water, sending chills down the group’s spines. Abel and Ronald instinctively moved back, their instincts screaming danger.

Nando moved to end the ritual, beginning to chant a counter-spell, but before he could finish, the water in the bowl exploded. From the dark liquid, a long, thin arm shot out, its three bony fingers wrapping around Nando’s throat in a vice-like grip. The arm was covered in strange orifices that occasionally contracted, emitting a sickening stench that filled the room.

Isabella reacted first, grabbing Nando and trying to pull him away, but the creature’s grip was too strong. The group joined in, desperately trying to free him, but the arm only pulled Nando closer to the bowl. His face turned a dangerous shade of purple, and his eyes bulged as he fought for air.

“Abel, cut its arm! Do it now!” Ronald shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

Without hesitation, Abel drew his dagger, feeling a surge of adrenaline course through him, it was almost electrifying as his senses and body felt alive. In a swift motion, he slashed at the creature’s arm, the blade slicing through the grotesque limb with ease. The severed hand fell to the floor, twitching before finally going still. Nando, now free, gasped for air and quickly finished the counter-chant, causing the room’s purple glow to vanish. The water returned to its clear state, and the eerie silence that followed felt almost suffocating.

Nando collapsed onto the bed, clutching his bruised neck. “Thank you,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Isabella stepped forward, pointing at the disembodied hand lying on the floor. “We need to get rid of that thing. We can’t risk it attracting more trouble.”

Nando hesitated but then spoke, his tone pleading. “I know you saved me, but if I can keep this hand, you'll have an ally in the tower. In return, I promise to share another ritual with you all—something that could be incredibly valuable.”

Abel stared at the hand, torn between wanting to study it and recognizing the potential dangers it represented. Yet the promise of a new ritual—and a powerful ally in Nando—was too enticing to refuse. The others nodded in agreement, sealing the deal.

“Great. But we should all head back to our rooms before anyone notices the commotion,” Sena said cautiously. The group exchanged brief farewells and departed, each lost in their thoughts about the night’s events.

As Abel walked back to his room, his mind buzzed with everything he had witnessed. The path to the tower was filled with uncertainty, but with allies like these and the knowledge he was beginning to gather, Abel was ready to face whatever lay ahead.