Director Magnus's office occupied the entire top of the Main Tower, a circular space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a 360-degree view of the Celestial Academy. At any other time, Alex would have been hypnotized by the beauty—the perfectly manicured gardens, the marble buildings gleaming under the moonlight, the training fields where tomorrow new summoners would begin forging their bonds.
But tonight, the view only reminded him of everything he was about to lose.
"Sit down, Mr. Carter."
Magnus's voice wasn't cruel. That was the worst part. There was a resigned gentleness in it, the tone of a doctor about to deliver a terminal diagnosis.
Alex sank into the leather chair facing the enormous oak desk. Grim stood beside him, motionless as a statue, its toy scythe resting against its tiny bony shoulder.
Magnus poured himself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter. He didn't offer one to Alex. Another bad sign.
"Do you know how many F-Rank students this academy has had in its three hundred years of history?" Magnus asked, watching the amber liquid swirl in his glass.
Alex shook his head, his throat too tight to speak.
"Four," Magnus said. "Four, in three centuries. Do you know what happened to those four students?"
Another silence. Alex could feel his heart beating in his ears.
"Three died within the first year. Their companions were too weak to protect them in basic training. The fourth..." Magnus took a long drink, "the fourth killed himself after two months. Left a note saying he'd rather not exist than live as a cruel joke of fate."
The words hit Alex like physical blows.
"I'm not trying to be cruel," Magnus continued, finally meeting his eyes. "I'm trying to save your life. The Celestial Academy program is rigorous. Brutal, even. Designed to forge the continent's finest summoners. An F-Rank wouldn't just fail—they would die. And I cannot, in good conscience, allow that."
"Let me try," Alex's voice came out as barely a whisper. "Please. I'll work harder than anyone. Train twice as much. Just... please."
Magnus sighed, and in that sigh Alex heard the answer before the words came.
"I'm sorry, Alex. Truly, I am. But the decision has already been made."
---
[FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER]
Rain hammered against the windows of the Lowtown Orphanage like furious fists. A three-year-old boy named Alex Carter cried in a bed too small, his stuffed animal—a rabbit with one missing ear—clutched to his chest.
"When is Mommy coming back?" he asked the middle-aged woman tucking him in.
Director Walsh didn't answer immediately. Her face, weathered by decades of seeing broken children, showed the only emotion left after so long: weariness.
"Your mom had to go, sweetheart. But you're safe here. I promise."
"When is she coming back?" Alex insisted, his lower lip trembling.
Walsh turned off the light.
"Sleep, Alex. Tomorrow will be better."
But tomorrow was never better. Nor the day after. Nor the year after.
The Lowtown Orphanage wasn't a cruel place—it was simply a place without hope. A hundred children crammed into a building designed for fifty. Meals that were technically nutritious but tasted like cardboard. Teachers who did their best but were too exhausted to do more than the minimum.
Alex grew up in that place. He watched other children get adopted—always the cute ones, the charismatic ones, the ones who smiled even when it hurt. He was too quiet. Too serious. Too... forgettable.
By the time he turned fifteen, he had accepted his fate. The orphanage would release him at eighteen, give him a small stipend, and he'd find work in some factory or shop. He would live, survive, and eventually die having left exactly zero mark on the world.
Then came the day that changed everything.
"Alex Carter!" Director Walsh called him during breakfast, her voice strangely excited. "Come here, quick!"
He approached, confused, with bits of oatmeal still stuck to his spoon.
Walsh held a letter bearing the seal of the Celestial Academy.
"You've been accepted," she whispered, tears—real tears—forming in her eyes. "Full scholarship. Aptitude tests showed latent summoning potential. Alex, do you understand what this means?"
He didn't understand. Not really. Not until later.
It meant hope.
For the first time in his life, it meant that maybe, just maybe, he could be something more than forgettable.
[PRESENT]
"You have until noon tomorrow to pack your belongings," Magnus was saying, signing a document with red ink—the color of academic termination. "The academy will cover transportation back to Lowtown. We're also prepared to offer you a small compensation—six months' minimum wage—to help you get settled."
Alex barely heard him. His mind was trapped in that moment, fifteen years ago, when Walsh had given him the letter. The weight of the paper in his fifteen-year-old hands. The way his heart had leaped, believing for one bright, stupid moment that he finally mattered.
"Mr. Carter? Are you listening?"
"Yes," Alex lied. "I understand."
He stood mechanically. His legs moved, but he couldn't feel the floor beneath his feet. Grim moved with him, a silent shadow.
"Alex," Magnus called when he reached the door. His voice had softened. "For whatever it's worth... I'm sorry. Truly sorry. If there were any way—"
"There isn't," Alex finished for him. "I know."
He left before Magnus could see the tears that finally, inevitably, were beginning to form.
---
The third-year male dormitory vibrated with music and laughter. Someone had smuggled in alcohol—probably Marcus, whose family connections made rules more like suggestions than laws. The common room was packed with celebrating students, their new companions displayed like trophies.
Marcus's golden dragon had shrunk to a "more manageable" dog-sized form, but it still dominated the space, its scales gleaming under the magical lights. Students crowded around, begging for permission to touch it.
No one noticed when Alex entered.
His room was at the farthest end of the hall—the smallest, the one no one else wanted because the heating system never worked properly. Three years of his life contained in twelve square meters.
The door opened with a familiar creak. Grim followed him inside, and Alex closed the door, cutting the party noise to a dull murmur.
Silence.
Alex stood in the middle of his room, staring at the bare walls. He'd never hung posters or photos—of what? He had no family, few friends, no happy memories he wanted to preserve. His existence here had been functional. A place to sleep between work shifts and classes.
His gaze fell on his desk. Three years of study notes carefully organized in folders. Library books on summoning theory, all with due dates meticulously respected. A calendar where he'd marked every work day, every tuition payment, counting toward this moment—Summoning Day.
All useless now.
Knock knock.
The door opened without waiting for an answer. Emily Chen entered, her lunar unicorn casting a soft iridescent glow that made Alex's room seem less depressing for a moment.
"Alex, I heard what happened," she said, and there was genuine sympathy in her voice. "I'm so sorry."
He didn't turn to look at her. "What do you want, Emily?"
"I... just wanted to check on you."
"I'm great," he said, his voice flat. "Never been better. I just found out the last three years of my life were completely wasted, but hey, at least I have a skeleton with a toy scythe. That's something, right?"
Emily stepped toward him. "It's not your fault. The summoning system is... it's cruel sometimes. Random. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why does it feel like I did?" Alex finally turned to face her, and saw her flinch involuntarily at the rawness in his eyes. "Do you know what I had to do to be here, Emily? Do you have any idea?"
She slowly shook her head.
"I worked forty hours a week for three years. Forty hours on top of full classes. I cleaned bathrooms. Washed dishes. Filed papers in offices where people didn't even know my name. I slept four hours a night because it was the only way to keep my grades high enough to maintain my scholarship."
His voice cracked slightly.
"And I did it because I believed—stupidly, naively—that if I worked hard enough, if I wanted something badly enough, the universe would give me just one goddamn chance. Just one."
Emily had tears in her eyes. "Alex..."
"Go away," he said quietly. "Please. I know you're trying to be kind, but I can't... I can't handle your pity right now."
She hesitated, clearly wanting to say something more. Her unicorn snorted softly, as if it too felt the discomfort.
"If you need anything—" she began.
"I won't," Alex interrupted. "By this time tomorrow, I'll be out of your life. You can forget I ever existed. I bet you've already started."
The blow landed. Emily stepped back as if physically slapped.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"No," Alex agreed. "It's not. But none of this is fair, so I guess we're even."
Emily left without another word, her unicorn following, its ethereal light fading and leaving the room darker than before.
Alex collapsed onto his bed, his hands trembling. He felt hollow. Like something inside him had broken so completely it could never be repaired.
In the common room, the music grew louder. Someone shouted "A toast to Marcus!" and a dozen voices cheered in response.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to block it all out.
A small weight sank onto the bed beside him.
He opened his eyes. Grim had sat—well, more like collapsed—next to him, its tiny skeletal body barely making a dent in the mattress. The toy scythe rested in its lap.
"Do you pity me too?" Alex asked bitterly.
Grim tilted its skull to one side. The gesture was strangely... curious. As if it were actually trying to understand the question.
Alex laughed without humor. "Of course not. You're just animated bones. You probably don't even have real thoughts. Just... automatic reflexes or whatever makes low-level summons work."
The skeleton didn't respond. Obviously.
But it continued sitting there. Didn't move, didn't make a sound, just... remained.
Something about that stillness broke Alex's last defense.
He cried.
Not dramatic sobs or shouts—just silent tears falling down his cheeks as his body shook with the weight of three years of hope dying all at once.
Grim did nothing. Didn't try to comfort him, didn't move away. It simply existed beside him, a silent companion in the worst moment of his life.
Eventually, Alex ran out of tears.
He wiped his face with his uniform sleeve—a uniform he'd have to return tomorrow along with everything else the academy had provided.
"What are you really?" he whispered, looking at the small skeleton. "Why you? Out of all the things in the universe I could have summoned, why an F-Rank skeleton with a toy scythe?"
Grim turned its skull to look directly at him. The empty eye sockets should have been disturbing, but instead they just seemed... patient. Waiting.
"The system couldn't even identify you properly," Alex continued, talking more to himself than to the skeleton. "Your species, your level, your skills—all corrupted. It's like the universe itself doesn't know what to do with you."
He raised his hand, hesitated, and then placed it on Grim's skull.
The bone was cold. Obviously. But there was something else—a vibration, so faint he almost missed it. Like a purr, or a heartbeat, or the hum of something ancient barely contained.
"Can you understand me?" Alex asked. "If you can, give me some sign. Anything."
Grim didn't move.
"Of course not," Alex muttered, withdrawing his hand. "I'm just an idiot talking to dead bones."
He got up from the bed, deciding he should start packing. He didn't have much—clothes mostly, a few personal books, a faded photo of Director Walsh that she'd given him when he left the orphanage.
He found his old battered backpack at the back of the closet. The same one he'd used to arrive here three years ago, filled with stupid hopes.
As he folded his clothes, the party in the common room reached a new crescendo. He heard Marcus's voice, loud and confident: "With this dragon, I'll become the most powerful summoner of the generation! No one will stand in my way!"
Applause and cheers followed.
Alex packed faster, needing something to focus on other than the bile rising in his throat.
An hour later, he was done. His entire life fit into one backpack and one duffel bag. Pathetic.
He sat on his bed one last time, looking at the empty room. Tomorrow, someone else would move in. Probably a first-year, excited about their summoning, filled with the same stupid optimism he'd once had.
Grim was still sitting where Alex had left him, motionless as a statue.
"We should sleep," Alex said. "Tomorrow's going to be... well, it's going to be a day."
He lay down on the bed without bothering to change. What did it matter?
Grim didn't move. Just continued sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at... nothing. Or everything. Impossible to tell with empty eye sockets.
Exhaustion dragged Alex toward sleep despite his racing mind. His last conscious thought was wondering what he'd do now. Returning to the orphanage wasn't an option—he was too old. Maybe he'd find work in some factory. Maybe...
Maybe...
---
[2:47 AM]
Alex woke up.
Not because something disturbed him—there was no sound, no movement. He woke because every survival instinct in his body was screaming that something was wrong.
The room was dark. The party had ended long ago. Outside, the Celestial Academy slept.
But Grim...
Grim was standing by the window.
Its small silhouette outlined against the faint moonlight, but there was something different in its posture. No longer slumped. It stood upright. With purpose.
"Grim?" Alex's voice came out as a croak.
The skeleton slowly turned to look at him.
And its eyes—those empty eye sockets—were glowing.
Not the blood red from before. This was different. Deeper. Like looking into a bottomless pit filled with ancient blood, with forgotten power, with things that had been sealed away for very good reasons.
Alex froze, his heart hammering.
"Wh-what...?" he couldn't finish the question.
The red lights in Grim's skull pulsed. Once. Twice.
And then Alex heard it.
A voice.
Not with his ears—that would have been less frightening. No, this came from within, from that place where his soul connected with his summoned, from that bond he'd formed at the summoning circle.
The voice was ancient. So ancient it made a thousand years seem like a blink. It was the sound of tombs opening, of empires turning to dust, of stars dying in eternal silence.
And yet, there was something desperate in it. Something... hungry.
*"Master."
Alex couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
*"Please... master... free me..."
The room's temperature dropped twenty degrees in a second. Alex's breath came out in clouds of vapor. Frost began forming on the window edges.
*"I have waited... so long... sealed... chained... hungry..."
"Wh-who are you?" Alex whispered, though part of him didn't want to know the answer.
The red lights burned brighter.
*"I am... a fragment... shadow of what I was... but you... you can restore me... you are... the first... in eons... who can hear..."
"I don't understand—"
*"FREE ME."
The word struck like silent thunder. Alex's books fell from his desk. The window cracked.
And then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
The red lights faded. The temperature returned to normal. Grim slumped back into its hunched posture, just a small skeleton with a toy scythe.
As if nothing had happened.
Alex sat in his bed, trembling, his mind trying to process what he'd just experienced.
Had it been real? Or just a nightmare born of stress and despair?
He looked at Grim. The skeleton was motionless, its back to him, facing the cracked window.
"Grim?" he tried again, his voice barely audible.
No response. Only silence.
Alex slowly lay back down, not taking his eyes off the skeleton.
Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to tint the sky.
In a few hours, he would be expelled from the Celestial Academy. His dream would be officially over.
But as he lay there, staring at the small, harmless form of his F-Rank summon, one single question burned in his mind:
What the hell have I actually summoned?
And somewhere very deep, beyond his conscious understanding, in the place where his soul joined with his companion's—
Something ancient smiled.
---