Asheva: A Summoner’s Tale – [Book-2 Complete]

An invigorating burst of energy crammed Ewan’s body and overwhelmed him when the nebula formed. His body was crumbling, his death stood before him, yet his senses returned, and he trudged forward to reach the final section—the life extending part of the rite.

A healing vigor seeped in the moment his foot touched the floor, and a grating groan of pain and pleasure escaped his torn throat. His organs recovered, his nerves reconnected, his bones healed, his skin revitalized, and when he gained the leeway, he gulped down the Ocean Song potion from his claw-ring. The rush of the rite reconstructed his body, the soothing melody of the ocean soaked the missed corners and gaps with a touch of finesse, and soon he made a full recovery, only short of his hair.

Yet, the wave hadn’t ended.

He took the second step of the section, and the quality of his life soared. An inordinate strength saturated him, his Ryvia exploded, and he left the realm of the Kyrons behind. His ‘Spirit’ and ‘Vitality’ ushered in a period of rapid growth, and even his twitch brimmed with sheer raw power.

And finally, the third step brought him what he wished for. When the evolution slowed down, a cold yet comforting breath popped up out of thin air and embraced him, and his lifespan skyrocketed. From an average 80 years to 130, then to 150, and it kept rising until it reached 200, then decelerated to 245—the last trickle brought it to 246 and the rite shut down.

By body, by soul, and by life, Ewan now stood at Step-1, the Spirit-Nebula stage.

…..

Identify.

Ewan rubbed the stubble on his head and cast after putting on his clothes and checking on his Astylinds, his heart racing, and his grin out of control. He succeeded, he finally succeeded…

The new step changed him inside out, the rite crushed him and rebuilt him into a higher being, and his details showed that in numbers. Apart from the growth in ‘Spirit’ and ‘Vitality’ that were the crux of his evolution, the increase in ‘Potential’ was also a big gain—it expanded the room for a fifth Astylind.
The rate of feedback would plunge from this point on, even when all his Astylinds joined him in Step-1. Thus, the addition of an Astylind was the comfort of a drop of water in the desert. Nevertheless, it was the worry of the future, and as a Step-1 Severynth, he had the means to deal with them. For now, the immediate concerns mattered more—he even had to quell the itch for his new toy to patch the problem.

The breakthrough opened up a new world for him. However, with that surge came the issue of recalibration. Even a curl of his toes could crack the floor right now, he needed to readjust his senses according to his new state.

He took his minutes for that, searching for the spectrum of strength he could use in daily life without destroying everything. When the basement barely held the shadow of its original state, and when Ewan finally tiptoed without demolishing his surroundings, his calm rationale couldn’t contain his childlike excitement for the toy anymore. And he flew.

The unchecked launch banged him against the roof, and his Ryvia punched a hole through. The concrete powder, the broken bars, and the rubble fell down into the useless basement after a tremor while Ewan tried to balance in the air. This was not gliding anymore, this was an actual flight, and he needed a higher extent of spatial senses to find his footing.

He floated out of the hole and into an unused bedroom, tilting right to cancel the left lean and overcompensating towards left for the right veer. Of the two types of mainstream flight, Ryvia excelled in maneuverability and short distance burst. A strong and agile Ryvia was vital for air to air and air to surface combat. Ewan always owned an edge in this aspect, and he didn’t lose after the breakthrough either. Soon he tamed the wild power, reined in the outpour of his spirit, and glided out of the villa while steering past the doors and the walls.

The vault of the protective fog greeted him when he flew out, and the closed dome triggered his desire to take off into the sky. He wanted to feel the wind against him when he soared, the moist air wetting his skin when he drove through the loaded clouds, and the world shrinking beneath him when he rose higher and higher. Yet, the condition of the yard soured his mood and spoiled his craving, the whole lawn was in a mess.

Four abled men cornered Kidd, their hands trembling as they clutched the sticks and stones, their collars cracked and dangling on their shoulders, blood from their lacerations drenching their ragged clothes. Kidd jumped forward, sliced a forearm with his dagger, then sprung back to the wall, barely holding his own against them. The attacked man groaned and pressed his new wound, and the rest three gulped and tightened their grips.

On the other side of the lawn, the fifth man had pummeled Stefan to the ground, kicking his ribs, booting his stomach, and pounding his face. Stefan curled up and tightened his guard, yet was black and blue already, and bled from anywhere he could.

Their numbers, their collars, their get-ups, and their presence in his yard reiterated one fact—these were the slaves he bought. And the slaves had rebelled.

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