Secrets are like unstable spells. They are volatile when released and devour when held back.

~Ogma, God of Eloquence and Inspiration

Chalk markings covered the surface of the walls and floor of the otherwise empty mausoleum. Kafe wasn’t sure if this was something the old man did or had existed before he became the caretaker.

The more Kafe saw the place, the more he believed Old Man Snow didn’t create all this. He could see that some of the chalk lines had a faint greenish glow. The cultivation vestige explained that Spirit Chalk quality ranged from greens to blues to pure white when activated. Since those few sections were green, Kafe could tell it was an inferior product and patchwork. Without even asking, he knew that the old man had repaired those parts to the best of his ability.

Formations weren’t Kafe’s strong point, but seeing ritualistic drawings like this felt familiar to him. Like an old habit, his hands and mind reached toward the design. These summoning rings were both uniform and chaotic. Strangely, the way the circles were drawn, so they overlapped each other in oval shapes, felt more like revolutions of heavenly bodies.

“This is the place I found out about Spiritualists. Like you, I believe the Vodou people were descendants of the people who created this place. The Hex you used to practice perverted these rituals, but even with your memories gone, you’ll probably feel drawn to it. These things are in your blood. Hell, after my time here, I believe the Tribe might have had its roots within the Spiritualist cultivation.”

“How do you summon your Spirit Ancestors?” Kafe was curious if it was like this.

“Burial grounds. It is why we hold them sacred and will go to war over anyone that trespasses into them. If one of our burial grounds is lost, it’s like losing entire generations of our people. We consecrate the grounds for a hundred years and use various methods to turn it into a purified land rich in spiritual energy. Once we awaken our Source, we are allowed to enter the burial grounds and find any suitable object to imprint our Soul onto. Once we die, if possible, our bones are brought to that place as well.”

“So your burial grounds have formations?”

“Something like that, those are Tribe secrets. After leaving the imprint, those of us with our Source opened are sent out as a coming of age thing. We are not allowed to come back until we find a burial ground and find an ancestor spirit. It isn’t as complicated as this ritual since those ancestors are already bound to our people. We usually enter our spiritual state and wait.”

“And if that spirit never comes?”

“We find another burial ground or find a necropolis like this. The burial grounds seldom fail. It’s because we are deeply connected to our ancestors and they to us. However, it isn’t always convenient to return, so our people have recorded many methods to find and bind spirits.”

“Is that why you are here?”

“Yes.”

“Did you succeed?”

“I did, but at a cost. The bond I made was to an extremely powerful spirit, but my immortality comes at a price. If I stay away too long, I’ll age and die. The rate of my aging doubles daily.”

“But you’ll recover if you return?”

“I will, but at a slower rate. I look this old because I once left for many years—for a mortal woman. Had a child but was forced to return. I’d visit them every so often, usually on my boy’s birthday. But eventually, my wife died, and my son grew up.”

“Where is the child now?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not in shape to find him. He is a cultivator, so he should still be alive unless he had back luck. But enough of that. You need to sit in the center of that innermost circle and place your hands in those smaller circles inside it. Then cultivate like normal only bring your Spirit energy to your hands.”

“May I study the room first?” Kafe asked.

“Sure, there is no rush. I have a vestige for you later where I mapped out the entire thing in great detail. I was honestly hoping my son would have the ability to become a Spiritualist, but he went another route. Became a healer and found a master that trained him. I’m not sure what his cultivation is, but this is your path now, so study the drawings. I’ll wait outside. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Kafe nodded and did as the old man did. Scanned the entire pattern from corner to corner. The whole time he was meticulous enough to avoid scuffing the chalk. He didn’t understand formations, which this clearly was. After some time, he realized it was a formation in the guise of a ritual. Which meant he’d need to learn about formations along with the spiritual patterns necessary for his cultivation.

Inside him, after using the Spiritualist cultivation methods, he felt this sort of reservoir that needed to be filled. The technique felt empty without it. Once he understood that, he also felt another eight similar reservoirs that were not activated within his Spirit. The more he practiced the method, the more those nine pits revolved around a central spark of power that Kafe knew was his own Spirit energy. He didn’t know what all that meant, but he understood that the reservoirs were meant for those Spirits he’d contract with.

All that to say, he’d have to attempt this ritual another eight times after today. Or more, if he failed. It wouldn’t take a tremendous effort to return in the future, probably. But it’d be very inconvenient. After hours of scouring the formation and memorizing what he could, he called out to the old man and went to the center of the rings. Placing his hands down, he started channeling his cultivation method.

Little by little, the chalk lines gained spirit energy and glowed with a bluish-white light. Even the old man’s markings lost their green-colored energy as Spirit energy scoured through it.

Worried, Old Man Snow stepped out of the room. He observed through the doorway and felt the accumulating energy that pulled from the necropolis itself. The malevolence left in the waters by people like Kafe and the evil souls was converted into something useful. He didn’t even know that was possible. Now he suspected that the entire necropolis was built and maintained for this specific ritual.

He took over as the guardian and caretaker from a ghost that could not communicate verbally or mentally. It bound Snow to this place and then showed him the custodial duties he needed to perform. In all his time here, this building was the only thing of interest. Over thousands of years, many tombs were picked over, but those people couldn’t leave. The treasures taken were left scattered around the necropolis. Some even went into the lake and were lost. He gathered most of them and stored them away in his little villa but hadn’t looked at them twice.

The interesting thing about those invasions was that none of them had opened this mausoleum in all that time. Snow wondered if he could only do so because of his status in this place. It made little sense that his little totem opened the doors when professional tomb raiders couldn’t.

“So be it…” the old man muttered. “This could be considered this kid’s luck.”

Old Man Snow wasn’t sure if Spiritualists still existed on the outside. He’d never heard of them in all this time. The old man worried about reintroducing Spiritualists to the world and if it would cause a catastrophic calamity. But once he decided to do something, he wouldn’t turn back. A cultivator must be decisive if they want to advance. It was as simple as that.