Episode 7 – Chains of the Inner Court
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The chains weren't physical.
Zane quickly learned that in the Inner Court, nothing ever was.
From the moment he stepped past the silver gate etched with runes of silence, he felt the weight of a thousand watching eyes. The corridors were too quiet. Too clean. The air shimmered faintly—laced with suppressive mana fields, meant to keep unstable summoners docile.
His new quarters were luxurious by all standards—crystal lighting, soft-glide doors, mana-woven sheets—but it all felt hollow. Gilded prison bars.
A single sigil was carved onto the center of the floor: CHAINED. A spell of magical limitation.
One false move, he thought, and I'm gone.
---
His new mentor was even stranger.
Zane was escorted to the Arcane Reliquary—a towering library fused with a living tree at its heart—where he met the man called Master Rhain.
Rhain was tall, ancient, and impossibly gaunt. His robes were stitched from shadowcloth and old griffin silk, and his eyes shimmered faintly violet—one natural, one artificial. A black raven perched constantly on his shoulder, watching Zane with eerie intelligence.
"Zane," Rhain said, inspecting him like a particularly strange puzzle. "Bearer of the Echo Sigil. Willborn Summoner. Curious."
Zane said nothing.
Rhain tapped his staff—an old crooked thing that hummed with locked power—and gestured toward the shelves.
"You'll study every summoning taxonomy in the Inner Index. Then you'll review the Forbidden Codex of Lost Threads."
Zane frowned. "Aren't those… banned?"
Rhain smirked. "They were. Until you made them relevant again."
He leaned in, voice low.
"There are two kinds of summoners, Zane. Those who control the chain—and those who break it."
---
Days passed in a blur of study and silence.
Zane's life fell into routine: meditation, rune review, theoretical summon-crafting. Each day under Rhain's tutelage peeled back another layer of magic theory—darker, deeper truths he'd never imagined.
He learned that summoning wasn't just about calling beasts.
It was about channeling identity.
Every summon bore a mirror of the caster's soul. Which is why Willborns were feared. They weren't trained—they were revealed.
One day, Rhain placed a tome before him. Dusty. Bound in wyrmhide. The title burned into the leather:
"The Broken Summoners."
Zane opened it.
Inside were sketches of summoners who'd lost control. Images of people whose summons had consumed their bodies. Merged into abominations. Cities destroyed by things never meant to be summoned.
Willborns were not always benevolent. Sometimes, they devoured.
"Is this what they think I'll become?" Zane whispered.
Rhain nodded. "Yes."
---
Meanwhile, Kaela trained alone.
Though they rarely crossed paths now, Zane sometimes caught glimpses of her sparring in the Spell Arenas, moving with relentless grace, as if she were fighting something only she could see.
She hadn't spoken to him since the trial.
But one night, after a long lesson, Zane returned to his quarters to find her waiting outside.
"You're not safe," she said.
Zane raised a brow. "Is this a threat or a warning?"
Kaela's eyes flicked sideways. "Neither. Just a truth."
She crossed her arms. "They say Willborns are cursed. That summoners like you eventually lose themselves to what they create. That's why they're watching you."
Zane nodded slowly. "Then let them watch."
He stepped closer.
"I'm not afraid of what's inside me."
Kaela held his gaze for a moment… and then smiled. Just a flicker. "Good. Because I think we're going to need it soon."
---
That night, the Raven spoke.
Zane wasn't dreaming.
He sat in the center of his warded chamber, meditating, when the shadows twisted. The black raven on Rhain's shoulder appeared in the air, wings spread wide.
But this time… it spoke.
> "The seals weaken… The gate trembles… The Depths remember you, Zane."
He stood quickly, the mark on his palm burning.
> "They will come. The Others. The Forgotten Summoners. The ones who never died…"
Zane's blood turned to ice.
> "You are not the first Willborn. But you may be the last."
---
Far beyond the Sanctum, across the fractured isles of Aetherra…
In a dead ruin beneath a blackened sky, a hooded figure knelt before a summoning circle drawn in blood. Around them, a dozen figures chanted.
> "Bring forth the Echo-Touched. Tear the Chain."
As the glyphs pulsed, a familiar mark flickered in the center.
Zane's mark.
And in the darkness beyond the world, something smiled.