Summoner of Nightmares

The Grand Market of Summoners was loud in the way thunderstorms were loud.

Seemingly every sound carried the weight of barely restrained power.

The windows of nearby stores either used reinforced glass and metal, or just wooden shudders.

The smoke plumed from various food stalls dotted throughout the area. 

Crystal lanterns floated high above the market’s vast central avenue, casting prismatic light over the polished red stone streets. 

Bridges of silver arced between hovering platforms. 

Towering summons stalked beside their creators, while gleaming knights in enchanted armor stood in neat rows.

There were clockwork robots obsessively circling their masters as tiny dragons coiled around their summoners necks like living scarfs.

The air smelled of ozone, incense, hot metal, and a hundred unfamiliar spices.

Gene Gingerline stood just inside the entrance to the central concourse and tried not to stare like a tourist.

He failed.

A ten-foot bronze warrior marched past carrying a halberd that  crackled and sparked with blue lightning.

Across the avenue, a merchant displayed floating spellbooks whose pages constantly turned on their own. 

Above them, multiple world serpentine creatures made of living water swam through the air. 

They circled around each other gracefully scattering glittering droplets above that evaporated into light.

And there at Gene’s side, the Caretaker moved with silent inevitability, his blank white mask reflecting the market lights.

Wherever they past, conversations faltered.

Eyes turned.

People stepped aside.

Even Gene noticed after a while.

“So,” he murmured to Moira, “is everyone staring because I’m handsome, or because my summon looks like it crawled out of a murder documentary?”

Moira did not look up from the crystal tablet in her hands.

“The second option obviously.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to get a big ego.”

Though her tone remained dry, the corner of her mouth twitched.

Over the past few hours, Gene had come to appreciate Moira Valecourt’s understated sense of humor. 

She rarely smiled, but when she did, it felt like discovering sunlight in an overcast sky.

She was dressed differently now, having exchanged her apprentice robes for a fitted charcoal jacket embroidered with silver geometric patterns. The cut emphasized her lean frame and the easy confidence in her posture.

Gene tried not to notice.

He failed at that too.

Gene wished that he could have an awesome outfit like all the ones around him.

A translucent notification hovered at the edge of his vision.

⸻

CURRENT POINTS: 750

ACTIVE OBJECTIVE:

Prepare for First Summoner Conflict

⸻

Gene sighed.

“Of course in another world,  the universe would track my finances in real time.”

“You will grow to appreciate it,” Moira said.

“I already appreciate not having to balance bills.”

Moira paused and tapped her chin thoughtfully, “What’s a bill?”

As Gene explained the horrible concept of bills, they turned into a quieter lane lined with specialized merchants.

One sold enchanted masks. 

Another offered bottled storms.

 A third displayed tiny worlds contained inside glass orbs, each no larger than an apple.

Gene stopped to admire one of them.

Within the orb, a miniature castle sat atop a mountain under a sky of perpetual sunset.

“It says here that I can buy entire landscapes?”

Moira nodded.

“Preconfigured terrain templates. Useful if a summoner lacks the imagination to design parts of their worlds themselves.”

Gene glanced at her.

“Was that a sideways compliment?”

“Do not become accustomed to them.”

Before Gene could respond, a sharp voice rang out from ahead.

“Well, well.”

The crowd nearby parted.

A young man stepped into their path.

He was striking in the way a polished statue was striking.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and meticulously groomed. 

His silver-blond hair swept backwards  from a handsome face that seemed almost engineered to look like a noble.

He wore white and gold attire tailored to perfection, with a crimson cloak draped over one shoulder.

Everything about him radiated wealth, confidence, and the certainty that the world existed only to applaud him.

At his side stood a summon.

An armored knight that was nearly as tall as the Caretaker, clad in radiant silver. 

A blue cape flowed behind it, and a longsword rested at their hip. 

The crest on his shield depicted a golden lion.

The knight’s presence was inspiring while the Caretaker’s was unsettling.

Together, they looked like two opposing philosophies.

The blond man’s eyes swept over Gene and stopped at the Caretaker.

His expression shifted from curiosity to visible disgust.

“So the rumors are true,” he said. “The Forge really accepted that… thing.”

Moira’s gaze sharpened.

“Prince Cassian.”

Gene blinked.

“There are actual nobles here?”

Cassian inclined his head at an angle with practiced arrogance.

“Prince Cassian Aurelius of House Solmont.”

Gene held out a hand automatically.

“Gene Gingerline. Horror enthusiast.”

Cassian stared at the offered hand as though Gene had presented him with a dead rat.

Gene slowly lowered it back to his side. 

“Oh! Right. Different customs.”

Cassian ignored him and addressed Moira.

“I expected better judgment from the Seventh Tower.”

“We did not summon him,” Moira replied coolly.

“No,” Cassian said. “But you seem intent on babysitting him.”

Gene crossed his arms.

“Is there a reason you’re talking about me like I’m not standing here?”

Cassian’s gaze shifted to him.

“Yes.”

He gestured toward the Caretaker.

“Your summon is an abomination.”

The surrounding crowd quieted, sensing conflict.

Gene glanced over at the Caretaker.

The masked giant stood completely motionless, knife hanging loosely in his hand at his side.

“Technically,” Gene said, “he’s a custom design.”

Cassian’s lip curled.

“Summons should inspire. They should embody virtue and greatness.”

Gene tilted his head.

“Well Mine embodies punctuality.”

The Caretaker moved his head to stare down at the prince. 

He had somehow moved to tower behind Gene.

A few nearby spectators stepped back.

Cassian’s expression darkened.

“I have heard that you received an unprecedented first-summon bonus.”

Gene shrugged.

“Apparently originality pays more than people think.”

“Originality without refinement is merely novelty.”

The prince stepped closer and pointed at Gene.

“You are a curiosity, Gingerline. Nothing more.”

Gene smiled.

“Funny. That’s exactly what my old world used to say.”

Cassian’s knight shifted subtly, metal scraping as his hand moved toward his sword.

The Caretaker responded by tilting his head.

The temperature in the street started to drop.

Moira stepped between them.

“Alright you two! This is not the dueling grounds.”

Cassian held Gene’s gaze for moment.

Then he smiled.

It was a polished expression devoid of warmth.

“Of course Moira, I was only greeting him.”

He turned and began to walk away, his knight falling into step beside him.

After several paces, he glanced back over his shoulder.

“The novice tournament begins in three days.”

His eyes flicked to the Caretaker.

“I look forward to seeing whether your monster can even last a few seconds.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.