Kymalin stood at the center of her room, her hands extended in the air. She felt silly, holding her arms out like this. The tome she pilfered out of the library lay open at her feet, her eyes going over the letters in quick review.
"Okay," she breathed. "Here we go."
Outside the arched windows of her room lay the vast silhouettes of various mountain peaks dwarfed by the height the Temple of Souls was carved in. A thick layer of fog coated the horizon, almost making the dark sky and the moons' rays look fainter.
She turned her attention back to the room. Aside from the curtains drawn over the windows, fluttering in the stray breezes blowing from the mountains outside, there wasn't anything that could hide whatever she was doing inside. Thank the gods for the thick wall opposite the windows, framing the corridor outside. If all goes wrong, at least the people inside the Temple wouldn't see her.
She blinked and blew a breath. She was really doing it. She looked down at the tome, trying to memorize the rysteme incantation written on the parchment. The words weren't anything she couldn't pronounce and it's not necessary to understand what the lines meant. So long as they get the job done.
Her dark blue hair swung against her cheeks as she moved to face the blank wall. Unlike other people who get to stay inside the Temple and have their own room, Kymalin didn't feel the need to decorate said wall with tapestries or murals simply because she couldn't be bothered to go down the Temple's numerous flights of stairs and into Niklar Sylra, Drodham's artistry district. She gritted her teeth, noting how dry her mouth was, and launched into the ritual.
Stand in a land purified by priests. Check. This was the Temple. It's the holiest place in Umazure to do a summoning. Make sure mind and body were ready. Check. It wasn't like she was thinking of something stressful at the moment. She flicked her gaze at the small vase of xamine flowers beside the tome. Check that too. The faint smell of corpses assaulted her nose. It's going to take a whole while before the smell of decay scrubs off her things. Oh, damn, she's going to sleep in a bed that smelled like the dead? Why hadn't she thought this through?
She stepped backward, giving the string of bells tied around her ankle a shake. Paneldoja. Check. What's next? Oh, the disc thing. She crouched, her fingers closing around the brass disc along with a small mallet she "borrowed" from the inventory. Holding it above her head, she pounded the mallet against the disc. Three times. A stringent ringing sound reverberated in the air. Nothing happened apart from a slight shifting in the wind, making the curtains behind her flap. Oookay. Not weird at all.
Then, she took a deep breath and called for her magic. At this point, the tome talked something about the particles in the air, but Kymalin wouldn't hear it. Going with her gut, she searched for a vulnerable spot in the field of magic burning along with the warmth underneath her skin. Once she saw it, she struck it.
A sound resembling fabric ripping rang inside the room. The air dropped several notches colder. It actually sent a shiver down Kymalin's room. Okay. That should be the gate opening. Wow. That's easier than what the tome presented it to be. What's next?
YOU ARE READING
MOFM 3: The Heir of Night
FantasyKYMALIN IARO cannot give up. With her brother running out of time and their mother powerless, Kymalin embarks on a journey to find a cure. So when a powerful organization becomes her only hope, she has to prove she belongs to it, even if it means ge...