She knelt in the center of the circle, the ground cold against her bare legs. As she focuses her gaze on the gssy ground beneath her, the stars twinkling within its depths, she begins to draw her focus together and banish the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She has pnned this ritual to the finest detail and is certain it will succeed. Every prior attempt studied, corrections made and aspects improved, it is almost certain to succeed even with her additions.

  Her eyes trail the circle she has drawn on the floor of the hut she has built, brand new as of mere hours ago so as to not interfere, as old buildings with ideas of themselves could muddle the threads. Nothing but what was required was in the room; the circle, the foci and the box. With the circle checked again, she steadies her breath and begins the chant. Words from many different tongues, meanings from countless more. Her attention snaps to the first object in the ring, a small circle of gss tinged with purple. This tiny circle of voidgss was tremendously difficult to come by, the founders of Beacon are very protective over the pieces that brought them to the Void, this piece was only on loan for the time being. As her words, taught to her by a former Lightkeeper of Beacon, resonate with the gss, a tiny hair-thin strand of greyish light begins to trail above it. With that success in hand she moves in turn to each artifact, drawing a thread of connection from each. Next is a scrap of fabric, woven by her own hand, the nearly translucent grey of the thread seems to fuzz slightly and then return to solidity. Deadweave thread is exceedingly difficult to come by and even harder to purchase, she had to win the spool she had used and the Gambler was none too happy to part with it. The third object was a warbling mass of bck, condensed voidmatter, which she had purchased from the Constructors Guild for more than she was willing to admit. The pulsing bck substance had begun to react to her intentions and shifted forms rapidly without settling into one shape. With a thread drawn from it she turned to perhaps the most mundane of the objects here, at least in appearance. A sliver of dull metal as long as a finger, it seemed ordinary to the eyes but she knew it had come from the site of one of the greatest disasters in recent memory. She spoke the words and a drifting thread extended from the fragment of the Nail. Finally, she shifted her gaze to the st object in the ring, a simple hourgss with a brass housing and bck sand within the gss, the sand itself frozen mid-fall within the enclosure. It was nowhere near as rare as the other objects but it was the only thing she had left of her home before she had journeyed to this pce.

  With a thread drawn from each object, waving in a breeze that did not blow. She grasps the first and wraps it round her wrist, beginning the first binding. Her skin burns as the bond is forged, her soul tethered to voidgss. There was one more step before moving to the next thread, she reaches for a small wooden box and flips open the lid. Within are five stoppered vials no rger than a thumb, each containing a thick oil with a bead of golden liquid at its center. Bondsweight is a rare concoction, used to strengthen bonds between people, objects and power. These vials are some of the most potent ever distilled and were worth five times their weight in whatever currency she chose, not counting the only slightly less precious skipscale oil they were suspended in to both preserve and embolden the power. She snatched one vial from the case and swallowed the contents in a single pull, feeling the warmth of it settle in her core. The searing burn of the bond grows white hot as the immaterial thread gains substance and strength. First binding complete, four more to go.

  By the end of the fifth binding she can scarcely feel her arms, trembling with strain and burning terribly. Sweat streaks down her body and her hair is stuck down her back. Steadying her breathing one final time, she starts to speak the incantation that will complete the ritual, her words reaching a crescendo and the air begins to buzz with energy. Beneath her, outside of her notice, the stars begin to shift and gather around the circle she has drawn as if huddling close to witness something they have never seen before. And above, in the sky beyond the small hut, the threads of the weave warp and stretch into a whirlpool, focused down upon the soul calling their name. When the final word leaves her lips, there is a brief moment of silence, chance enough to believe she has failed as a moment becomes two and then three. The threads burn her arms, her heart thundering in her chest as her eyes slip closed in apparent defeat. With a deafening crack the roof of her improvised hut caves in and the obsidian bck ground beneath her legs splits and a spear of braided energy, made real by her spellcraft, connects ground to sky like a column of aurora tinged gss piercing her directly through the stomach. When the light fades and she colpses to the ground unconscious, no wound can be seen where the light speared her. Only a small patch of bckened skin, warping the eye as it twinkles with stars within as she drifts in dreamless sleep.

  FeralFeathers