The Proverbial Song

If you ever hear whispers of the undead,

whatever you do, don't leave your bed.

Don't run, don't hide, don't try to be bold,

just heed the warnings and do as you're told.

These cautions aren't to lead you astray.

The dead of night is when they hunt their prey.

They look for those who lie awake,

so close your eyes, your soul's at stake.

Hush now, be still, don't make a sound,

not even a gasp or you'll be found.

They'll come for you, and when you scream,

no one will dare to intervene.

What are they, you ask? What else can they be?

They're shadows in every corner you see.

They're darkness, they're vile. They're the end.

They're the restless spirits of those condemned.

So if you feel a presence lurking above,

don't look, it's the thing that nightmares are made of.

And if, by chance, you get a glimpse of one,

just know, you'll be haunted 'til your days are done.

There is one way to keep the monsters at long,

but you'll have to sing the Proverbial Song;

"Snatchers, Snatchers leave me be,

or the Tenebrous One will come for thee."

Except once you do just be aware,

... an even greater fiend will soon be there.

Kol

Deeply submerged in my thoughts, I stalked through the dense, decrepit forest, haunting the forsaken premise with my presence, and stirring the air around me, causing wisps of dark, tendril-like plants to slough. My brisk pace alerted the hovering trees of my arrival, and smoky-like fingers began reaching out as if to beckon me to them. It wasn't difficult for me to resist their lure, as my mind was preoccupied and instead continued forward, never looking anywhere but straight ahead.

Although I was inattentive to my surroundings, I knew never to stray from the path clear of the thicket. It might be my forest, but the ambiance of the withered, sentient undergrowth that had once loved and adored me now conveyed hostility and malice. Recently, they seemed to be sneering at me with contempt, as if to say, "You might've made us, but we no longer serve you." Nourishment. That was what they craved, and they’d take it from anyone, even the supreme being that brought them into existence. I supposed I couldn’t blame them for their animosity. I was starving, too. Not for sustenance, my body could survive eons without being fed. No, what I hungered for, was bloodshed.

This kingdom, which I created through darkness and desolation, had felt more and more like a prison as the years slowly and tauntingly tacked on. I was bound here, a supreme entity restricted to my own deific netherworld, with only occasional permission to leave when invoked by mortals to fulfill my "obligations." The audacity of that inferior human, debasing me to such a humiliating and subjugating burden. Cursing me.

Hisses from deep within the forest reverberated around me, sharing my indignant sentiment. Although my realm might seem alive, there was no other living soul here, only mine. An intrusive voice surfaced from the recess of my mind, reminding me there wasn't really any room for me to complain or express any sort of discontent, since at one point I actively preferred it this way. I had only myself to blame for the years of solitude I'd endured. But back then, I had everything any being could ever ask for. From the countless treasures I had amassed to the unsightly creatures that were far more dreadful than any demon from the Infernal realm roamed my lands. Unfortunately, these beasts were no longer here. Just like everything else dying from starvation, they decayed into nothing.

My already dark mood significantly soured at the reminder, and the shadows abruptly recoiled, receding back into the safety of the forest as they sensed my dangerous state. It was a new, unfamiliar thing to me, being powerless, and unable to provide for my dominion. The sight of my realm slowly deteriorating and wasting away sent a surge of baleful resentment through me. It’d been decades- if not centuries- since I'd last heard someone’s fearful whisper begging me to save them from a vicious Snatcher and pull me out of the Abyss. It was hard to tell. Time was fickle here. But it was because of this profound and prolonged silence that I was now torn between two equally appalling options, where I had to either let my kingdom continue to decay until it perished or go into hibernation.

My lips curled back into a snarl at the mere thought of letting my once-perfect world rot, leaving me to one day rule over nothing, just as that detestable human promised. It infuriated me that I had to make any sacrifices regarding my realm. But if it meant preserving the Abyss and its remaining inhabitants, I'd do whatever was necessary.

After a long day of visiting every inch of my kingdom and committing what remained of it to memory, I finally made my way out of the forest. My jaw clenched as I strode toward the ruins of my dark palace. Once I reached the obsidian throne, I slowly sank into it, and before I could talk myself out of it, I forced everything- myself included- into an eternal slumber, only to wake the day someone finally sang the Proverbial Song.

*** 630 Years Later***

"Snatchers, Snatchers leave me be,

or the Tenebrous One will come for thee."

My eyes flew open at the sound of the familiar call as it echoed through the empty space like a faint, forlorn siren. It'd been a long time since anyone recited my summoning chant, making me wonder if I ever existed in their world at all. For some reason, they had been annoyingly quiet. Until now.

A cold, insidious grin spread across my lips. At last, I'd get my long-awaited vengeance against those hapless mortals. I’d be their nightmare reborn, and soon, they’d come to regret the day they decided to turn their backs on me.

__________

Sera

"May the Saints guard our souls."

I blew out a weary breath as I, along with all the other students in training, repeated the holy words back to our Master without any enthusiasm. Master Ireen caught the act and gave me a stern look. I defiantly stared right back at her, and though she couldn't see it, she knew.

"Sera!" My best friend, Erida, hissed quietly as she nudged me with her elbow, and I reluctantly lowered my gaze. "Stop challenging the Master instructor."

"I'm not challenging anyone," I retorted. I couldn't see her expression, but I could tell she was giving me a doubtful look. Okay, fine, maybe I was. It wasn't my intent, though. Stubbornness was a strong, flawed character trait of mine that I wasn't willing to budge on or correct. I wasn't ashamed of it. But also, who wouldn't be rebellious and skeptical when they were being forced to believe in things that... well, went against what they believed in?

Erida sighed- a far deeper one than mine- causing her thin white veil to ripple where it ended just below her chin. "I know not everyone who's confirmed to have the Saint's touch becomes a religious zealot, but usually those this far into Reverent training gain some faith in the cause," she murmured to me in a low voice.

I stiffened and did a subtle, cursory glance at the other students in the room, making sure none had overheard. Hiding expressions and sneaking looks seemed to be the only benefit of these damn veils, I thought spitefully.

No one showed any reaction to Erida's comment, or at least, not from what I could tell, given that I only had the back of their hooded heads to go by. Thank Fates, because on the continent of Emorbis, being a doubter was a crime worthy of condemnation. Every citizen believed it was a sin to disagree with a Reverent's cause, and even more so if you were training to become a Reverent, given the fact that only those who could become one were "chosen by the Saints." A bit excessive, if you ask me.

But it was what it was.

"... which is why you should all be grateful for your gifts. The Art of Holy Magic is blest," Master Ireen said, insisting that we adhere to her teachings. "This faith had been venerated for almost a thousand years, ever since the first Reverents came into existence and used their holy magic to protect innocents from the evil forces that walk our nation."

I rolled my eyes. This was why everyone seemed to think it was an honor to be touched and bestowed such a miraculous gift. Except me. Apparently, I was the only Saint-touched who was hesitant about this proclaimed "cause". That was my father's doing, even though he was once a Reverent himself. To the King no less!

It wasn't like I was disregarding the reason for our origination. I knew how dangerous the realm was, probably better than anyone. My skepticism was more towards the Saints themselves.

I stared down at my desk, thinking about my childhood. Of the giant house I grew up in, and my parents’ love, wondering how I ended up here, in this miserable institution.

I mean, I knew how I got here. After the Reverent's sudden emergence, the Taar King, who'd been reigning at the time, decided to build this holy Cathedral for us to study in. To learn how to wield our holy magic and prepare for the dangers of the world. He had quickly organized a new branch of the military, with a focus on utilizing the talents of the Reverents strictly for supernatural purposes.

It was a precaution that was well-founded, considering the steady increase in demonic activity. But there was also a healthy increase in Saint-touched among the populace as well. Due to this overgrowth, other occultists realized a new powerful group had formed, and not long after, demons weren’t our only enemies. And as the decades passed, each new King enforced new laws, including making the Academy mandatory for all Saint-touched. They issued us specific uniforms, separating us from the royal army. They insisted that we undergo extensive education and assume proper manners and etiquette to elevate us from the common folk. Yet between those petty rules, they grew obsessed with expanding their forces, and the extra measures that the Kings were taking to eradicate the demons and other threats felt paranoid.

Our current King's behavior was even more paranoid than his predecessors. Nine years ago, he proclaimed that he wasn't taking any risks with the country's future, and lowered the age of the annual Saint Testing, which falls on the Summer Solstice- and my birthday- from eighteen to fifteen. Any who passed, even those with just a smidgen of power, were immediately brought to the Capital's Cathedral. We had zero choice in the matter. Our importance outweighed our freedom, and parents would get punished if they voiced any objections. Most kids didn't mind. Their egos were inflated from the attention and glory that came with being Saint-touched. But thanks to my father, I had reasons to be wary. He'd been a Grand Master Reverent, and served the King for many years, which made his last words to me even more daunting; never trust the Kings of Taar.

Well, I'd taken his advice to heart. And since the Kings decreed the Reverent Training as a mandatory requirement for all Saint-touched, I was skeptical of it. He made me question everything I'd ever been taught.

Although I hated being forced into something I didn't trust, I recognized the gravity of accepting the Saint's bestowal. The demons were very real, which was part of the reason I chose to embrace my fate and become a Reverent. Then there was the fact that if word ever spread that someone who'd been touched rejected their purpose, there'd be anarchy, and I didn't want to ruin people's sense of security because of my lack of faith.

But mostly, I just didn’t have the energy to fight it. Since my father’s death, I’d been aimlessly following in somewhat obedient silence. Erida was the only one who knew how I felt about the ever-dragging faith. Or she was. As of late, almost everyone was having increasing suspicions that I was a fraud. I did a decent job acting on the part of a devotee, quietly “conforming”. Until this past Saturday, when we received word of the previous year's successful graduates, and when Grand Master David asked me to practice the Saintierism Oath for when I become an official Reverent and I just... couldn't.

I jumped, startled out of my pensive thoughts as a loud dong resounded, and tumultuous vibrations caused the foundation of the school to quiver. The tolling bell signaled the end of our day, but before I could rise from my seat, Master Ireen dove into a speech, forestalling my escape. "I know you're all eager to rush off to dinner, but I have homework to issue." Although we were taught not to complain, a few muffled groans slipped free from several students, myself included. Master Ireen leveled her signature scowl at us, effectively silencing our protests. "As you're all aware, you've just entered your final year, meaning very soon you'll be starting your apprenticeships with a well-admired Grand Master Reverent of your choosing. That being said, your homework assignment is to secure a mentor for the rest of the term. I expect the contractual agreement signed and presented to me by Monday." My jaw dropped. A week!? Without needing to look, I could tell other students in the classroom were also panicking about the short deadline from the way they shifted in their seats.

"After nine years of education, you've had plenty of time to network so it's up to all of you to make the arrangements."

Thank the Saints for my veil or everyone would've seen the horror written all over my face. Networking? I didn't network! I stayed clear of the Masters so they wouldn't suspect me as a heretic. It was already difficult pretending to dutifully accept the absurd indoctrination this place teaches without getting close to any.

"You should consider it an honor to be trained by the best in the holy practice of Saintierism. And because of your unwavering dedication to our cause, I have faith that many of you will have little difficulty attaining powerful mentors," she added, then cast a brief look in my direction. "Unless you're a doubter."

I started to roll my eyes but felt Master Ireen's glare still on me, and somehow, she always knew. So I chose to bite the inside of my cheek instead.

"That's all. You're excused."

Like an angry swarm of wasps, we all scrambled to leave the lecture room. I bolted out with Erida in tow to avoid getting trampled. It was a sure bet that everyone was rapidly dispersing to start their lists of potential mentors. Meanwhile, I was just trying to flee Master Ireen's intense aura.

I didn't slow my gait until we were far out of hearing range. "So, what's your plan, doubter?" Erida prodded, the severeness of the reproving term softened by her light, playful tone.

"I don't know. Guess this is where my education ends," I teased. Or maybe I was serious. Either way, the joke fell flat and Erida tugged my arm, slipping us into an alcove.

She quickly cast a silencing pall to give our conversation privacy. The layer of holy astralis magic didn't block out the noises surrounding us, but it muted us from the rest of the world. "Sera, you know there's no such thing as ending a Reverent education. There's either pitching you beyond the Rift, where outcasts are denied the King's protection against demons. Or certain death."

"Geesh, Erida. We really need to work on your bedside manners."

She scoffed, and judging by the movement of her head, I knew she also rolled her eyes. She pulled a parchment out of her satchel before thrusting it toward me.

"What's this?" I asked as I plucked the paper out of her hand, and moved my veil out of my face to get a better look at it.

"It's my list of Grand Masters."

My eyebrows shot up. "Wow, that was fast."

"I made this list weeks ago. It's our final year, so I knew we'd be assigned the task soon."

Typical Erida, always ten pages ahead of everyone in her studies.

I read through the names. It didn't take long, considering there were only four written on it. I paused as I reached the last name and my eyes snapped to hers. "Gaedriel Atlas?"

Her lips pressed together firmly, but I couldn't see the rest of her expression due to the damn veil! "I know you've hated him ever since he took over your father's position. But it wasn't his fault for your father's disappearance."

"He left him behind and the next day got a promotion!" I shouted, grateful for the silencing pall because I was sure I was loud enough to replace the brass bell. The story he gave of my father's disappearance never sat well with me, claiming their hunting party was ambushed by a hoard of demons, and my father sacrificed himself to save the other Reverents in their group. I didn't buy it. I believed they left him to save themselves. Cowards were what they were.

Erida anxiously gripped her satchel strap as she took back her list. "He's an honorable man. He wouldn't abandon anyone just to steal their title. You should be careful not to voice that opinion in front of others." I didn't say that, but I guess the inference in my outburst made it seem like that was what I thought. I honestly didn't know what to think. He was close to my family before everything changed. My father and he were like brothers. So the day he returned from his mission without my father felt like a betrayal. I couldn't look at him the same after that. Especially when he got the shiny new title as the King's trusted Reverer, and my father's last words to me were to not trust the Kings of Taar. It all felt too coincidental.

"Anyway, I just thought you'd like to see my choices before I submit them," Erida finished and my heart squeezed, feeling awful about my behavior.

"I'm sorry. It's a good list. Any of them would be lucky to have you as their apprentice."

Her smile was tight. "Thanks, but I'm not worried about me."

Right. I was the one who burned all my bridges. I sighed as I turned to stare out the window at the simple yet complex compositions in the Cathedral's architecture. The sun was setting on the horizon, casting a gold, heavenly glow that made the ivory stonework resplendent. "I wish my mom were here." I hated her new role as Lord Teagan's head Reverer. I knew it was selfish of me to want her here, given she was protecting defenseless citizens from demons who had been crawling around the outskirts of their town, and they needed her more. There was already a group of Reverents stationed in Hexington, but apparently, it wasn't enough. I frowned to myself. Was it just me or were these demons getting bolder?

"You can't apprentice under family," Erida reminded me.

"I know, but I could at least ask her for advice."

She hummed. "Well, I know you didn't ask for my advice, but I'll offer it to you anyway, seeing how we're friends and all." I snorted a laugh and turned to face her again. "You visit the library daily, and Egar Pentance has seemed to take a liking to you. So you have at least one Grand Master as an option."

"But he's so old," I groused, which was unfair of me. I shouldn't be complaining when I didn't have a lot of options.

"Old means experienced," Erida tossed back with a slight reprimand in her tone. "He's also extremely admired and well-respected. Graduating with his blessing will certainly earn you a desirable leadership position. Who knows, maybe you'll even lead your own platoon right away instead of working years for it?"

That was her dream. Not mine. But I didn't say that. Instead, I said, "Except he hasn't had an apprentice in a decade."

Erida grumbled something incoherent under her breath, shaking her head. "Go to the library," she commanded. "Speak with Edgar. For you, I think he'd reconsider." With that, she dropped her silencing pall and walked in the direction of our mess hall.

I watched her form shrink as more distance stretched between us. My stomach grumbled, telling me to follow her. But I knew she was right. I had to speak with Edgar before he turned in for the night. With resolve, I straightened myself and pivoted, aiming in the direction of the library.

Well, that went better than I'd expected. Erida was right, as soon as I brought up the apprenticeship, Edgar accepted. The conversation was brief, but he promised he'd be my mentor, and I didn't need to go searching for anyone else. I felt relieved. One name on the list was enough, so long as it was a definitive yes. Which it was. Now I just needed to fill out the contractual agreement for him to sign, solidifying his mentorship.

I glanced around the now-empty library, inhaling the crisp scent of aged paper and musk, the aroma inviting me to devour their insight. Perhaps the contract could wait another day.

My fingers grazed the textured spines as I strolled down a dimly lit aisle. I chewed my bottom lip as I read the sigils, words, and runes etched into the leather. During my first two years here, we learned how to interpret and decipher every language and hieroglyphics. Reverents were blessed with powers to protect, and the best way to do that was by educating ourselves about all the different monsters that roamed the world.

Erida was an intelligent disciple. But where she spent hours committing everything she studied to memory, I had an affinity for absorbing information without effort. All it took was a glance, and the words would retain in my memory forever, which made up for my lack of control of my astralis. It wasn't that I didn't know how to use my holy magic. It was just... erratic.

As I continued to roam the aisle, I was startled out of my thoughts by a tugging sensation. Not a physical one- a spiritual one. My brows knit together. Strange. In all the years I'd been coming here, I'd never felt such a compelling pull. I knew our astralis grew stronger as we matured, but each behaved differently with the sole purpose of guiding us in the direction in life we were meant to take. Meaning this spiritual tug was the Saints trying to lead me toward my destiny. Or so the Masters say. I'd never felt this before, but now that I had, I couldn't deny the truth that it wanted me to find something.

I followed the sensation. The pull felt tighter and more apparent with each step that brought me closer to whatever it was I was searching for. As soon as I reached the end of the shelf I felt the chord snap taut and I wrapped my hand around the tome my fingers had grazed.

I pulled it off the shelf and it was thick and heavy. The sooty cover was written in sigils I recognized as a dead language derived from the tribe Noxtēr, which translated to night terrors. Because of them, we learned how to vanquish Spectrals; evil ghost-like demons that feed off fear.

I flipped through the pages, reading the words with keen interest. I was especially drawn to the ones written in blood. Noxtēr's treated blood as a threshold for communicating with the dead, and the more blood used, the more likely the deceased would receive the message. It was a creepy ritual, but I found it fascinating.

As I began to wonder why the Saints insisted that I retrieve this tome, a small piece of paper fell out of the book and fluttered to the ground. I bent to pick it up, noticing that the paper was different from the pages of the tome. It was thinner and whiter. Clearly, it didn't belong. So then, why was it there?

I turned it over, scanning the first few lines, then drew back as I realized it was a song. This was what I was supposed to find!? A song? I felt my brow furrow as I huffed out a breath. I didn't understand what this meant, but my curiosity was piqued. I decided to recite the song, except I had no clue how the tune was supposed to go, so I was probably butchering it. As I reached the second to last verse, it occurred to me that it was a spooky lullaby.

"Snatchers, Snatchers, leave me be,

or the Tenebrous One will come for thee."

Before I could finish the song, I felt a chill pass over me, and with it, a mounting sense of dread.

Suddenly everything went dark as if I'd just been sucked into a void. The air grew colder and my body shook with tremors. I could feel my astralis pulse through my veins, except it wasn't signaling danger was near.

Wind ripped through the aisle, yet not a single book or parchment was disturbed. The only one who seemed to be affected was me.

A scream began to claw its way up my throat when out of nowhere, a man appeared. Not a man, but the shadow of one. He was tall and broad, and he was wearing a long black coat. I inched back to make a hasty retreat, but froze when he spoke.

“Where’s the Snatcher?” He demanded as his form solidified into a physical shape, and spun to face me with a glower on his face. It quickly shifted into shock as he caught sight of me, and his gaze roved over my appearance in confusion.

Run, stupid. But I couldn't. My feet seemed to have grown roots and kept me in place. “T-the Snatcher?”

“Yes,” he growled, his voice sounding like gravel, and gestured around the room. “You called for the Tenebrous One to save you. Well, I’m here. Now where is it!?”

I balked at his question, and looked back down at the paper as it quivered in my trembling hand, piecing things together. “You’re the— But how?”

He glanced at the tome still firmly clutched in my other hand. "Noxtēr," he noted. "You're not one of them. They'd never wear white. Too noticeable."

My eyes widened. “Y- you knew them? But that was—”

“A thousand years ago?” he finished for me, his tone coated with malice.

“Yes,” I breathed, finally regaining control of my body, and carefully stepped backward, preparing to flee. Only I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought.

His eyes snapped to mine, and I jumped, dropping both paper and tome as shadows crawled toward me from every corner of the room until they pinned my feet where I stood. Now I was definitely rooted in place.

Panic surged through me, and my blood chilled. This wasn't holy magic, yet my astralis didn't respond as though it were demonic either. So then... what was it? Or better yet, what was he?

“Answer me. Where. Is. The. Snatcher?” He demanded, and for a second I thought I detected desperation in his tone, though his angry expression made me think I imagined it. He looked downright evil.

“They’re gone. Disappeared like they never existed at all,” I answered and tucked a hand behind my back as I prepared to launch a light orb at him. My stomach twisted sickeningly. It'd be a tricky shot, considering I wasn’t good at controlling, let alone aiming, my astralis. It was unstable and seemed to have a mind of its own. Hopefully, the Saints would forgive me if I accidentally destroyed the library.

I watched in horror as his fury took physical form. His black irises bled into the whites of his eyes and ran through the layer of skin around them like inky veins. His body began to shake with rage before he let out an inhuman roar, and more shadows exploded out of him.

I screamed and instinctively threw my hand in front of me, unleashing my astralis. It barreled towards him in a wild burst of energy- not resembling an orb at all- and some broke free, scattering around the room like lightning.

He was caught off guard, but rebounded quickly and threw up a shield of darkness just before it could hit him. My eyes widened and my stomach hollowed as his shadows absorbed my light.

Impossible…

Once the shadows cleared, he looked at me like I was something unrecognizable. I could say the same for him. I’d memorized every foe that I might ever encounter as a Reverent. But I’d never read of anything like him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whispered, begged.

He tilted his head. The action looked inhuman, almost similar to the demonic creatures I was being trained to hunt. Though he clearly wasn’t, since he appeared human. Only that didn’t seem right either. So if he wasn’t either of those, then he was something else… something more.

“Hurt?” He questioned like the word was foreign. “You invoked me into your realm when you whispered the Proverbial Song. By speaking the words, you summoned me here, therefore I’m obligated to protect you. I cannot hurt you, and I cannot leave. Not until I’ve slewed a Soul Snatcher. That’s my… ” he cringed as he spat out, “duty,” like the word was vile.

I gulped as I digested this information. "Oh. So you're a... Saint?"

"Saint? You mean Primal?" He corrected.

Primal? "What's a Primal?"

He made a choking sound and regarded me like I just committed a grievous sin. After recomposing himself, he pinned me with a stern glare. "Who is this Saint you speak of?"

A look of reversal crossed my face. Did he live under a rock? Wait. Maybe Saints call themselves Primals? "Saints are our heavenly guardians. They protect everyone in Taar, so long as we devote ourselves to them."

I couldn't place the expression he wore, but it closely resembled a mixture of outrage, disgust, and shock. "Devote?" He repeated. "Everyone devotes themselves to... them?"

I contemplated that question. "Well, not everyone. There are doubters."

He laughed, the sound was harsh and bitter. Then he waved a hand over me. "And based on your attire, I suppose you're devoted to these Saints as well?"

I shifted uncomfortably. That was a loaded question that'd surely get me exiled if I admitted the truth. But I couldn't betray myself and lie. I decided on keeping it vague. "I'm a Reverent in training, hence the veil. Our veils can only be lifted once we honor the Saints by pledging our loyalty and subservience into Saintierism."

As I spoke, his dark eyes slowly scrutinized me, assessing and evaluating everything from my boots to my veil, which seemed to consume his focus the most. It made me extremely self-conscious.

"And what's a Reverent?"

Seriously? "They're individuals whom the Saints have touched and awarded divine powers that we call astralis. We use our holy-given gifts to rid the world of demons that plague it."

He inhaled a deep breath through his nose. "I see. Well, I'd be remiss to protect you without knowing who you are. So, tell me your name."

My heart thumped with nervousness. Oddly enough, I wasn't afraid of him. If I were in danger, my astralis would've alerted me. But I no longer thought he was a Saint. He was a Primal... whatever that meant. "Sera Ambrosius."

"See-ruh." He tested my name by drawing it out, tasting the syllables, and savoring the pronunciation. My insides felt like mush. His prehistoric accent seemed to rouse a strange feeling in me.

He approached me slowly- by Saints he was tall- then lowered to pick up the tome and paper, reading the contents before handing them both to me. "Keep that hidden."

I knew he meant the song, though I didn't understand why, but I nodded anyway.

He started to walk away and I felt a rush of panic. "Wait! You can't be here. If someone sees-"

"No one can see me," he answered, and angled his head slightly. "Not unless I want them to. Only you can since you recited the song. There's no need to be concerned. I will not abandon you. I'm tethered to you so I can't go far. However, it's been too long since I've visited your realm, and I must reacquaint myself with it." He began to walk again. "Since there's no threat, I'll return in the morning."

I watched awed-stricken, as his appearance dissipated into a formless umbra, as the wisps of inky smoke slithered along every surface of the room until vanishing from sight. The crinkling sound of paper drew my attention, and I glanced down at the song in my hand, finally reading the last verse, and my breathing stopped.

I felt the blood leave my face. My body grew numb as terror seized me.

My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. Thoughts were assaulting me left and right. But one question stood out among the rest.

What did I just set loose?