I sidestepped a wooden club swung in my direction only to see it crush a metal barrel. I rotated my scythe and lopped off a chunk of flesh that carried a horrible smell. My opponent seemed to have incredible strength, but that was really all it had. There was no real technique in its fighting so I bided my time by dodging and returned counterattacks when I could.

It made a wide-arcing swing and I weaved forward while lowering my body, sweeping my war scythe low, severing one of its legs.

It fell to the ground without any control and with another swing, I separated its avian head from the rest of its body. It was an anti-climatic end for an unknown foe, or so I thought. The body burst into several crows that flew upstairs before I could do anything so I didn’t gain a single soul.

“...Wonderful,” I muttered as I unsummoned my war scythe, storing the fragments back in the nifty pouch. I wonder if that creature had grown weak from its time here. It had been a long time since the school shut down so it wouldn't surprise me if that's why it was so, well, underwhelming.

After gathering myself, I retrieved my phone and returned to the hidden cellar, descending into it via a rusted ladder. It wasn’t very deep but once my foot touched the ground, it just felt, different, the air I mean. Almost like a ruin but with a far weaker feeling. I used the light of my phone to check each wall, discovering webs and dust, but not much else. I walked forward and was at the end of the space within a few seconds where an idol stood tall. Sitting atop dead branches and bird skulls, a simple figurine of a crow… or a raven. I really couldn’t tell.

“Were ravens bigger?” I contemplated, a vague assurance that they were, in fact, larger entered my mind. It was probably based on some cursory knowledge I gleaned from a book or a documentary at some point. With that in mind, I assumed the small idol depicted a crow. I lifted it up and inspected it closely, discovering a series of runic letters under its base.

“Ah, this is the language mom studied here and it reads...”

The writing was too simple compared to my own knowledge which made it harder to understand, but I think the rough translation was, “A bird has no need for cages. Neither should you.”

All of a sudden, the ivory ring on my finger trembled before expanding to its book form and floating in front of my face.

“Woah,” I spoke softly as the book flipped to an empty page and letters began to appear.

This is a figurine from a forgotten land that resonates with the power of death. In exchange for its secrets, a large number of souls must be provided.

Amount Required: 0/800

That was a whopping amount of souls for this tiny little figurine, but it had to hold some power, right? All of those crows didn’t simply just appear out of thin air- well, they did, but this small figurine was the source.

I had 650 souls in my possession currently. Originally, it was only 550, but I managed to wring out 100 from the wild group of Imps that appeared.

I planned on investing into the general knowledge within the nameless book at first. Now, I found myself wondering if this artifact would prove to be a better purchase. I had no problem with spending another few weeks gathering up souls but I hardly wanted to waste them carelessly.

“Research!” I palmed my forehead as I realized I didn’t have to make my choice immediately.

The general knowledge wasn’t guaranteed to have something I wanted and the artifact wasn’t promised to be useful. I put those thoughts aside and headed out of this cramped cellar, its narrow walls were claustrophobic and the air was stagnant.

Once I made it outside of the school, I called another taxi and prepared to meet with Jameson.

…

Somewhere unknown.

A wall of branches curled upward toward the sky but left an opening for the full moon to peek in. A bonfire sat in the center, parallel to the opening in the trees. Gathered around the roaring fire, woman dressed in dark cloaks adorned with many charms and trinkets. Some danced around the fire, chanting strange songs while letting out giggles. Other remained in the darkest corners to be found, gingerly nursing a chalice or cup of some sort. The rest were in small groups, chatting about subjects unknown as some strange power made their words scrambled.

Suddenly, the fire sparked sending reddish pieces of burning wood into the air before it settled. From there, one woman arose from the center and stepped out with a calm and serene face.

She was a tall woman with a gravitational presence, as all eyes and ears were open for her specifically.

Her skin was almost radiant, her lips red like blood, and her eyes held a darkness that seemed to whisper to those caught in her gaze. A long curtain of grey hair fell on her back but she appeared as youthful as ever.

“High Mother Evanora!” A greeting was sent in unison, each voice overlapping, each voice seeking to one-up each other with their level of passion. The reverence for Evanora was clear; all of the women gathered held a great deal of respect for her.

“There is no need for such a welcome, sisters. We do see each other often after all.” She said, her voice low and enchanting. A charming laugh emerged from her mouth as she threw her head back, ensnaring the eyes of all.

If Casper were present, he’d definitely realize that the Evanora that spoke was the same Evanora Prower who established the lines of schools that taught strange things.

“I believe there was talk of a young man with a witch's bloodline if I am correct?” Evanora inquired sweetly. Every mannerism seemed to have an unconscious bewitching effect.

“Yes, that is correct, High Mother.” A woman stepped forward and bowed. “It appears to be quite powerful too.”

She handed over a phone that held the paused video of Casper dispatching a group of Imps. The appearance of technology was a bit disenchanting to the atmosphere, but no one seemed to mind as long as Evanora did not.

She accepted the phone with a smooth wave of her hand and watched the video. Her eyes flickered several times throughout, especially when she witnessed Casper drawing runes on his war scythe.

“It appears he’s familiar with the honorian alphabet.” Her eyes squinted ever so slightly as she focused on the content of the runes, “Ah, it is similar to the language we know, but I can’t seem to grasp the runes. It must be some subset of the alphabet.”

She guessed that Casper had learned a weaker or similar version through one way or another, but she could never guess the runic language he knew was much more complicated and far older.

“I wonder if the language of old came naturally to him or if someone taught him,” Her brows knit together.

“I believe his mother attended one of our schools found on the Emerian Islands, High Mother Evanora.”

“Ah, did she? That school has long since shut down, no?”

“Unfortunately, it has.”

“Pity, but I could see how a different version of the olden alphabet would reach him. What of his mother?”

“Dead.”

“Father?”

“He is in relatively good health.”

“I see, well, make preparations to meet with him, the young man I mean.” Evanora handed the phone back to one of the younger witches.

“Who shall we send, High Mother?”

“Send Rusalka to establish contact with our Emerian branch.” Evanora directed her gaze toward a lone witch that stood apart from the others.

“But-” The woman who wanted to raise an issue when Evanora’s eyes fell on her. A small chill emerged from the depths of her body and stopped the words from coming out of her throat.

“It will be done.” The woman bowed deeply and apologetically.

“Good.” Evanora smiled before shifting her gaze to the young woman known as Rusalka. “Keep an eye on the young boy, would you? Learn what you can but do not harm him.”

“Yes, High Mother,” Rusalka said, her voice languid and distant.

She bowed as Evanora departed back into the depths of the bonfire, disappearing from sight.

The witches slowly returned to their activities, but spoke of the prospect of Casper joining them with excitement.