Crude Summoning

He clutched the pendant, fingers tracing its edges, as if summoning some hidden strength from within. His lips moved in silent prayer, each word a whispered offering to the fates. After all these fruitless paths and hollow leads—this was it. A sign, at last. But at what cost? And would he have the courage to face it when the time came?

He bit his lip, a pause that held the weight of a thousand second thoughts, then downed the drink in one searing gulp. It burned through him, steadying the chill that lingered deep within.

Maybe I’m not in the habit of paying for words that circle like a hawk but never dive, he said, voice low, tempered with a calm defiance. But if this—he tapped the necklace, the metal a cold reminder beneath his fingers—is worth as much as you say, then it seems you’re holding back something you’re not ready to offer, either.

He leaned forward, voice steady, gaze unwavering. So let’s hear it, Shadow. What is the price that must be paid?