HP: Spirit Talker

And we wait for the weather. And for this conversation we came all the way here? There were no important things in the old man's words, like veiled predictions — magicians who work with the astral sense do such things.

Words of prophecy, real prophecy, leave a tremor in the immediate spiritual realms, it is easy to see, it is easy to feel. This did not happen. Confused, I look at my mother, who is thinking tensely about something. After a minute of thinking, she perked up and slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.

— I remembered! — But she spoke quietly. — Traditionally, to get a pass to the Thousand Ghosts Quarter, that is, a normal pass, not one marked "uneducated, potential enemy," you have to present the guardian with a gift. Something made with your own hands and magic.

— It's about time you remembered. — I looked at my mother in displeasure. — We need the daggers and artifacts for ourselves. There's nothing else... — and then I realize, catching the old man's mischievous twinkle.

I pull up my sleeve, touch the bracelet on my shoulder, a thought of what I want, and I have in my hand a rolled-up sheet, a meter long, tied with a silk ribbon. One of the paintings. Silently, I approach the old man and hold out the gift on two palms. With a glance at me, the old man accepted the gift and quickly unwrapped it.

For a few minutes he carefully studied what I was trying to convey on the paper, even the cat was interested in my work, slowly swaying its tail from side to side.

Then, still silent, the old man rolled up the paper, tied it carefully, and placed it beside him. With a clap of his hands, the creature (it breathed something unreal, I had never felt anything like it) opened a passage, a trembling arch of white light, just inside the Gate Toria.

— Welcome, young people!

We bowed silently and stepped through the portal.

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