I stood before my assigned laboratory station, staring at the ritual circle with genuine interest.
Practical Spellwork took place in the Academy's Arcane Laboratory—a massive chamber divided into individual workstations, each warded against magical feedback, catastrophic failure, and unauthorized summonings. The stations were arranged in neat rows, with observation platforms where instructors could monitor progress and intervene if students accidentally threatened local reality.
"Today," announced Instructor Miraxes—a thin woman with silver hair and eyes that literally glowed gold—"you will perform your first summoning ritual. Nothing dangerous. Simple elemental spirits. The goal is to demonstrate proper circle construction, correct pronunciation of binding phrases, and controlled manifestation."
She gestured to the materials laid out at each station. Chalk, focusing crystals, binding reagents, and instruction manuals that looked thick enough to cause blunt force trauma.
"Summoning is the foundation of advanced magic," Miraxes continued. "It requires precision, concentration, and respect for the entities you're calling. Summon carelessly, and you'll either get nothing or something that will eat your face."
Several students looked worried.
"Don't worry," Miraxes added with a smile that didn't reach her glowing eyes. "The wards will prevent anything truly catastrophic. You'll only suffer minor disfigurement at worst."
That did not seem reassuring.
"You have two hours. Begin."
Around me, students immediately dove into their instruction manuals, frantically studying the proper configurations. My teammates, scattered at nearby stations, were doing the same.
I looked at the blank ritual circle, then at the manual, then at the chalk.
Summoning was actually fascinating. The concept involved creating a resonance bridge between different planes of existence, establishing communication protocols, negotiating terms of manifestation, and maintaining containment throughout the process.
Most magical traditions approached it like construction—carefully building the bridge step by step according to established specifications.
But I'd always thought of summoning more like... making a phone call. You knew who you wanted to talk to, you dialed their number, you asked if they wanted to chat.
Much simpler.
I picked up the chalk and started drawing.
Not the standard summoning circle from the manual—that was approximately seventeen steps more complicated than necessary. Instead, I drew something simpler: a circle with a question mark inside it.
"Um, Qaftzi'el?" Mira called from the next station over. "That's not the right pattern."
"It's a simplified version," I assured her.
"It's a circle with a question mark."
"Exactly! I'm asking reality politely if anyone wants to manifest. Much friendlier than demanding specific entities appear."
"That's not how summoning works."
"Isn't it?"
I placed the focusing crystals at cardinal points—not because they were magically necessary, but because they looked nice and I appreciated aesthetic choices. Then I sat in the center of my question mark circle and said:
"Hello? Anyone interesting want to visit?"
Nothing happened for a moment.
Then the circle began to glow.
Not the standard pale blue of elemental summoning. This was a deep purple that seemed to contain galaxies, swirling with colors that shouldn't exist in three-dimensional space.
"Mr. Aigle?" Instructor Miraxes called out, her voice sharp. "What did you do?"
"I asked nicely?"
The purple light intensified, and something began to manifest.
Not an elemental spirit.
Something else.
The air above my circle rippled, twisted, and produced a figure.
It was tall—approximately seven feet—wrapped in robes that were somehow both present and absent simultaneously, shifting between existing and not-existing faster than perception could track. Its face was hidden beneath a hood, but I could feel its attention, vast and ancient and amused.
"GREETINGS," it said, its voice resonating through multiple dimensions simultaneously. "IT HAS BEEN SOME TIME SINCE SOMEONE SUMMONED ME WITH A QUESTION MARK."
"Hi!" I said cheerfully. "Thanks for coming! I'm Qaftzi'el. This is a class assignment. We're learning about summoning."
The entity tilted its head—at least, I think it did. Spatial relationships became uncertain in its proximity.
"YOU," it said slowly, "ARE NOT WHAT YOU APPEAR TO BE."
"Neither are you," I pointed out. "What are you, exactly?"
"I AM... COMPLICATED. A CONCEPTUAL ENTITY. I REPRESENT THE SPACE BETWEEN DEFINITIONS. THE GAP WHERE MEANING BECOMES UNCERTAIN."
"That's fascinating! Like semantic ambiguity given consciousness?"
"PRECISELY."
Around the laboratory, chaos erupted. Half the students had successfully summoned minor elemental spirits—tiny flames, water droplets, earth fragments, air currents. The other half were struggling with their circles or had triggered minor magical feedback.
And then there was my station, where a seven-foot tall embodiment of conceptual uncertainty stood discussing linguistic philosophy.
Instructor Miraxes appeared beside my workstation, moving faster than her physical form should allow.
"Mr. Aigle," she said with forced calm, "what have you summoned?"
"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted. "We're still establishing definitions. Which is appropriate, since it represents the space between definitions."
"That's not—you were supposed to summon an elemental spirit!"
"I asked politely for anyone interesting. This seemed more interesting than a small flame."
"YOUR STUDENT HAS A POINT," the entity observed. "SMALL FLAMES ARE SUBSTANTIALLY LESS INTERESTING THAN ONTOLOGICAL AMBIGUITY."
Miraxes stared at the entity, then at me, then back at the entity. "Are you... are you in control of this summoning?"
"Define control."
"CAN YOU BANISH ME WHEN REQUIRED?"
"Of course! Would you like to stay for the full class period, or would you prefer an early dismissal?"
"STAYING SEEMS EDUCATIONAL. I RARELY GET SUMMONED BY SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS THAT SUMMONING IS ESSENTIALLY COLLABORATIVE RATHER THAN COMPULSIVE."
"Most people don't ask nicely," I agreed.
"MOST PEOPLE ARE RUDE."
Miraxes looked like she was experiencing several emotions simultaneously and couldn't decide which to prioritize. Eventually she settled on resignation.
"Fine. Your summoning is... technically successful. Unconventional, but successful. Just... please don't let it eat anyone's conceptual existence."
"I WOULD NOT DO THAT WITHOUT PERMISSION," the entity assured her. "I AM A PROFESSIONAL."
"That's somehow more concerning," Miraxes muttered, moving on to check other students.
I spent the next hour having a genuinely fascinating conversation with the conceptual entity about the nature of meaning, the relationship between language and reality, and why some words feel more "real" than others.
"THE WORD 'CELLAR DOOR' IS OFTEN CITED AS PHONETICALLY BEAUTIFUL," the entity noted. "BUT IT REFERS TO A MUNDANE OBJECT. THE DISCONNECT BETWEEN AESTHETIC SOUND AND PRACTICAL MEANING CREATES INTERESTING SEMANTIC SPACE."
"Language is weird," I agreed. "We invented it to communicate clearly, but half the time we use it to communicate ambiguously on purpose. Poetry, metaphor, sarcasm—all ways of meaning something other than what we say."
"HUMANS ARE ENDLESSLY CREATIVE IN THEIR PURSUIT OF CONFUSION."
"We try our best!"
Nearby, Kael had successfully summoned a small air elemental that was making his papers flutter annoyingly. Lyris had a fire spirit that kept trying to ignite things until she threatened to electrocute it. Mira had summoned what appeared to be a water sprite that was shyly hiding in her water glass. Brick had summoned an earth elemental that was literally just a rock, and they seemed to be having a quiet, meaningful conversation.
"YOUR COMPANIONS ARE INTERESTING," the entity observed.
"They're wonderful," I said. "Frustrating sometimes, but wonderful."
"YOU CARE FOR THEM."
"I do. Is that strange?"
"FOR SOMETHING LIKE YOU? PERHAPS. MOST ENTITIES OF YOUR... CLASSIFICATION... DO NOT FORM ATTACHMENTS TO TEMPORARY PHENOMENA."
"That's why I form attachments. Because they're temporary. Because they matter more because they don't last forever."
"THAT IS ALMOST PROFOUND."
"Only almost?"
"I AM WITHHOLDING FINAL JUDGMENT UNTIL I SEE IF YOU FOLLOW THROUGH."
Fair enough.
As the class period wound down, Instructor Miraxes called for dismissals. Students began banishing their summons, sending the minor elementals back to their home planes with varying degrees of success.
"Alright," I said to the conceptual entity. "Thank you for visiting. This has been educational."
"THE PLEASURE WAS MINE. IF YOU WISH TO SUMMON ME AGAIN, SIMPLY ASK WITH GENUINE CURIOSITY. I FIND THAT MORE COMPELLING THAN ELABORATE RITUALS."
"Will do!"
The entity began to fade, its robes dissolving into the space between definitions.
"ONE FINAL OBSERVATION," it said before departing completely. "YOU ARE BEING WATCHED. MULTIPLE ENTITIES HAVE NOTICED YOUR PRESENCE. SOME ARE CURIOUS. SOME ARE CONCERNED. ONE IS ACTIVELY PLANNING SOMETHING."
"Planning what?"
"I AM UNCERTAIN. AMBIGUITY IS MY DOMAIN, BUT THIS PARTICULAR AMBIGUITY HAS... HOSTILE IMPLICATIONS. BE CAREFUL, ANCIENT ONE WHO PRETENDS TO BE YOUNG."
Then it was gone, leaving only a faint purple afterglow and the lingering scent of uncertainty.
I stood alone in my circle, considering that warning.
Something was planning something. Wonderful. That narrowed it down to approximately everything.
"Qaftzi'el!" Mira appeared beside me, her water sprite perched on her shoulder. "That was amazing! What was that entity?"
"Conceptual ambiguity given consciousness," I said. "We had a nice chat about linguistics."
"You had a philosophical conversation with your summoning?"
"It seemed rude not to. It came all this way."
Mira shook her head but smiled. "You make everything weird."
"Thank you!"
"Still not sure it's a compliment."
Our team regrouped outside the laboratory, comparing experiences. Kael's air elemental had been mischievous but cooperative. Lyris's fire spirit had tried to start three small fires before she finally banished it. Brick's rock had been, in his words, "a good rock."
"And Qaftzi'el summoned conceptual uncertainty," Kael said. "Because of course he did."
"It was very informative!"
"You were supposed to summon a basic elemental."
"I thought outside the box. Or outside the circle. Or outside conventional summoning paradigms."
"You thought outside reality."
"That's my specialty."
As we walked back toward the dormitories, the sun setting and casting long shadows across the Academy grounds, I couldn't shake the entity's warning.
Multiple entities watching. Someone planning something hostile.
I could investigate. Could peer through reality to identify threats. Could preemptively neutralize whatever was coming.
But that would be boring.
And it would reveal too much too soon.
Better to wait. Let events unfold naturally. React when necessary rather than dictating everything from the start.
Besides, I was curious what someone might consider "hostile" toward a Tier 0 entity pretending to be a student.
"You're doing that thing again," Lyris observed.
"What thing?"
"That thing where you zone out and probably contemplate cosmic mysteries while the rest of us worry about homework."
"I can worry about homework too! I'm very capable of mundane concerns!"
"What's our homework?" Kael challenged.
"Um... learning things?"
"We have a ten-page essay on elemental theory due tomorrow," Mira said. "And practical exercises in mana circulation. And reading three chapters on magical history."
"Oh. That's... more specific than 'learning things.'"
"Did you forget about homework?" Brick asked.
"I didn't forget. I just prioritized other things. Like existential dread and mysterious warnings."
"Those aren't productive priorities," Kael said.
"Aren't they? Existential dread builds character. Mysterious warnings create narrative tension. Both seem quite productive."
"I'm going to the library," Kael announced. "Anyone want to join me for actual productive studying?"
"I will," Mira said.
"Me too," Lyris agreed.
"I'll come," Brick added.
They all looked at me expectantly.
"Library sounds nice," I said. "I like libraries. Books are just thoughts preserved in paper format. Very efficient."
We made our way to the Academy's Grand Library—a structure that existed partially in three different dimensions to accommodate its extensive collection. The main reading room alone could hold five hundred students, with towering shelves that required levitation magic to access upper levels.
We found a study table in a quiet corner and spread out our materials. My teammates dove into their work with admirable focus. I pulled out my own notebook—the one filled with cat drawings—and started the theoretical essay on elemental theory.
Except I couldn't stop thinking about that warning.
Multiple entities watching. Someone planning something hostile.
I expanded my awareness slightly, just enough to scan the immediate area without being obvious.
The library contained approximately two hundred students, thirty-seven staff members, and six thousand, four hundred and twelve books currently checked out for reading. All normal.
I extended further, scanning the Academy grounds.
Students in dormitories. Instructors in offices. Maintenance staff in service corridors. All normal.
Further still, reaching beyond the Academy's boundaries into the surrounding city.
Markets closing for the evening. Families eating dinner. Guards patrolling streets. All—
Wait.
There.
A ripple in causality. Small, almost imperceptible. Someone or something had edited their presence from the normal flow of reality.
Not invisible—worse. They'd removed themselves from the universe's awareness entirely, creating a blind spot in existence itself.
Advanced technique. Required significant power and understanding.
And they were moving toward the Academy.
I pulled my awareness back, frowning.
"You okay?" Mira asked, noticing my expression.
"Mmm? Yes, fine. Just... thinking about the essay question."
"You haven't written anything."
I looked down at my blank page. Then quickly wrote: "Elements are the building blocks of reality, like LEGO bricks but more metaphysically significant. Fire is hot, water is wet, earth is solid, air is invisible until it knocks your hat off. In this essay I will explain why this is technically correct but philosophically insufficient."
Mira read over my shoulder and sighed. "That's not going to get you a passing grade."
"It's accurate though."
"It's also five sentences. The assignment requires ten pages."
"I could add more cat drawings?"
"Please don't."
I started actually writing, producing something that resembled a proper essay while keeping part of my attention on that blind spot moving through reality.
It was getting closer.
Definitely heading toward the Academy.
Should I alert someone? Warn my team? Investigate personally?
But the entity's warning had said "one is actively planning something." Planning implied preparation, not immediate execution. Whatever was coming probably wasn't arriving tonight.
Probably.
I decided to mention it casually. "Hey, hypothetical question—if something potentially hostile was approaching the Academy, would you want to know about it immediately or wait until it became a concrete threat?"
Everyone stopped working and stared at me.
"Is this hypothetical?" Kael asked carefully.
"Mostly?"
"Qaftzi'el, is something hostile approaching the Academy?"
"Define 'approaching.'"
"Getting closer with potentially harmful intent!"
"Then yes. But not immediately. They're still several hours away and being very subtle about it."
"Several hours?" Lyris stood up, lightning already crackling. "We should alert the Academy guard!"
"And tell them what? That someone I can't properly describe is approaching in a way nobody else can detect for purposes we don't understand?"
"When you put it that way..."
"Exactly. For all we know, they're just visiting. Or passing through. Or—"
The library's emergency wards activated with a brilliant flash of blue light.
Alarm bells began ringing across the entire Academy.
"Or they arrived early," I finished.
"THAT'S NOT SEVERAL HOURS!" Kael shouted.
"Time is complicated?"
"STOP SAYING THAT!"
Students throughout the library jumped to their feet, confusion and fear spreading rapidly. The emergency protocols were clear—ward activation meant either invasion, catastrophic magical failure, or dimensional breach.
None of those were good options.
Instructor voices rang out through magical amplification: "All students remain in your current locations! Do not approach windows! Do not attempt to exit buildings!"
"Should we listen to that?" Brick asked.
"Definitely not," Lyris said, already moving toward the windows.
We followed, joining the crowd of students pressing against the windows overlooking the main courtyard.
And there, standing in the exact center of the Academy's defensive ward network, was a figure.
They wore armor that seemed to be made of crystallized void—black but somehow darker than black, absorbing light and meaning simultaneously. No face was visible beneath their helmet. They stood perfectly still, radiating power that made reality uncomfortable in their vicinity.
"What is that?" Mira whispered.
"Void Knight," I said quietly. "Old style. Very old. Pre-Cataclysm if I'm recognizing the armor configuration correctly."
"You can tell armor age by looking?" Kael asked.
"I have a good memory for historical fashion."
The Void Knight raised one hand, and when they spoke, their voice carried across the entire Academy despite making no sound.
"I seek Qaftzi'el Aigle. Send him forth, or I will tear this institution apart stone by stone until I find him."
Silence.
Then every student in the library turned to stare at me.
"So," I said brightly, "anyone else feel like their evening just got more interesting?"