The moon hung heavy in the ink-black sky, a silver crescent overseeing the world below. Quinn’s heart raced as they stood in the center of a meticulously drawn summoning circle, the chalk lines glowing faintly with the touch of their nervous magic. The ancient tome lay open before them, its pages fluttering in the night breeze, as if eager to witness what was about to unfold.

With a deep breath, Quinn began to chant, their voice steady despite the tremor of their hands. The words were old, older than the forest that encircled their home, older than the very stones upon which they stood. The words spoke of bonds and pacts, of companionship across the veils of worlds.

As the incantation reached its crescendo, the air within the circle shimmered, and a figure began to take shape. It was small at first, but it grew rapidly, twisting and turning as if made of smoke and moonlight. Quinn’s eyes widened as the form solidified…

The familiar—Anon—seemed to regard Quinn with a curious gaze.

Quinn, momentarily lost for words, nodded. “I… I need your help,” they managed to say. “My master has gone missing, and I don’t know what to do.”