After I, Mark, Isaiah, and Bruce got dressed in our uniforms, we slipped out of our dorm room and followed the quiet footsteps of other sleepy students down the corridor. At the stairwell, we found Fay and Emilia already waiting—Fay half-bouncing on her heels with nervous energy, Emilia brushing her hair into place with her fingers.
Together, the six of us made our way to the Grand Hall.
It was still dark outside, stars hidden by storm clouds, but inside the Grand Hall, the atmosphere was illuminated by floating orbs of silver light, drifting like slow fireflies beneath the towering vaulted ceiling.
Seven long tables stretched down the length of the room—one for each House: Dawn, Weave, Trial, Turning, Shadows, Echo, and Crown. Students from First through Sixth Year sat together by House, their uniforms marked with the insignias of their Pathways. Even the usually rowdy upper years were hushed, their eyes turning toward the raised platform at the front.
At the center of that platform sat the professors in a grand arc of intricately carved chairs, robes rustling like whispering paper. At the highest seat, beneath a massive stained-glass emblem of Umbra Arcanum, sat Headmistress Aerila De'Noct, tall and composed, her hands folded lightly on the table before her.
The air hummed with anticipation.
Then—cling. A single, deliberate tap echoed through the hall.
She had merely struck the rim of a crystal goblet with a butter knife, but the sound reverberated like a bell, amplified just enough by magic to cut through every murmur and motion.
The hall fell silent in an instant. All eyes turned forward.
The Familiar Rites Ceremony were about to begin.
Aerila rose from her seat.
Her voice flowed across the hall like woven silk, cool and commanding.
"The Familiar Rites Ceremony is upon us," she said. "Before the sun rises, your spirits will pass into another world."
Her eyes swept across us First Years, sharp as daggers, gentle as moonlight.
"In a moment, we shall move to the Zendo Hall. There, you will meditate during the sacred hour known as Atruhum Amharb—the time when the veil between all worlds and the spiritual plane grows thinnest."
"You will open your Thauma Veins... let the magic of this realm flow through you like breath, like current, like light through stained glass."
She paused.
Then spoke again, slower, heavier.
"You must recite the ten Verses of your Arcana Pathway—the Thaumapatha: Ink-Spun Spiral of the 22 Arcana."
"Start from Verse IX. Count your way down... to Verse 0."
"Recite each name silently, but with truth. Conviction. Calmness."
"If you succeed... your soul will slip free of the flesh."
"And from there... you will enter the Spiritual Plane—a vast realm of ink and essence, where the souls of otherworldly beings roam."
"There, if your spirit calls clearly enough... spiritualis Never will occur."
"And once the bond is formed, it will last until your very death."
She turned, her robes trailing behind her like cascading mist.
"Now follow."
We followed her to the Zendo—a vast, inkstone chamber lined with obsidian and silver thread. The floor bore seven spirals etched into it, one for each House, wide enough to hold all 720 First Years in seated meditation.
Somehow, despite our numbers, the air remained perfectly still.
So this is what a Zendo is, I thought. A hall made for silence... for stillness.
The Headmistress stood before us one final time.
"You will meditate for 48 minutes—beginning now, and ending just before the first light of dawn."
"Breathe. Focus. Begin your recitations."
Then she stepped back.
And the chamber fell utterly silent.
I lowered myself onto the cold floor, legs crossed, hands resting on my knees.
Eyes closed.
Breath slowed.
Thauma thrummed faintly around me like a quiet tide.
I am Orien Duskwright, I whispered in my thoughts. This is my Spiral. This is my truth.
The Fool Pathway – Spiral of Sacred Contradiction
Verse IX: Unbound Jester
Verse VIII: Nāsaka – Seeker of Paths
Verse VII: Anukula – The Favorable
Verse VI: Mōhita – The Bewildered Mask
Verse V: Mayalokin – Walker of Illusions
Verse IV: Vikalpa-Sage – Sage of Contradictions
Verse III: Maya-Vidyarin – Bearer of Divine Delusion
Verse II: Chāya-Kavi – Shadow Poet
Verse I: Nirnāma – The Nameless One
Verse 0: Transcendent Fool
Each word sank into me like ink seeping into paper.
And then—
A ripple.
My breath stopped.
The world fell away.
And I descended into darkness...
...where a new truth was waiting.
I was in a void.
It felt like falling… but I wasn't moving.
It felt like breathing… but there was no air.
A place beyond sensation, beyond time.
This isn't a dream, I thought.
This is something else.
This… was the Spiritual Plane.
A realm whispered about in the oldest chants of monks and carved into the margins of pre-Thaumic scrolls. A world behind the world—a mirror, a shadow, a pulse just beneath the skin of existence.
Here, space wasn't empty.
It was full.
Too full.
Of silence, of presence, of truths too big to be spoken in mortal language.
The ancients say the Spiritual Plane is the bridge between all things—the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen, thought and form. Where Thauma flows pure and undistorted, not yet bent by will or spell. Where concepts take shape before reality is born.
Time... has no spine here. Past, present, and future walk beside you like old friends with veiled faces.
This is where your spiritualis necum—your destined familiar soul—waits.
Not summoned.
Found.
I read to much on my free time and this proves it.
"Keep walking..."
"You're almost there."
The voice came from within me but also... beyond me.
Not a whisper in the ear—more like a breath caught behind the heart.
They say only those who've opened their Thauma veins, who have breathed in the raw breath of Eclipsara, can reach this place. Not just through ritual or meditation, but through surrender. Through silence.
Through verse and self.
Each step I took pressed into the void like ink across unwritten parchment, etching my soul into the skin of this plane.
And somewhere in this endless, ink-slick world,
a presence stirred.
The spiritualis necum was near.
Not just a creature. Not just a partner.
But a mirror of my soul—shaped by the pathway I walk, the truth I carry, and the verse I live.
As I stood there in the void of the spiritual plane—silent, infinite, and humming with unseen energy—I felt the pulse of Thauma within me beat like a second heart. It guided me, whispering with each breath, Walk forward, seeker... the path is not behind you.
Then I saw it.
From the shadows and ink-like haze, something emerged. Fluid and graceful, with a body that shimmered like a dream caught between moonlight and memory. A fox—no, something more than a fox. Its form was spun from living ink, its eyes twin droplets of ancient starlight. One singular tail curled behind it, swaying gently like a brushstroke on the edge of reality.
We locked eyes.
In that moment, I didn't feel fear, or even surprise. Only understanding. As if it had always been waiting for me to arrive.
The space between us closed, not with footsteps, but with intention.
It sat. I knelt.
A thread of Thauma reached out, winding through spirit and self, drawing our beings together with perfect clarity.
"You have found me," it said—not aloud, but from within.
And in that sacred silence, a symbol etched itself into my soul. The first bond. The first tail.
The beginning of something eternal.
The Familiar had chosen.