> Invoka mir Ketten

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> Phrase

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> Translation: Summon of Chains

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> Definition: "Invoka mir Ketten" is a powerful and intricate spell in the Alchemy lexicon, originally created by the Magi Commander Yeso Sternach. Initially intended to summon Yeso himself, this spell's formula has undergone significant alterations over time. The current iteration of "Invoka mir Ketten" is known for its ability to summon and subsequently imprison the summoner, a twist on its original purpose. This spell intertwines elements of alchemy and conjuration, manifesting chains that bind the invoker.

"Come to bed," Yeso groaned into the pillows, immobilized by the cold poultice layered over his scarred back. "Love!"

"I'm nearly done; just need to double-stitch this line," she replied, her concentration unwavering as she worked on the floor, her legs aching and feet swollen from discomfort.

"Zonnestra?"

"Just a bit more time, love," she chuckled, her hands still sewing.

"You've imprisoned me here," he playfully grumbled. "And it's dreadfully boring without you. Save me."

Finally, she snapped the thread with her teeth and stood, shaking out the purple robe before draping it over a chair. "Done," she declared, making her way to the bed's edge to gently peel away the gauze. "I should make more of this."

"No!" Yeso protested, sitting up. "Perhaps tomorrow, but that's enough for now."

"Why the long, grumpy face?" Noctavia asked, slipping into bed beside Yeso and brushing aside some golden lilies from her pillow.

"I'm not, just... frustrated with how things turned out. I don't like feeling defeated," Yeso admitted, "It feels like everything was for nothing."

"We haven't been defeated, Yeso. It's just that things have shifted. This place isn't our home anymore or anyone's, actually."

Yeso hesitated before speaking. "I've been thinking... how would you feel about moving now to Faewood? Our girl could grow up there where I did."

"It's a boy. His name will be Orlo," Noctavia reminded him.

"Yes, our child, Orlo or... Eura," Yeso corrected, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Faewood is where I learned from the fairies and faes how to care for each other. How to value life and what surrounds us. It made me feel safe. And it's safe and..."

"Aren't fairies cannibals?" Noctavia interjected, jesting.

"Only when necessary... or when they're hungry," he replied, a wry grin on his face. "But you know, it's home for us… we spoke about it."

"You really want to go back, don't you?"

"I do, but only if it's what you want as well. We need to be in agreement," he said, his eyes conveying a silent plea. "We are a team."

Noctavia reached out, gently tucking a braid behind his ear. "Would it make you truly happy?"

"I'm happiest wherever you are," Yeso said earnestly. "But I want our family to be safe, for our child to grow up happy, as I did. But I need to know it will make you happy as well; otherwise, what's the point?"

"I'm happy where you are happy."

As dawn broke, casting its first light over the camp adorned for the upcoming rise of a prince into an alchemist, the air buzzed with happy anticipation. Women busily prepared food, while men fine-tuned musical arrangements. Noctavia woke up and was taken aback to see Yeso, typically the last to rise, already up and dressed in his black robe, engrossed in writing on some papers.

"Ollo amo es?" she greeted him, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Ollo mir amo es," Yeso replied, a proud smile on his face. "I've got apple pie and green tea for you. Today is a big day for you, too."

"Apple pie? You didn't have any?" she inquired, already taking a bite without waiting for an answer.

"I'm feeding my Hexe and our daughter with only the best," he replied with a grin.

Noctavia rolled her eyes playfully. "You're setting yourself up for disappointment."

Yeso laughed and shrugged. "Honestly, I'd be relieved if it's a boy."

His comment left Noctavia puzzled, but she chose not to delve deeper. She observed him sitting at the table, his focus intent on the paper before him, where he was meticulously drawing intricate shapes and symbols. Curious, she asked, "Is that a spell you're working on?”

"Alchemy," Yeso corrected gently.

"For the ceremony? For the boy, Xendrix?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"If we're leaving him to rule his kingdom alone with his father, it seems wise to offer him a means to summon me," Yeso said thoughtfully, continuing his work on the paper. "Perhaps he isn't as troublesome as..."

"Do you believe he can be trusted?"

Yeso paused, considering his words. "If he's mastered the four elements with his red blood lineage, he deserves my respect. And regardless of the colour of the robe, it still signifies a commitment. I won't abandon any one of my mages."

"What have you named the spell?"

"I'm calling it the Invoka mir Ketten. What do you think?"

"The Summon of Chains? Why choose that name?"

Yeso looked up with a slight smirk. "It just has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

Not too long after, every community member gathered around the ceremonially set table. Xendrix, clad in his immaculate dark purple robe prepared by Noctavia, stood at the centre, surrounded by other Magis. Sensing the right moment, Yeso stood, a cup of wine in hand, ready to address the assembly.

"Ollo! Ollo! Eu falar es!” Yeso gently shouted, greeting the crowd. “We may be far from the Trial of Elements, distant from the heart of Ormgrund, but today, we stand united to embrace one of our own. He hails not from our lineage, nor does he share our blood. Many claimed it impossible. Voices rose to call us fools, dreamers for believing in the possible impossible."

Yeso's gaze swept across the gathered faces – Jaer, his dearest friend and most trusted confidant; Mediah, who had not only shown unwavering loyalty but had also mastered his unique abilities, continued to exude humility and maintained a warm, welcoming smile for all. And finally, his eyes rested on Noctavia.

"In my dreams, and with all my heart, every single bit I could give her, I never doubted the one often overlooked among us. She, who you all don’t know her real name, may not don the black robe, not for lack of worthiness, but because she transcends the need for it. My Hexe, love of my life and mother to my child, your friend, healer, and tailor, Noctavia for many, who has transformed the seemingly impossible into reality, who has made me the proudest and happiest man alive."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Yeso's voice carried to every corner of the assembled crowd. "Love of my life and after, you brought my dream for this world to life at a time when I was at my lowest. Words cannot fully capture the depth of my pride and gratitude for having you as my Hexe."

Turning his attention to Xendrix, Yeso's expression held a mixture of solemnity and hope. "And now, Xendrix, you stand at a crossroads. You have the power to render my words here today either the ramblings of a fool or the prologue to a new chapter in the annals of magic."

As all eyes turned to Xendrix, he reached down to lift a basket that had been resting inconspicuously at his feet. Without a word, he carefully placed it on the table, then drew out the sword Noctavia had presented to him during the Earth trial. To her surprise, he did not display the other tokens required for the ceremony, which traditionally involved summoning all four elements.

From the basket, Xendrix began to extract small, dark objects. The crowd murmured, straining to see what he was placing in a line on the table. It took Noctavia a moment, narrowing her eyes in concentration, to recognize them as dead spiders. Some were so crushed they were barely recognizable, but others retained their eight-legged shape.

A wave of confused whispers rippled through the crowd. Noctavia's unease grew when she noticed Ulencia among the onlookers, her eyes red and puffy, the air heavy with a sense of Mir fado.

She glanced at Yeso, who watched with pride. She tried to shake off the growing sense of foreboding, attributing it perhaps to her pregnancy, which seemed to amplify her instincts of danger.

Xendrix began to speak, his voice clear and tinged with phoney remorse. "I killed one hundred and two spiders. And Yeso paid the price for my actions, a burden I will forever bear. I cannot forgive my past ignorance. Living among you has taught me so much, and I wanted to demonstrate that I am more than what was expected of me to redeem my past mistakes and faults. Yet, I can never fully atone, as I only found forty-four of the spiders whose lives I so cruelly took."

The crowd watched as Xendrix pressed the dull edge of the blade against the palm of his hand. With more effort than a sharper blade would have required, he sliced into his flesh, clenching his hand into a fist until droplets of blood began to fall, each drop landing on the lifeless spiders.

His face lowered until his eyes were level with the spiders on the table. There were no incantations, no grand gestures—only the sound of his laboured breathing, so intense that blood began to trickle from his eyes and nose.

Noctavia felt Yeso's arms encircle her, his body tense. She could sense his apprehension bordering on dread. Xendrix was tapping into his own life force, a forbidden and dangerous seed of power that no mage across the realms would dare to use.

The onlookers watched, some in horror, some in awe, as Xendrix visibly drained his vitality into the spell. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the dead spiders began to stir. One leg twitched, then another; one spider turned over, and another began to crawl away from the pool of blood. In mere minutes, all forty-four spiders were animated, scuttling away into the shadows, leaving behind a palpable void of energy where Xendrix stood, weakened yet triumphant.

Xendrix rose to his feet, his eyes bleeding ablaze with an unsettling intensity that bordered on madness. He fixed his gaze on Noctavia, who felt immobilized, caught in the protective circle of Yeso's arms.

"You have to declare it," Xendrix demanded, his laugh tinged with an edge of hysteria as he bore into Noctavia with his piercing gaze.

It was Yeso who initially responded, "Xendrix..."

"No!" the young prince interjected forcefully. "I want to hear it from my mentor."

Yeso looked towards Noctavia, who slowly extricated herself from his embrace and approached Xendrix. "Prince Xendrix Kespian of Keblurg, you have passed your Trial of Elements by..." She paused, searching for the right word. What had she just witnessed? A ritual of life? Of death? Finally, she chose "by blood."

The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause thunderous, feet stomping the ground, voices raised in victory. But to Noctavia, the celebration rang hollow. In her heart, she felt as though she had just handed over the key to her own demise, unlocking a door to an unknown and foreboding future to her death.

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The festivity continued well into the twilight, with music and dance mingling with the laughter and food, until most settlers were either too inebriated or too sated to move. Despite the general air of merriment, an undercurrent of unease lingered for some, a sour taste on their tongue, the reason for it not quite clear.

Yeso, however, clung to optimism—there wasn't much else left for him to do. Even though he failed, his mission was completed. He knew that soon, people would start departing, one by one, and the Capitol would send ships to return their citizens to their perceived homelands. And others would venture through the map of the Great Continent, Mir-Grande-Carta.

Observing Xendrix mingling, laughing, and drinking among the crowd, Yeso noted how the young man almost blended in perfectly with the Menschen, if not for the absence of a blue undertone in his skin and short brown hair.

Yeso approached Xendrix, slightly unsteady on his feet, and clapped him on the shoulder with tipsy enthusiasm. "So, how's the robe treating you?"

Xendrix, equally buoyant from the celebrations, grinned, his face flushed with the telltale signs of merriment. "It's comfy, though black would've been better."

"Ah, but think of it this way—not many can boast about owning a purple robe," Yeso quipped with an inebriated smile. He then added, more seriously, "I've got something for you. A parting gift."

"Ah, finally, my gift."

From his pocket, Yeso fumbled out a folded paper, handing it over to Xendrix. Unfolding them, the young alchemist observed a circle divided into four, each quarter containing the drawing of a cup, a branch, a sword, and a coin. Above the circle was the symbol of infinity. "What's this?"

"I've called it the Summon of Chains. If you ever need a Magi, if you ever need me, use it. I'll be there," Yeso explained, his words slightly slurred but earnest. “You know my name, so it’s a rather easy summon.”

"Wow, I... I didn't expect this. I thought you guys were leaving."

"Yes, we are. But I never leave one of my own behind. Never."

Xendrix's eyes traced the intricate lines of the signet. "Thank you..."

"And thank you for helping bridge the gap between Menschen and Humans. It truly means… more than you can imagine." Yeso added, his tone sincere.

"How do you say 'thank you' in your language?"

"Por mir tu," Yeso replied.

"Por mir tu, Yeso," Xendrix echoed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Mir," Yeso responded warmly.

"I asked Ulencia to marry me," Xendrix suddenly revealed.

The surprise on Yeso's face was noticeable, quickly shifting to curiosity. "She said yes?"

"We're leaving tomorrow. I would've invited you and Noctavia to the wedding, but..."

"But my Hexe will not be up for travelling soon. We're heading back to my hometown. I want her to have a peaceful pregnancy and Faewood is the best place I can think of now."

"I understand." Xendrix nodded.

"I hope your reign is long, prosperous and just."

"I do hope so," Xendrix responded, but then, he changed the topic and asked, “You mentioned that Noctavia isn’t her real name. Is that so?”

Yeso let out a chuckle. “No, it's merely a title, signifying 'weaver of the night.' It's a designation for esteemed tailors in the Capitol.”

“And her true name is?"

Yeso, slightly inebriated and in high spirits, failed to grasp the gravity of his next words. Unaware that divulging the full name of a powerful mage could expose them to magical vulnerabilities, he carelessly revealed, “Zonnestra.”

“Zonnestra Sternach, that's a beautiful name, far better than Noctavia.”

Shaking his head with a laugh, Yeso corrected, “We were never wed. She retained her father's surname, Duvencrune. Her full name is Zonnestra Duvencrune.”

“Oh, that's quite intriguing,” Xendrix remarked, absorbing the significance of this new revelation. He now had all four elements he needed: a blade, blood, life force, and a name—of the most powerful mage ever known to the story of the Map.

> I grew up with Faeries, and to this day, they still amaze me. Predominantly inhabitants of Faewood, they present an eternal youthfulness, their lithe forms crowned with resplendent wings that shimmer like those of a moth. One might mistake these winged maidens for human women in the prime of life, yet they are, in truth, very old creatures, their lifespans may stretching across centuries.

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> Typically encountered in pairs or small clusters, faeries emerge from blossoms—specifically, the Cunabula Prædictas. My research revealed a fascinating cultural nuance: faeries refer to those birthed from the same bloom as 'Twin Sisters,' despite the absence of any physical resemblance or genetic linkage beyond their shared green blood.

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> The honour of witnessing a faerie birth was once bestowed upon me. The event unfurled amidst what I initially perceived as a swarm of fireflies. To my astonishment, not youthful sprites but old figures emerged from a colossal Cunabula Prædictas. These newly born faeries bore the marks of advanced age: wrinkled skin, stooped frames, and pallid hair—more akin to the Swamp Hags of folklore than the sprightly faeries of legend.

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> Around me, the assembled faeries extolled the nascent beings' 'Pure Beauty,' a concept I would later understand to be radically different from the faerie worldview. For faeries, beauty inverses with age; they wane from the aged visage of their birth into the vibrant youthfulness perceived by mortals. In their twilight years, they transform into ethereal, luminous forms, signalling the approach of their life's end.

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> An old friend once imparted a poignant adage: 'Pure Beauty awakes the Reaper from his rest.' ——Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune