The Gate Traveler

In the morning, I took out the book on familiars, a notebook, and a pen and started writing. I didn’t plan to copy the entire book, only the vital information. I skipped all the chapters about familiars in general, choosing the appropriate animal for your character, etc. It didn’t seem like necessary information, nor was it something I knew from personal experience.

When I reached the chapter on Mana Priming, I skimmed through it and summarized the main points in my notebook. I did the same with the two chapters that discussed feeding the familiar mana-rich food to prepare it for the ritual.

The chapter on Blood Binding was concise—only four paragraphs—so I copied it in its entirety.

The chapters on the ritual were extensive, filled with descriptions, flowery language, and unnecessary fluff. I summarized the key points into bullet points: perform the ritual on a vent, balance and clean the mana, how to prepare the mixture of ash, salt, and soil, and how to purify it.

Taking out a large sheet of parchment, I copied the magic circle and wrote all the essential instructions on the parchment itself, using arrows to point to the relevant explanations.

On the bottom, I added a note from Lis that wasn’t in the book. I didn’t want to write “my father told me,” which wouldn’t pass with a Truth Mage, so I worded it in general terms:

“I was told that for the ritual to succeed, the person binding the familiar must perform all the steps—not just the magic circle, but everything: priming, feeding mana-rich food, preparing the mixture, balancing the mana, and drawing the magic circle. If others handle any of these tasks, the chances of success decrease. If the ritual fails, there’s no point in repeating it.”

I reviewed everything again, trying to figure out if I missed any vital information. I added an emphasis that priming must be done with pure intentions, with no hidden motives, and included Lis’s explanation that animals are smart enough to sense intent. After thinking for another half hour, I couldn’t come up with anything else worth adding.

It was already afternoon, and I didn’t know where the Noble Quarter was, so I left early. Rue wanted to join me, but I had a bad feeling about Lord Damarion, especially when he asked about familiars. I didn’t want to take any chances. Rue was strong, but not as versatile as I was.

“I’d rather you stay here,” I told him, trying to keep my tone casual.

He must have sensed my discomfort, because he tilted his head slightly. “Rue come with John. Rue protect John,” he said firmly, his tail wagging.

“No, buddy. Stay here. If there’s a problem, I can turn invisible, electrocute everyone with lightning, and get out of there.” I said, my voice soft but firm. “I don’t want to put you in danger. Trust me, I’m not helpless.”

He locked eyes with me. Spirits! His eyes were already at my level. I didn’t even have to look down!

After ten seconds, he nodded slowly. “John promise return not hurt,” he said, his voice almost a whisper in my mind.

“I promise,” I reassured him, reaching up to scratch his ear.

I had to raise my hand higher than usual to reach it. “You grow every day,” I remarked with a smile.

“Rue eat yummy food. Rue growing,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Hmmm, he did have a growth spurt these past few days. I stroked him one last time and left the suite.

At the entrance to the hotel, I flagged down a carriage, showed the driver the address, and we set off. I was glad I hadn’t walked and left early. It took us over two hours to reach the address. And no, there weren’t any traffic jams in this world—it was just far away. The new Noble Quarter was across the river, at the city’s eastern end.

We arrived at a high wall, at least ten meters tall, with guards patrolling along the top. The carriage drove to a gate, and a guard spoke briefly with the driver before giving two solid knocks on the carriage door.

When I opened it, the guard, with his sword drawn, said, “Passage clearance.”

I showed him the page the Lord had given me. He read it, looked at me, reread it, then nodded and handed it back.

“You may proceed,” he called to the driver.

I closed the door, and we continued onward. It took another half hour to reach Damarion’s spire.

After paying the driver, I stood and looked up. It was one of the tallest spires in the district. I counted forty-seven floors, and the width of the building was even greater than the hotel I was staying at.

I shook my head in disbelief. Even with an enormous family and businesses, I couldn’t understand why the Lord needed all that space. I was pretty sure half, if not more, of the floors were empty. There was no way one family could fill this place. It was massive.

When I approached the door, I felt a warning twinge from my luck.

“I know,” I muttered under my breath. “I felt it yesterday when I met him. He’s shrewd and dangerous.”

A uniformed butler opened the door and eyed me critically. “Yes? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice flat.

I showed him the letter, and he skimmed it before stepping aside. “Please, come in, sir. You are early. You will have to wait.”

“No problem,” I said, shrugging. “I didn’t know how long it would take to get here, and I didn’t want to be late.”

He nodded curtly and gestured for me to follow him. We walked down a long corridor, about twenty meters, before we reached an elevator. The butler pulled the rope, and after a few minutes, the elevator arrived.

It took us over five minutes to reach my floor. I did not know which floor it was—the elevator had no numbers. When the doors opened, another butler was waiting for me and gestured for me to follow him. He led me into an extremely luxurious living room with colossal velvet sofas in a deep, dark blue, almost black, and a marble floor. Heavy dark curtains covered all the windows, so I still didn’t know what floor I was on.

“Please wait here, sir. Refreshments will arrive shortly. When Lord Damarion Fusil is ready to receive you, I will escort you,” he said formally.

“Thanks,” I replied, offering a nod.

A maid soon arrived with a pot of fragrant tea that smelled of berries and a plate of small sandwiches filled with, judging by the aroma, some smoked meat. She curtsied and left without a word. I waited for more than an hour before the Lord was finally ready to receive me. The tea and sandwiches were excellent, at least.

The butler returned and repeated, “Follow me, sir.”

He led me to another elevator at the opposite end of the building, and we went up an unknown number of floors again. On the destination floor, he brought me into a massive office. It was the very definition of “power office”—wooden shelves lined every wall, crammed with scrolls and stacks of pages, and the largest desk I’d ever seen dominated the room. Behind it was the biggest armchair I’d ever laid eyes on, and in front of the desk were two chairs so low they were like kindergarten chairs.

He was ridiculous. I recognized the power-play of the chair height from Earth, but at least there it was more subtle. Here, it was comically extreme. I was sure his armchair was on a raised platform and had to work hard not to giggle.

There was a sitting area with large leather sofas arranged around a low table and a dining table with eight plush chairs surrounding it in another area. Next to his desk stood another table with bottles that I suspected contained alcohol.

“Good evening, sir,” I said, keeping my tone polite.

He stared at me for a long moment without saying a word, and I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t pleased that I didn’t feel threatened by him. It wasn’t anything I could pinpoint, just a gut instinct, but I was sure I was right.

After over a minute of tense silence, he finally replied, “Good evening. Please sit down,” and gestured toward one of the ridiculous chairs.

I sat down, and it was absurd. My height was pretty average, maybe even on the short side, and yet my knees were at my chest, and my chin was level with the table. I really struggled not to shake my head or burst out laughing.

“Before we proceed with our business, there are a few things you need to swear on,” Lord Damarion said, calm but authoritative.

I nodded, and he rang a small silver bell sitting on his desk.

A young man, probably in his late twenties, entered the room and began asking me questions. He wasn’t a Truth Mage—but a lawyer posing as a mage.

“Do you swear you gave Adi a twenty percent discount?” he asked, his tone all business.

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

He glanced at Lord Damarion, nodded, and continued. “Do you swear that the information you are about to provide to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is complete and contains all the necessary details for him to bind a familiar?”

“Yes,” I said again, keeping my expression neutral.

He looked at Lord Damarion once more, nodded, and turned his gaze back to me. “Do you affirm that the familiar, once bound, will develop a power center akin to its master, as you’ve described to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes.”

The mage nodded toward Lord Damarion, then returned his attention to me. “Are you certain that the information you intend to provide to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is comprehensive, without withholding any important details that might affect the success of the ritual?”

“Yes.”

Another nod to Lord Damarion. “Do you swear that the magic circle designed for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is fully functional, with no missing components that could impede the ritual?”

“Yes,” I answered. I maintained my composure, but it was getting harder.

The mage glanced at Lord Damarion again, nodding as he did so. “Do you stand by your claim that the familiar will gain a power center that matches its master’s abilities, for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes.”

He turned to the Lord, nodded, then looked back at me. “Is it your assertion that the information you will provide to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is complete, leaving no significant gaps?”

“Yes.”

Another nod to Lord Damarion. “Would you swear that the magic circle you’ve drawn for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is fully intact and functional, without any flaws that could cause failure?”

“Yes.”

He turned back to Lord Damarion, nodded, then refocused on me. “Can you confirm, beyond doubt, that the familiar, once bound by the ritual, will obtain a power center in alignment with its master, as you’ve explained to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering how long this would continue.

Another nod to Lord Damarion before the mage asked again, “Do you swear that all the information you are providing to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is thorough, without omitting any key details?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once more to the Lord before turning back to me. “And do you confirm that the magic circle, as designed, will function without issue for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire, ensuring the ritual’s success?”

“Yes,” I repeated, doing my best not to show any frustration.

The mage glanced at Lord Damarion again, nodded, and asked, “Are you certain that, through this ritual, the familiar will develop a power center as described, and that all this information has been truthfully conveyed to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes.”

He turned to the Lord, nodded once more, and then continued. “Do you affirm that the information, including the steps and any necessary nuances, has been fully disclosed to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire, without holding back any essential instructions?”

“Yes,” I answered, holding back a sigh.

Again, the nod. “Would you swear that the magic circle created for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is flawless, and will perform as required, ensuring the success of the binding ritual?”

“Yes,” I said, my patience wearing thin.

He glanced at Lord Damarion, nodded, and continued, “Can you verify that the familiar will obtain a power center that aligns with its master’s abilities, just as you’ve stated, for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes.”

The mage turned once more to Lord Damarion, nodded, and returned to me. “Can you guarantee that all pertinent information, including steps, methods, and any observations, has been fully conveyed to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire, without leaving out any critical details?”

“Yes,” I repeated, feeling weary.

The nod came again. “And do you swear that the magic circle provided to Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire is fully functional, without any error or missing elements that could compromise the ritual?”

“Yes,” I replied, trying to remain composed. I had to clench my fists and dig my nails into my palms to keep my temper. The fire in me was rearing its dangerous head with my frustration.

The mage turned again to Lord Damarion, nodded, and then faced me one last time. “And to conclude, do you swear that the familiar will gain a power center, as described, for Marquess Alistor Varence Damarion Fusil of Crystalspire?”

“Yes.”

He nodded toward Lord Damarion again, then stepped aside, signaling that the lengthy questioning was finally over. Smart cookie. He might have felt that he was pushing it.

“Thank you, Borin, you may go.” The lord said, and the mage left.

He held out his hand, commanding, “Give me the information.”

I handed him the notebook and parchment. He looked them over, flipping through the notebook before asking, “Do you have any of these booklets for sale?”

The questioning had exhausted me, and I just wanted to get out of there. “No. Only for my use.”

He regarded me for what felt like half a minute before asking, “Is there any other interesting magic that you know?”

“No.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need a Truth Mage to know that wasn’t true. I can see it in your eyes. You know something you’re refusing to share with me.”

I took a deep breath and squashed the fire again. “I know many things. Wizard things. As I’ve already told you, I come from a wizard family. I shared the magic circle with you because it wasn’t our exclusive knowledge. It didn’t belong to us. Once, it was widely known, and we merely preserved it. But my other knowledge belongs to my family, developed and passed down over generations. It’s not knowledge we sell, share, or distribute in any way. I’m sure you have family secrets you protect. So yes, there’s magic I know. But I can’t share or sell. The only person who can decide that is the patriarch of my family.”

He smirked slightly, leaning back in his chair. “He’s far away. You’re here. He doesn’t have to know.”

I met his gaze without flinching. “It doesn’t work that way. Before my family approved my journey to explore the world, I had to make promises—swear certain oaths. They trusted me, and I’m not going to break that trust. Doing so would betray my family and my self-integrity. It would be like cutting myself off from my roots and tradition. No amount of money is worth that. My family is where my loyalty lies, first and foremost.”

He said nothing, but his eyes hardened as if calculating his next move.

“Careful, boy,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “You don’t want to make me your enemy.”

“Is family loyalty a justifiable reason for enmity?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

He regarded me silently for what felt like an eternity before speaking again. “I will agree to accept that if you swear it to the Truth Mage.”

“I’m willing to swear,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “but this time, it won’t be an extensive questioning. Due to the nature of the information, I’ll say my oath and the mage will tell you if I’m telling the truth or not.”

“How can he be sure you’re not lying?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“My oath will be very clear, leaving no room for dishonesty, without revealing any family information or anything else that could violate the trust placed in me.”

He stared at me again, this time for at least three minutes, probably thinking he could make me uncomfortable.

Ha! Idiot! I grew up in the foster care system; I know all these tricks and a lot more than you can even imagine.

“Very well,” he said, ringing the small bell again. The mage returned to the office, his expression unreadable.

Lord Damarion made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Your stage,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

I took a deep breath and spoke carefully. “I swear that the information I refuse to share with Lord Damarion Fusil is known to no one else in this world and has never been known to anyone outside my family. This information belongs solely to me and my family”—I silently included Rue in that—“and no one else. It has never been sold or shared with anyone.”

The mage looked at Lord Damarion, who waited for confirmation with a piercing gaze, and nodded.

“Swear that you will not sell this information to anyone else or share it with them,” Lord Damarion demanded, his tone sharp. “And I want to hear again that it is yours alone.”

I glanced at the mage before responding. “I swear that the information in my possession is mine alone, and I have no intention of selling or distributing it to anyone else in this world.”

The mage looked at Lord Damarion, giving him a nod of confirmation.

With a slight movement of his head, Lord Damarion signaled the mage to leave the room. Once the door closed, he waved his hand, and a wooden box appeared on the table before me. “There is three thousand gold in the box. This concludes the business between us. Leave,” he said coldly and turned his attention to the page on his desk, blatantly ignoring me.

I stood there momentarily, then quietly took the box and left without another word.

I hate nobles! They are all shitheads!

On my way to the elevator, I shook my head. That was a lesson in always listening to my sensei.

When I left the spire, I looked for a taxi-carriage but didn’t find one. I shrugged, pulled out my bike, located the nearest gate, and pedaled. After five minutes, I began giggling. After ten minutes, I was laughing out loud. The spoiled fox had spent three thousand gold on a product he could never use. All the information I gave him was correct and accurate, but he didn’t bother to read it. If he had, he would’ve understood.

To bind a familiar, one needed pure intentions. I was a thousand percent sure that idiot wouldn’t recognize pure intentions even if they walked up to him on the street and bit his butt.