"Who made this?" Sylas asked, his voice quiet but sharp.
Avin looked at him. "You know what this is?"
"Yes." Sylas's gaze didn't move from the half-erased pattern. "But nobody outside my family should know it."
Avin crouched beside him, and Henry followed suit. The earth smelled faintly of burnt iron.
"This is an ancient pattern made by my family," Sylas continued, his tone low, careful. "It's encrypted—no one else should even be able to recognize it."
Avin's eyes narrowed. "What's it used for?"
Sylas reached toward the small pouch of ash left on the ground. "Summoning."
"Summoning?" Henry echoed, his curiosity peaking.
Sylas nodded. "It's a channeling circle. Used to summon something that's been sent into a separate spatial field—an isolated pocket where no one can reach."
So… magical mail? Avin thought, half-smirking at the absurd practicality of it. A postman from another dimension.
