“VERBA POTENTAS SUNT.”

A deep melodious voice echoed across the hall. The incantation whispered through the room, suffusing every living being with pure energy. Candles flickered around the summoning circle in a staccato pattern, bouncing with the harmony of the chant. The flame pulsed at each completion of the phrase, stretching unnaturally and blasting the shadows into oblivion.

“VERBA SIGNIFICANT.”

The direct counter to the sweet melody uttered a moment earlier rasped off the walls and plunged the room into darkness, the candlelight smothered by inky shadows. They writhed as if given life, sapping the energy from those in attendance.

“Words have power.”

“Words have meaning.”

“Open your senses. Let the light and darkness at once electrify and cool your flesh. Relish the feeling of the impossible. Light. Dark. Opposite, but balanced. Together, the whole. They war amongst themselves infusing your bones with primal power. The persistent nagging at your heart clouds your mind as it's torn between the light and the dark.”

“Feel it, embrace it, harness it. Master it.”

Hooded in shadow, the speakers held an air of mystery about them. Everyone knew it was the headmaster, but this ceremony was a rite of passage, steeped in traditions dating back to the creation of the world. The tradition incited joy, happiness, fear, horror, and otherworldliness, but also insignificance.

What role must mankind play in a war as old as the world itself? What difference can one person make? Why does any of this matter?

All around them, the light and darkness battled, churning into the emptiness. One freeing. The other is suffocating. The air thickened and the moment stretched into eternity. Time stood still. Space had no meaning. Dwarfed within the moment, the students could not move. Could not speak.

Held aloft by some force beyond comprehension, Daevon’s heart began to pulse. A simple flutter at first, but increases in tempo. The beating of his heart raced forward, quickening and pounding. His blood pulsed, and a flush crept up his neck. Daevon was certain at any moment his heart would explode.

Headmaster Balius snapped his fingers into the silence. It deafened the students. The echoing crack slammed into his senses and broke the spell that held the hapless students within its embrace.

Daevon collapsed to the ground, breathing hard and desperately trying to claw his way to the surface of a black hole deeper than the lowest parts of the earth.

“What you just witnessed is simply the invocation of light and darkness. Nothing more, nothing less.” The headmaster paused to cast a piercing gaze from beneath the shadows of his hood. The glint of the candlelight danced across the glassy surface of his eyes.

Somehow, Daeven know that those mysterious eyes bored straight through him into his very soul. Another shudder wracked his body, fear and panic threatening to overwhelm him yet again. Every so slowly, he recovered. His heart held a staccato rhythm to the flickering flames around him. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and took a steadying breath. Daevon peered at the flickering candle, finding a place in his mind to center himself and breathe. In. Out. In…Out.

Dozens of students, clothed in much the same manner as the headmaster himself, pushed themselves to their feet and one by one returned to their stone bench. They sat arrayed around two great circles etched into the floor of the courtyard. Within these circles stood two people. None of the students knew their identity, but it was they who uttered the words of power. The invocation to call forth the supernatural powers of the world.

In the center of it all, Headmaster Balius rotated in a slow circle. He knew the invocations as well as anyone, but his role was that of instructor on this day.

Today marked a crucial point in every student's path and set them on the course of their future. It was today they chose between the Light and the Dark. Two years they’d sat through lecture after lecture, learning the language to invoke these words of power, the theory behind them, and the history of the academy.

Every student in attendance could trace their lineage back to the beginning. At least, the beginning of recorded history. Daevon’s own family is traced back at least ten thousand years. Some families claimed a century or two beyond, but the records were murky. Their scholars surmised that some calamity nearly destroyed the world around that time as all records ended abruptly. At least a dozen original families can trace their lineage back to the same century, but no further. Countless summoners have attempted to uncover the cause, but the greater beings summoned by only the highest in their orders would not speak of it. Many suspected there was an accord put into place to seal any records of what transpired. Perhaps one day someone would learn the truth, but it didn’t change anything about this day.

Today, Daevon would earn his Mark. He didn’t know what would happen either. The past two years he’d shown an affinity aligned to both the light and dark. When he first learned choosing an alignment was not his choice, he panicked. It wasn’t until he learned that dark didn’t always mean evil and light wasn’t always good that he had been able to accept either outcome. Within the spectrums were many varying degrees of aptitude. A summoner aligned to the dark could summon creatures of the night such as were-beasts, spirits, or the undead. Yes, they were often malevolent, but they didn’t have to be and a summoner did not have to get involved in the eternal war. That is, unless summoned by one of the greater beings.

Daevon shuddered, thinking through a scenario in which he received a Mark of darkness. He wasn’t evil. He didn’t want to summon evil creatures. Nor did he want to join a never-ending war. He often wondered why the war continued. What possible reason could they have for maintaining hostilities after so long? Sure, Heaven and Hell were real, they were alternative dimensions and either side waged a war to gather more souls unto them, but why? It was a question with no answer. Or, no answer he could think of. It’s possible someone knew the answer, but if they didn’t, it wasn’t part of his training, even on his graduation day.

Daevon hoped that he received a Mark of light. There were so many creatures and beings to summon. Druids always fascinated him as they summoned mythical creatures and wisps. He’d even heard of some Marked becoming neutral and aligning themselves to the Fae. Why anyone would want to entertain creatures that will backstab you at the earliest opportunity or find every tiny loophole in a summoning contract, Daevon couldn’t understand. It sounded exhausting. Though, perhaps that was the point. It was rife with danger and intrigue and from one contract to the next quite literally anything could happen.

No, Daevon wanted to summon beings of light. Last year the current group of students watched the previous class receive their Marks from afar. Daevon understood now why they hadn’t been allowed to attend in the courtyard. Despite the distance, he had seen an angel descend from the sky. The ethereal being was beautiful. Neither male nor female, it embodied everyone and no one. Even now, he could not sufficiently describe it even to himself. Oh, he’d tried to write down his thoughts, but they always came up abysmally insufficient. That being, the pinnacle of power for a summoner of the Light is what he wanted. His heart cried out for it, craved it. Power, raw and unfiltered, but restrained. Complete and total control, but poised on the edge of a sword. It had been perfect in every way.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I need the Light. If I get—

“Daevon Marmaroth!”

He whipped his head toward Headmaster Balius. No one had used his last name in the two years he’d been at the school. The last time he heard it was when he arrived at the academy and wentvthrough his acceptance ceremony. Many didn’t know the angel his family was named for, but legend has it that it was the angel of fate. Unfortunately, his family had never produced a summoner strong enough to call forth their namesake.

Someday, I shall summon you Marmaroth! On that day, we shall speak of our family begginings.

“Come forth!”

Daevon took a timid step forward. He hadn’t wanted to go first, but he was the first of his class and thus had the honor of going first to show his classmates a brave face.

“Do not be afraid. Please, take your place at the intersection of both summoning circles, but do not break the circles.”

Daevon knew all this. It was beaten into his brain every day for the past two years. The number one rule to summoning is never to break the circle. To do so would invalidate the contract or pact. At that point, the summoned could exact vengeance upon the summoner. In some cases, the creatures of the dark would devour the poor soul that made a mistake. Creatures of the light would return to their dimension and never respond to the summoner again. It was the most crucial rule of summoning. Of course, there were a whole host of other rites and processes to follow, but for now, Daevon only needed to focus on the circles. The master summoners were responsible for the rest of the processes today. Only a master summoner could call forth a greater demon or archangel. And only these two beings of power could place a Mark.

Carefully, Daevon knelt between the two circles, placing his hands in the worn grooves of the stone. The shallow indentations were the result of countless students before him undergoing the ritual. The same circles would be used to practice greater summonings. Daevon himself had used them on several occasions. Though, they’d only summoned a mature wisp it had taught him the process and what to do for this important day.

Hands in position, Daevon lifted his head to the sky, his cowl falling back to reveal his sun-bleached hair. The result of every day spent in the rays of the sun attempting to hone his light summoning ability. The act of raising his head to the sky was thought to increase his chances of receiving a light Mark. The ritual action spoke of transparency and revelation. No longer concealed, but revealed for all to see. No one could prove this was true, but he didn’t care. Daevon had committed to every action that may improve his chances to receive his preferred Mark.

“Begin!”

Daevon knew the procedure forward and backward. He would not fail. To fail could mean death or expulsion from the academy. It could even lead to becoming an outcast in his family. He would not fail.

He took a deep breath and began, once in English and then again in Enochian.

“I, Deavon Marmaroth, submit. My will relinquished. Light and Dark, I beseech you come forth!”

“ANOCH DEVON MARMAROTH. VOLUNDIAM MEUM NON EST AMPLIUS. LUZ ET TENEBRIS, EGO ORO UT VENERIS.”

Daevon’s part finished, a soft sight escaped his lips as he bowed his head in surrender. Immediately after he called forth the light and dark, the two master summoners began. It started as a small, quiet chant, much the same as the original incantation that just summoned the very essence of the Marked rather than the beings of power. However, after three such chants, the cadence and words changed.

The summoner on the right, bowed their head, touching their right hand to their lips and left to their heart. This was a sign of difference as they invoked a pact, an agreement, with a higher being of Light. This agreement would be one of mutual acceptance over many years, sometimes decades. It was an agreement made only with angelic beings in the higher tiers of their hierarchy. Whoever, this summoner was, they were powerful, one of the most powerful summoners Daevon had ever seen up close. They exuded power and grace.

In contrast, the summoner on the left drew a dagger of midnight steel sending shivers of fear down Daevon’s spine. The blade drew in the light and gave off no reflection. A guttural oath accompanied a quick slash across their palm. The dagger disappeared in a flash and a steady stream of blood splashed across the circle. The discoloration of the stone bore witness to the countless rituals performed in thay very spot. Not even time and rain could wash away the stain from rivers of blood spilled throughout the years.

As quickly as the chant began and escalated, it stopped. A pregnant pause lingered in the air until Daevon couldn’t breathe. His body became as stone and he couldn’t so much as blink. All sounds stopped, and the slight breeze off the top of the nearby trees stopped. His heart stopped beating for a moment.

Simultaneously, the air split with the sound of a trumpet even as the ground ripped apart to his left. Daevon couldn’t move a muscle to see what it was. If he made a mistake and broke the circle, he would be destroyed by whatever denizen of the abyss the dark summoner called forth.

With his head tilted upward, Jared witnessed the angel in all its glory as the fabric of reality warped in front of him and a being of transcendent beauty hovered above him. Daevon felt dirty even thinking about it, but he knew instantly this summoned entity wasn’t as beautiful and powerful as the one he witnessed before. Even so, the proximity to this angel made the other summoning seem impossible. How could anything stand above the creature before him?

Once the angel fully materialized, Daevon finally found he could move again, albeit only his head. When he turned to look at the creature that crawled up out of the ground, he nearly lost his nerve and ran away. The demon was massive. Obsidian horns grew from the sides of its head, curling around its ears and ending in wickedly sharp points. Its skin was a light shade of red. The hands and feet ended in razor points likely capable of destroying any earthly creature in a single swipe. Even now the creature reached out a hand to grab Daevon, but an invisible barrier halted the hand mere inches from his head.

Again, Daevon nearly recoiled. He swallowed, looked straight again, and waited. The voices of the two supernatural beings crashed into his mind. Dots filled Daevon’s vision as both of the summoned beings began a war for his soul.

The moment lasted for only a heartbeat, but for beings such as these who knows how much transpired within that fleeting moment. The voices ceased and then Daevon’s heart nearly exploded as the angel and demon reached out a hand, pointing at him with their palm. Together, they uttered one word.

“MARKED!”

Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony burned into his arms. Daevon opened his mouth in a silent scream, the sound refusing to come forth. It burned so badly he was sure actual fire had burned them off completely. He couldn’t feel them for a time as the burning continued.

Daevon was barely aware of the master summoners dismissing their summons and stumbling over to his kneeling body. Both of them collapsed to the ground next to him, panting.

“W-What was that!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Their words blurred together as they tried to talk over each other.

Headmaster Belius rushed over and fawned over the masters, making sure that neither of them was hurt. A part of Deavon hated him for that, but he had to admit in the grand scheme of things a student was a lot less valuable than a master.

“Daevon, did you receive your Mark?”

“I-I think so.” Daevon barely recognized his own voice. His throat was parched and came out as a croak.

“Please verify.” The headmaster appeared calm, but Daevon could see beneath the mask of tranquility. A thread of panic at what might happen.

Obediently, Daevon lifted the sleeve of his right arm, the side on which the Angel had manifested. To his absolute relief, there embossed on his skin in a shimmering pattern of platinum and gold, was the Mark of light. When he’d reached over to reveal the pattern, he felt a stabbing sensation in his left arm. Grinning ear to ear at his fortune, Jared pulled back the sleeve of his left arm to see if he’d been burned and froze.

There, on his arm, was an undulating inky blackness shifting through the pattern of dark. Daevon froze and the courtyard went silent.

“NO!”