A single ring is dropped at the centre of the summoning circle. Pale gold and ancient, a whole sun disc made to wrap around a finger much thinner and younger than his own. And it was too many stories than years to a boy who became a legend - but such things worked in the favour of the game they would play, did they not.
“Fill thyself” Begin the words as the gold clatters and mana spikes the air. The magus closes his eyes, incantation dripping off his lips like a fluid alive thing.
i hereby declare.
your body shall serve under me.
my life shall become your sword.
The circle hums as if in answer, lits up too bright and with each line the walls jitter, and the floorboards stutter. Foolish the choice to perform rituals indoors, foolish.
“(..) by the three great words of power come forth from your restraints.
Answer my call.”
The magus opens his eyes as the chant comes to end, as the humming of power whines too loud, as silence begins to devour it.
He watches the jewelry catalyst break off in two and then in five and then