Mage Heir - The Summoner of Beckham Estate?

The Gemini were powerful, relentless even, but not particularly fast. If he could find another way in, perhaps a side entrance or some hidden servant's gate, he might be able to get inside without alerting the cursed armors again.

He crept out from the courtyard, keeping low and sticking to the shadows as he circled the estate's stone walls. The rough texture of the weathered stone scraped against his fingertips as he searched for any sign of weakness—a crumbled section, an old doorway, something the Gemini wouldn't be guarding. Something forgotten.

The estate's perimeter seemed endless, overgrown with ivy and brambles that snagged at his clothes. As he rounded a far corner, he spotted something. A kind of half-door, obscured by thick vines and moss.

It was small, like the door to a crawl space, and nothing like the grand main entrance. It looked like it hadn't been used in years.

The door was slightly ajar, just enough to tempt him.

Silas glanced over the fence.

No sign of the Gemini.

He placed a hand over the fence and vaulted over, landing softly on the other side. He hurried to the door, hunched over, pulling away the vines as quietly as possible, and slipped inside.

The door creaked on its hinges, but no alarms sounded, no mana surged to stop him.

Inside was a narrow passage, dimly lit by the faint glow of runes embedded in the walls. The cool, musty air felt oddly familiar, like stepping into a memory he didn't quite recognize.

I'm in.

He pressed on, keeping his footsteps light as he made his way deeper into the estate. The passage led him past what looked like an old storage room filled with dust-covered crates and forgotten relics. Silas paused briefly, sifting through the debris.

Most of it was junk, broken furniture, rusted tools, but his fingers brushed against something cool and smooth. He pulled it out, revealing a small, ornate key. Its surface shimmered faintly with magic, though its purpose wasn't immediately clear.

Silas pocketed the key and continued down the passage.

Eventually, it opened into a wider corridor. He could hear faint creaks and groans in the distance, possibly the Gemini patrolling the estate's front halls. He moved cautiously, scanning for any signs of active wards or traps Dewalt might have left behind.

Finally, he reached what appeared to be a back hallway that connected to the grand foyer. From here, he could see part of the grand staircase leading up to the upper floors and deeper into the heart of the manor. Dust clung to the air, and the faint scent of old parchment and forgotten magic filled his nostrils.

The estate was silent as though it had been waiting for him to return all this time.

Silas went deeper into the estate, eventually finding narrow stone stairs that spiraled down into the belly of the manor.

The walls, lined with old runes and flickering mage torches, guided him as he moved further from the dusty halls above and toward the heart of Dewalt's domain, the Summoning Chamber.

"This is it," he muttered to himself, trying to steady his nerves. "Just keep moving. You've faced worse."

The air grew cooler with each step, carrying a scent of damp stone and ancient magic.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he cautiously navigated the winding stairs, his fingers brushing against the runes carved into the walls.

"Just my luck. I've inherited an indoor hiking trail."

He chuckled softly, shaking off the nerves as he continued down. The runes pulsed with a soft blue light.

They were a distraction.

A creak echoed from above.

Silas froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He strained to listen for any sign of movement.

The faint groan of old wood settling was all he heard. He exhaled slowly and resumed his descent.

"I can do this," he whispered. "Just find the chamber, grab anything useful, and get out."

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a heavy wooden door barred his path. Its surface was intricately carved with more runes and symbols, some familiar and others completely foreign.

He fished out the ornate key from his pocket, hoping it would fit.

"Come on, Dewalt. Let this be the one."

The key slid smoothly into the lock, turning with a satisfying click. Silas pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The chamber was vast, but instead of the ancient, cryptic look he'd expected, it had a modern, almost clinical design.

Clean lines, smooth stone surfaces, and an array of glowing blue glyphs scrawled across walls and tables like some kind of arcane blueprint.

It felt... odd. Almost like an office space mixed with a sorcerer's lab.

Silas ran his fingers across a workbench cluttered with strange components: old, cracked summoning stones, jars filled with mysterious powders, and worn scrolls detailing ancient summoning rituals.

There were strange relics, some he recognized from stories and others that looked like they belonged to an entirely different world.

"Alright," he said to himself, "let's see what you left behind for me."

He approached a shelf cluttered with ancient scrolls and jars filled with strange substances. Carefully, he picked up one of the scrolls and unfurled it.

His eyes scanned over complex incantations and diagrams detailing summoning rituals far beyond his current skill level.

"Okay," he muttered, "one step at a time."

Moving further into the chamber, Silas spotted a pedestal near the far wall. A single book rested upon it, a thick tome bound in dark leather with an ornate clasp keeping it shut.

"That looks promising."

He made his way over to it, glancing around cautiously before reaching out to touch the clasp. It unlatched easily under his fingers, revealing pages filled with Dewalt's meticulous handwriting and detailed illustrations of various creatures.

"This has got to be it."

Silas flipped through the pages.

Dewalt's handwriting filled the margins, notes scrawled in a hurried but precise script. Some pages detailed summoning rituals and binding contracts, while others described encounters with creatures from other realms.

He paused on a page that seemed out of place among the arcane texts. It was an entry written in a different tone, almost as if Dewalt had been venting his frustrations.

"No matter how much I try," it began, "I cannot mimic with magic refrigeration. The spells fail to sustain the cold temperature needed. All I want is a cold drink and the satisfying pop of a cola. Why must this world deny me such simple pleasures?"

Silas frowned, re-reading the passage. Refrigeration? Cola? The words were foreign to him, yet Dewalt wrote them as if they were common knowledge.

"What in Bastian is a 'cola'?" Silas muttered under his breath, turning the page.

Another entry caught his eye, this one even more perplexing.

"Tried again today to figure out a microwave. Results were catastrophic, nearly set fire to the summoning chamber. Note: Do not combine mana crystals and enchanted metals for heating purposes."

Silas shook his head, baffled by the references. Microwave? The concept eluded him, but he could sense Dewalt's frustration leaping off the page.

He continued reading, finding more entries filled with strange mentions.

"Attempted to replicate electricity using elemental spirits. I would not recommend, unlike actual electricity, spirits don't have to follow a set path."

Silas laughed despite himself, imagining how in his old age his grandfather must have gone mad and half senile talking about bizarre oddities.

"Well, Gramps," he said to himself, "looks like you had your own set of problems."

Despite the confusion, they also humanized Dewalt in a way Silas hadn't expected.

Here was a man who spent his older days, trying to live more casually.

Closing the book, Silas felt a connection to his grandfather.

"You wanted a cold drink, I just want to pay these bills. Work with me here."

As he carefully placed the book back on its pedestal, Silas made a mental note to explore more of Dewalt's notes later.

For now, he needed to focus on practical matters, like surviving and restoring the estate.

But first...

He went back to exploring.

At the center of the chamber stood a sacrificial brazier, old and soot-stained, but its purpose unmistakable.

This was where Dewalt had summoned the monsters that were bound to him, where the magic of the estate flowed through the brazier, granting life to the summons bound here.

Silas kept looking and rummaged through the clutter, grabbing items that caught his eye, an intricate amulet, a small crystal that pulsed faintly in his hand, and a shard of something that looked almost like a piece of a frozen star.

He hesitated, then looked at the summoning orb in his hand, the one that had granted him the Grey Owl. It had served him well in battle, but... the brazier called to him.

If he was to claim the estate, he needed something more.

With a steady hand, he placed the summoning orb into the brazier, watching as it began to pulse with light.

Slowly, the artifacts he had gathered followed, one by one.

The brazier consumed them, the flames flickering to life and then growing. Silas stepped back, watching as the room filled with ancient magic as the estate awakened for the first time in years.

Suddenly, the flames roared, and a system notification materialized in front of him.

《Summoning Protocol Initiated》

《Summoner Silas Beckham, you have successfully completed a High-Risk Summoning. Due to the components used, the following has been granted:》

《Creature Summoned: 《FENRIR》 (Rank: 《MYTHIC》)》

Silas's heart pounded. Mythic. The highest rank possible. But instead of the fierce, otherworldly beast he expected, something much... smaller appeared in the center of the brazier.

A puppy.

It was small, barely the size of a terrier, with shaggy, midnight-black fur and bright, piercing blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief. Its tiny paws clicked against the stone floor as it sat down, wagging its tail and looking up at Silas with a playful yip.

Silas blinked, crouching down. "You've got to be kidding me. This is Fenrir?"

The puppy barked again, bouncing up and down with enthusiasm. Despite its size, the air around it felt different—charged, almost heavy with latent power. Silas felt a strange connection to the little creature, a deep-rooted bond that stirred something inside him.

The system chimed again, displaying the status menu for the newly summoned creature.

《Creature: 《Fenrir》》 《Rank: 《MYTHIC》》 《Form: 《Cub》》

《Abilities (Current Form):》 《Frost Fang (Basic): 《Gnaws at enemies, inflicting frostbite.》》 《Howl of Ice (Dormant): 《Calls upon a deep, hidden power that will awaken in later forms.》》

《Growth Potential: 《Immense》 (Final Form: 《Primordial Fenrir》)》

《Name your Summon.》

Silas stared at the little black cub, a smile creeping onto his face. "Diog," he said quietly. "Your name's Diog."

The cub barked in response, its tail wagging furiously as if it understood and accepted its new name.

Silas chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind Diog's ears.

The cub leaned into his touch, eyes closing in contentment.

Despite its size, Silas could feel the immense power radiating from the tiny creature. There was something ancient and wise behind those playful blue eyes.

"Well, Diog," Silas said, standing up and looking around the chamber. "Looks like it's just you and me now."