“But, it’s not fair! I’m the only initiate without cool powers,” Soraya would not cease her complaining.

Wakahn tried to talk her out of it, but she didn’t listen. The last of the monsters was in hand. Literally, writhing in Cyril’s clutches. Piper and Wakahn had dismissed their transformations and the group was walking from the quarry.

“Your body wouldn’t be able to handle it at present,” Cyril said.

“Earlier you said it ‘might’ not be able to handle it,” Soraya was referring to the man’s initial explanation of denizens. She clung to whatever chance there was of convincing Cyril. He should have chosen his words more carefully.

“Only very, very few people can safely welcome a gwyll into their body with no preparation. It’s more likely the spirit would become a parasite, not a tool. You would think things are fine until it stole enough of your strength. It would fully steal your body and it would be our oath to kill you on the spot. Still wanna try it?”

“A little,” Soraya admitted honestly. She stopped bringing it up.

The monster was an ugly, diminutive creature. Its body was spindly and its head was like a disc with hexagonal eyes bulging from its top. It had stopped making the giggling noise. All of the monsters in that pack had been pretty weak, but Cyril was overdue for a denizen. Having any gwyll would make him that much more useful in combat. He could scout out some more appropriate powers when he had the time.

Something like the denizen from his SDO days. The guild had exorcised his denizen upon his departure. The practice was not standard, but they wanted to ladle on as much punishment as they could find in their rule book. He had not resisted.

Once the group was a short walk from the quarry, Cyril went to work.

“Just think of this as another lesson, Soraya. I’ll be teaching you the process for denizen intake. Most wardens call this ‘assimilation.’” The monster was unconscious from its brief fight with the warden. Cyril didn’t let go of it as he knelt to the dirt path. With the corner of his nail, Cyril sliced a nick in his hand. Enough for blood to creep out of the wound.

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“This is one of the runes given to use by the Djinn. It is the original language for communing with mana. Gwyll commune with the elements, the spirits that govern our physical reality. By repeating the words given to us by the djinn, we access a deeper magic.”

In blood, Cyril drew the rune as he was taught. As Bu was taught. As his master in turn was taught. He enclosed the precise linework with a circle of blood. One the rune, he set the monster. It had been, apparently, playing possum. Once Cyril released his grip, it tried to flee. But, its body could not separate from the rune. The blood acted as an adhesive that would not release its prisoner.

“The rune binds souls to a point in our physical world. But, the next step is to release the gwyll from its host. Djinn taught us to do this as well. To exorcise spirits with an incantation.

“Ah Ahranya!”

Sylphs carried the incantation from Cyril’s voice to the gwyll. To the monster. It tried to escape the blood as the incantation washed over it.

“Ah Ahranya!” Cyril repeated the words of power. Over and over. Each spell cast upset the monster. Finally, it grew limp. The blood began to glow a bright scarlet. The monster’s form shrank to that of a beetle. Dead.

“The other monsters didn’t do that,” Soraya observed. “Why did this one change back after it died?”

“It died a long time ago,” Cyril guessed. “It was only animated by the gwyll. By exorcising the spirit, the physical host can rest. But, when we kill monsters, the physical form stays the same. It dies as a monster.”

“So where’s the gwyll?” She asked.

“In the rune,” Cyril gestured towards the scarlet blood. He tossed the beetle’s corpse to the side. “It can stay there a short while so that we may perform the last step of the ritual. Transference.”

Cyril moved the dead beetle from the blood. He flattened his hand over the design. It was warm to the touch. The spirit moved through the liquid like blood through a vein.

“Attesh!” Cyril only needed to say the incantation once. The mana responded to the ancient word. The gwyll broke from the rune and flowed into Cyril’s body. It was weak. Much weaker than any denizen he’d held within him for a decade. But, it would do. Once the spirit was within him, he could easily discern its affinities. The domains of wind and sound. With clarity came nausea. Assimilating a new spirit always upset his stomach.

Soraya applauded. Like everything from the fight to the ritual had been a show for her. “Come on,” Cyril said. “Let’s walk back.”

“What’re you gonna teach us on the way back, Cyril?” Soraya excitedly asked.

“Aren’t you sick of hearing me talk yet?” The warden asked. He was smiling when he said it.