The sign above the shop door read Lucallys’ Luminous Oddities, though several of the glowing letters blinked out of order, making it look like it said 'Lousy Idiots.'

Lucallys Venn, owner, seventeen and slightly singed, had never bothered to fix it. He sipped cold tea from a cup that cracked halfway through his first mouthful. "Of course," the teenager muttered, setting it down before it exploded. Again.

Once, Lucallys had been the prized apprentice of Archmagister Ulric Vann, a rising star at the prestigous Astrathorne Academy for talented magical youth. But talent is a fragile thing when paired with emotional volatility—and one tragic summoning ritual had shattered everything. Lucallys survived. Barely. He left the Academy with a limp, a curse of perpetual bad luck, and a reputation sealed in whispered fear.

Now, he sold cursed lockets and hiccuping love potions to palace staff and drunk nobles. It wasn't the life he imagined—but then, magic rarely behaved the way you wanted it to.

The boy hummed, sorting through old wandhandles and witchs' spellpaper, before happening upon a strange, old scripture. Blinking, Lucallys picked it out of the pile and blew to get the dust off- but the document lifted, levitated, pulsed with magic. Lucallys cursed his luck.

"A summoning spell?!" He cursed, standing back in reprehension of what, or who, might emerge from it.