Together in my final moment.

The most important lesson that can be learned by any aspiring practitioner of the supernatural is keeping focused, and not letting emotions cloud judgement, magic is an incredibly unstable force that reaches into beyond the divide between realities. Anywhere magic is practiced, more and more the concrete rules of reality warp and become mere suggestions.

Magicians of most sorts have historically chosen locations on the outskirts of settlements to avoid unnecessary conflict. However some magicians revel in the public eye, becoming famous for low level spells and appearing as fortune tellers, or deceptive showmen. While some prefer to seal themselves away and alone deep in the wilderness.

Marc was a spindly man, drifting from town to town to keep a low profile. After stealing a tome of summoning, he was forced to be on the run. Marc’s lifestyle led him to a small seaside cottage in a state of disrepair that would suggest decades of neglect. The cottage’s walls baring the decay of decades of storms and salty air seemed normal and homey for Marc. This was an improvement from his last dwelling, and with time he would renovate to fit his needs.

Years passed and the small cottage was becoming more of a home. Marc had repaired most of the cottages exterior walls, and the small pier where he docked a small canoe and his fishing gear. Finally being able to comfortably live away from any pursuer’s prying eyes, he had seen fit to grow his collection again, amassing several tomes and supplies for various rituals in a hidden basement under a normal seeming cottage façade.

Marc had been practicing small rituals of transmutation to keep his edge and prepare to complete the promise he made before he defected from his academy and stole restricted texts. Resurrection spells would not go unnoticed by anyone even barely attuned, and Marc didn’t possess the cadaver of his beloved, so he simply aimed to capture his soul from beyond the pale and contain it within a phylactery until he could find a vessel for him to inhabit.

Finding such a vessel to act as a phylactery was not an easy feat, but Marc had eventually cobbled together a vessel capable of containing a human soul without form. A ragged contraption of crystals and glass bulbs of quicksilver and a frame of gold to to help contain the lover’s soul. Marc made this according to specs gathered among scattered incomplete texts, no complete texts could be found without delving into restricted sections in hidden libraries, so Marc had done the best he could and was almost ready to perform the ritual.

Marc had made the necessary preparations and decided he would begin the ritual at midnight of his lover’s birthday, finding any way to strengthen his bond with his lover from beyond the pale. He began recreating ritual circles and glyphs he figured out from various sources, and lighting candles made from wax infused with purifying powders to ward off impure spirits. He had done all he could to focus on a single spirit to summon and contain to his knowledge and was ready to begin.

The chalk lines on the floor began to glow, confirming that the spell was working. Air started spiraling in the subterranean chamber towards the center of the room towards the phylactery resting on a short stone pedestal. The gold frame began resonating at frequencies from beyond as the crystal grew brighter, collecting energy. Marc’s spell appeared to be going according top plan.

Marc was confident in his spell until the moment he finished reciting his incantation and the spell didn’t stop. Panic set in as the wind grew stronger and he felt himself being pulled towards the circle. Marc couldn’t resist being pulled towards his phylactery, as if his very soul was being drawn into the vessel he made for his love. As he fruitlessly struggled against being pulled into his soul container, his boots scratched the meticulously drawn sigils even further destabilizing the spell. He could no longer resist, and succumbed to being absorbed into the vessel.

After the air had settled, the ritual had drained the energy of the cottage and the surrounding area, killing the nearby trees and grass. Fish floated to the surface and washed up on the greyed sand. Over a hill in the distance two shadowed figures take notes of what they saw and walk away disappointed that they could not retrieve any of the materials, as it would not be safe to go near the site for decades without feeling residual effects.

Decades passed as the environment outside the cottage flourished, leaving the building and its immediate surroundings sealed in time. Books and writing materials scattered the floor, pulled from their shelves by hurricane force winds inside the cabin. A crystal contraption lay on the ground, decaying gold framing it with broken glass and liquid metal scattered on the floor next to a stone pedestal, Two small lights appeared to be dancing within the crystal object, slowly fading as decades passed.