Fang

The weight of the ancient grimoire felt significant in Atticus's hands. The worn leather cover was surprisingly cool to the touch, and the faint scent of incense lingered from its pages. Excitement bubbled in his chest, tinged with a sliver of apprehension. Whisperwood was notorious, and the idea of summoning a creature, especially one unseen, added another layer of uncertainty.

"A Pixie, huh?" Atticus murmured, tracing the faded glyphs on the cover.

"A formidable companion for a bold adventurer," Silas declared, his voice laced with amusement. "Just remember, Pixies are known for their mischievous nature. The ritual itself might be the easy part. Convincing it to part with some Starfall Dust… that's a whole other story."

Atticus nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. He trusted his skills as a negotiator, and a little friendly persuasion, perhaps even a well-timed offering, could go a long way. "Alright, Master Silas. Consider it done. I'll retrieve the Nightshade essence,
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