“Sprite, Daemon, Numen, Divine. If you hope to ever master the art of Summoning, you must engrave these four classes of Aetherians into the forefront of your mind until you can recite them and their characteristics perfectly in your sleep. Remember, each one deserves proper reverence! What is the difference between the smallest pinprick of a Sprite and the legendary theoretical existence of an awesome Divine? They can both, under proper conditions, cause untold havoc upon the corporeal plane. Do not be the reason for one of their outbursts, dear reader.”

- The Firmament’s Field Guide: An Aetherian Dossier for the Young Summoner

Nemira took the steps two at a time and bounded onto the second floor she called home. It was small, just shy of cramped, very unlike the spacious extended family houses in New Yamba or the large clan compounds spread throughout the territories of Rhuz. The living room, with all the vividly colorful Yamban pillows and floor cushions that outlined the space to the bold Rhuzian embroidery that adorned the large rug and the decorative cloth spread over the low-slung oaken table, was her private pride and joy of interior decoration. The perfect place to laze around and read on a slow weekend, now out of reach thanks to the Grays’ interruption. If punctuality hadn’t been her watchword, she would have taken Sai-em’s advice and lingered a while longer out of spite.

Instead, she turned the corner and nearly leapt down the short hallway into her own room, which she almost never bothered to shut. It was styled much the same way as the living room, save for a pile or two of books on the floor that could not fit in the shelf in the living room or the smaller one she had under her bedroom window. After tossing her torch onto the bed, the lantern’s smokeless fire still merrily crackling away, she proceeded to change clothing and head wrap in record time. She paused only to shoot the wall mirror reflection of her and the drastically reduced bust size she sported in her tighter, more combat-appropriate breast band a wry glance. Her mom had drilled the importance of donning secure, flexible clothing before a battle ever since she had been old enough to train with her, but her natural chest size being what it was made the insistence a little unnecessary in hindsight. She had gone down the stairs a little too quickly without wearing any support more than enough times to pray she never had to fight anything in loose underwear.

Appropriately dressed, with her pouch of summoning cards secured around her thigh and her flying license tucked safely into the traveling bag hanging at her waist, she dashed back into the living room and out the sliding glass doors onto her balcony. Chilly air filled her lungs as she took the steep wrought-iron staircase up to the roof. Below her, a streetcar packed with riders sped down the tracks that turned the corner on 8th and Priory, the many metal hooves of the Sleipner autobeast that pulled it pounding against the wet concrete with enough weight that Nemira felt the vibrations under her feet.

The giant, shallow stone bowl that sat in the center of the roof taunted her as she ascended up the last steps. To light it was to send out a divine invitation. No corporeal entity would see it unless standing near her, but every aetherian in the city would sense the flame, and quite a few of them would seek it out. She ran a longing hand along the rough surface of its lip as she passed it, wondering when she'd have time to ignite it and conduct real research. Certainly not tonight, and probably not for a few more nights after that.

At the edge of the roof, she finally paused and looked out before her. The cityscape below was a wet, muted gray that warded away the usual hustle and bustle of the afternoon and the clouds above were fat and dark, threatening to burst with rain at any moment. There was almost no wind, however, which meant an easy flight.

She sucked in another bright, cold lungful of air. "Okay," she murmured, before clearing her throat. Pneuma rolled through her veins, down her arm and through her fingertips, connecting her will to the cards at her thigh. One slid up out of the pouch and neatly between pointer and middle fingers. She could feel the relief of aetheric script carved into the heavy material, a written contract between her and the being whose power she wished to wield. More pneuma flared through her body. It pulled her vocal cords taught, and seared her tongue with a lovely heat.

"O shepherd bird of the restless dead, unfurl thy wings and I shall fly in thy stead!”

She flung it upwards, and jabbed it with her torch. The entire length of wood burst into flame when it hit the card, inky blue-black like a clear night sky and too wild to be any mortal's pneuma. It felt like ice against her palm. She swung it violently over her head with a shout of effort, scattering a trail of midnight embers into the air. The fire vanished, and under the torch’s dangling lantern flapped a pair of enormous wings. They were dark and ragged, scattering dry feathers with every movement. The wings of an ancient creature, one that had been with her for a very long time.

Nemira smiled as she brought her torch down and threw a leg over it. A single flap lifted her well above Books On 8th. Sounds of city life grew distant, the air even cooler. She nudged her torch in the direction of the Supernatural Public Guard's office and tucked her legs underneath her.

"Think you can get me there in about twenty minutes?" she asked. "I want to get this assignment over with as quickly as I can."

The wings gave another flap behind her, and she shot through the sky with the ease of a seasoned crow.

Roughly half the journey ended up a leisurely, solitary affair. Most flyers were high level arithmancers, and if any were out that day in the city-state despite the looming inclement weather they were not heading in the direction of the Public Guard. Nemira’s mind began to drift, her torch moving largely on her instinct. Every now and then she’d glance down at the goings-on below her, but she couldn’t make out much. The buildings of Coine clustered together like long, brickwork teeth in an overcrowded mouth, and blocked out anything interesting. 

A voice rang out from behind her just as she began to wonder if she’d be able to find something to read buried somewhere in the depths of her waist pouch, so close and sudden her torch came to a screeching halt in her shock.

"Hail, flesh-thing!"

An aetherian swam up to her side with powerful undulations of its serpentine body, scales shimmering with the bright red color of a perfectly ripe strawberry and splotched with lopsided ebony markings like some kind of poisonous amphibian. It stretched twice the length of her on her torch, and was almost as tall. Nemira wanted to hit herself for being caught so off-guard by it. Expect aetherians anywhere, any time. She could hear the words in her master’s voice perfectly. No doubt she would have laughed at her had she witnessed such a blunder.

"Hail, honored wyrm." Heart still pounding against her ribs, Nemira bowed her head, but inwardly she winced. Wyrms tended to be difficult to deal with regardless of their aetheric classification. The rampant strength of its pneuma, a stinging white like all aetherians under the wyrm attribute, marked it as a daemon of some influence. She would have to walk on eggshells around it. 

"A mortal has ensnared my kin and fled to the mourning lands." It stared at her with bulging, slit-pupil eyes and gave a mighty snort. Lightning crackled out of its wide nostrils. Everything about the wyrm radiated ferocity. Its brows were thick and sharply angled, its jaw long and full of serrated teeth. "The insult. The pain. Who seeketh to emulate the old Northward Kings, those insatiable devourers of flesh and godfire? We choose to flee these skies 'til our safety is guaranteed. The Council promised succor. Art thou that promise, flesh-thing?"

"Honored wyrm," said Nemira, keeping her eyes downcast. It shimmied closer to her, the long tendrils of its whiskers reaching out to touch her face. She didn’t flinch away. Aetherian pneuma did not cause summoners nearly as much discomfort as mortal pneuma did. "I am that which the Council has promised, called Nemira by my mortal kin. I have forged contracts of power with the revenants. Together we shall right this wrong, and soon the aetherians that dwell in this city will once again know peace."

"Bah!" The wyrm gnashed its maw of fangs. Its large face had more in common with a snarling wild dog than any kind of snake, framed by silky mane that lent it an imposingly venerable aura. "Revenants are slow, and gloomy, and incessant worriers over the distant, useless past. Speak only to us wyrms from now on, flesh-thing. The pacts we form shake the foundations of corporeality and the eaves above the Firmament!"

Nemira bowed her head even lower. It was a great way to hide her face. Not that this deterred the wyrm’s curious whiskers. One kept patting her cheek. The other was a little too close to sliding up her nose for her comfort. "Mighty wyrm, your generosity is awe-inspiring. I am too humble a mortal to make use of the power of your kind. Revenants suit my ability best."

"Hm, thou wilt not last long as our steward with so meek a disposition! Art thou truly the tamer of that lost and shrieking thing that once disturbed the quietude of the mourning lands? The little fair ones whispered of thy victory to me."

Tamer. Nemira grimaced at that. She could feel her traitorous skin grow hot, too. “That was me, yes. But my skills are still in their infancy. Perhaps one day I will form a contract with you and yours, and I will greatly treasure whatever power you so graciously allow me.”

“Oh ho! Well-spoken, flesh-thing! I shall grant thee wisdom instead!” It finally withdrew its whiskers from her face and twisted in the air, a strangely playful gesture undermined by the pointed ivory claws that adorned its front and back limbs. "When you find that fool…separate its soul from its body! It has no regard for its own kind, nor mine. Show it no regard in return. All shall celebrate in its slaying!"

With that proclamation, it launched itself straight downward. Nemira saw the air tear itself before the wyrm, revealing a great, glittering darkness that swallowed it before the cleft sealed itself back up. Nemira sat up with a heavy gasp of relief and shook her head.

“Why has everything around me been so damn violent today?” she asked aloud.

Above her, a peal of thunder cracked across the sky, shaking her bones down to the marrow with its inscrutable reply.