There is an odd type of fear associated with making independent choices against your predetermined path. It's a mixture of pure ice and bottled lightning sitting against your spine, and as terrifying as the sensation is, Tellun can’t quite bring himself to regret it yet. As he carves a winding set of furrows in the ground, barely visible in sputtering lantern light he does his best to push aside doubt and keep making the winding and ornate runic circle sound to be lined with powdered quartz.

It’s either this, be labeled a traitor to the kingdom, or be buried in a battlefield grave somewhere. I know my choice when it comes down to it. Just keep moving.

And so he does, he has burned the image into his skull over the last few nights. And carried a scrawled copy on a piece of parchment. Checking it religiously, he had risked expulsion to get the runes, failing now would be sloppy.

He wipes the sweat away from his eyes as he looks up at the sky, the hue just barely reaching dawn. He finishes the last set of interconnected circles and hurries to lay down the finest layer of glimmering quartz dust as possible. For a low-tier student at the Amber Husk institute, even the lowest grade of crystal isn’t cheap. Even with the lightest dusting possible he almost doesn’t have enough to coat the entire array.

He looks up at the sky again and curses. Dawn is almost here, I have to start now.

Gingerly, he enters the array and sits down in the northmost ring of the array, facing towards the three other inner rings and the looming forest beyond this isolated clearing, he then puts his hands down to the small spirals of quartz dust making the anchor points. And begins to push mana into the ritual.

Glowing silver-hued mana the consistency of vapor spills forth and is hungrily siphoned by the anchor points as he begins to speak.

“I beseech the spirits of the amber-soaked woods. I seek the protectors in between, the guardians of the trusted wild, I wish to bare my soul, and offer my strength. And in turn, join my strength with yours so we may be stronger for it. I seek not to bind, but to join. Please I beseech thee.” With that, light flares softly as the entire array begins to glow with the supplied power.

“I first open the door for a spirit of the west to enter this honored rite so that we may parlay as equals.”

There is an agonizing moment of silence as he waits. And then, in between one instance of reality and the next. The western ring has an occupant.

A small, glimmering raccoon sits before him, the only thing that makes it unordinary is the terrifyingly sharp antlers situated in between the ears. A thin, raspy voice echoes out into the clearing.

“A western spirit ambled in child of man. State who you are and I will answer in kind.” It's hard for Tellin not to sag in relief before he composes an answer.

“I am Tellun Field, a cultivator at the third foundational stage, Student of the Amber Husk Institute.” The raccoon-like spirit regards with beady eyes as it sits motionless.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“I am Looranock, gatherer of the western trees. Bane to worms and grubs. I ask you child what would our purpose be should we join in spirit and might?”  Tellun’s throat is suddenly dry. This is a critical point in the ritual.

“A war has come to Pliase. I have been conscripted as a soldier. I seek the strength to fight for my country in defense of our borders and people.” Almost immediately the spirit yawns, almost losing its balance as its antlers tilt back.

“I have no interest in the squabbles of man or the contest that is war. This western spirit leaves this rite with nothing shared.” In Between one instance and the next, the raccoon disappears and the glow of the ritual dims as the sun begins to rise.

You knew the first spirit would be the least likely to say yes. Gather yourself and keep going.

“I now open the door for a spirit of the east to enter this honored rite so that we may parlay as equals.”  With no delay, this time, a porcupine with countless golden quills the length of an arrow coalesces into the eastern circle. A steady voice like silk and honey rings in the clearing. Ruby eyes regard him impassively. 

“An eastern spirit has arrived child of man. State who you are and I will answer in kind.” 

“I am Tellun Field, a cultivator at the third foundational stage, Student of the Amber Husk Institute.”

“I am Shale, arbiter of the eastern hills. Tormentor of those who hunt me. I ask this of you cultivator of Pliase. Why would you want my company?”

“I wish to be strong in the coming conflict. To have a companion so we have the strength to survive when I am forced to fight.” Those bright red eyes regard him and Tellin is surprised by the morality behind them, and the depth of pity he can see.

“I do not bring forth death. Death is what happens to those who fall upon my quills. Our paths are not ones that should cross on a battlefield. As one who fells hunters, I call open the way for a great hunter to come towards this rite so potentially one less predator may darken my hills. That is the only boon I share with you fledgling cultivator.” The spirit is gone before he can get a word in edgewise. The ritual gutters and he has to pour in more mana out of his pitiful reservoirs. But thankfully the lines glow brightly again. 

This is the last chance. If any gods are listening I beg for your kindness.

“I open the last door for a spirit of the South to enter this honored rite so that we may parlay as equals.” He gasps as suddenly the last dregs of his mana are wrenched out of him. Sweat drips down his nose as his vision wavers. And then he can see the final spirit. Unlike the other two, there is nothing that visually marks the beast as a spirit. A maw filled with teeth yawns as the sun finishes rising over the horizon. The yellow eyes of an apex beast peek out over a furry tan face Tellun realizes that the southern ring is barely big enough to hold the lounging figure of a mountain lion. A proud feminine voice with the gravitas of an executioner's axe whispers in his ear.

“I know your name from the invitation of the prey-that-stabs Tellun Field. I am Rhakire hunter of the southern cliffs. Mother of those that hunt. Warrior of the southern council. Answer me simple and plain, why should a hunter of my might join my life and path to yours until your existence flickers out.” 

If his mouth was dry before it is a desert now. And he doesn’t rush to answer, instead, he looks inward, for the reason he chose this path, to begin with.

I could’ve run from the conscription. I could have waited until I was called to fight those double or triple my cultivation level. Why did I do this?

“I refuse to be hunted, I refuse to lower my neck for another's blade, If I am to fight if I am to die. I want to face my end blade drawn and a hunter by my side.” Those yellow eyes hold him still, even as he struggles to keep hold of the runic magic.

“There is no shame in the want to survive, or greed to take a life to sustain your existence. Any hunter wears that mantle with pride. I will walk this road with you, and return to my cliffs after you have lost your flame and wear our gathered might with pride. I share my spirit and strength with you freely young soldier. Let us hunt.” Tellun doesn’t break eye contact as he seals the ritual, feeling the draw of a powerful spirit reach out and touch the outer barrier of his soul.

“I share my spirit and strength with you, hunter of the southern cliffs. May we walk this road as equals. I will happily hunt with you.” The ritual circle flares like a flame doused with oil, before all the mana he had poured into it converges on the two of them. The odd intangible sense he has of his formation stage soul burgeons as his soul opens and flows upon the link sent by Rhakire. 

He shudders with exertion and pain as his soul is woven with something primordial and predatory, and his much younger soul weaves back as a bridge is created.

And as sudden as everything had been so far, the link fully snaps into place and the light of the ritual goes out. Leaving Tellun sitting on the forest floor five feet away from the powerful entity he just bound his soul to.

One way or another my fate has changed. 

“Indeed it has little hunter.” Well that’s something to get used to.