Finished That which was lost

Jeremiah couldn't think of many things he wanted more than this. His dads back alive, of course, but recent experience had shown him that that was a bad idea to try and accomplish.

He had, as his dad Martin would have said, gotten cocky when he had tried to bring Broen back to life.

But he knew better now. As much as he appreciated all the help that Shiro and Wednesday and the others had given him, He knew that for this he would need more experienced help. His family, and particularly his great-grandfather were that experienced help.

In the weeks since he had first met with Rafael to talk about everything that had happened, Jeremiah had been preparing. He had a nice spot in the woods, with a few natural standing stones that were good anchors for some of the runes that he would need. He had practiced drawing the circle at school a dozen times so that when the time came he could put it on the ground in chalk and ash and flowering seeds. No fire this time. No disrespecting the forest as he asked it to return him to normal.

He was a lone figure, a strange twisted effigy of wood and fur and bone standing in a clearing like some kind of warning totem that a group of campers would find in a horror movie. The kind they would ignore and move past and possibly desecrate before they were all killed off by some unseen evil.

He waited, the light gone from behind his eye sockets. The closest thing he could do to actually blinking. He knew, at the very least, his great-grandfather was coming. He didn't know if his mother would be there. She knew of course, but she did have work and despite how loving and accepting she was Jeremiah still did not like her to see him like this.

@Zora

"For a while, yes," Jeremiah answered, finally moving to turn his head towards Rafael when the man spoke up. "I was just... communing. Like my dads used to before they performed a ritual. Giving thanks and asking forgiveness for my past transgression."

"I am ready to begin whenever you are. I will follow your directions." Jeremiah gestured to the jars and baskets he had gathered ingredients in, as well as the silk cloth that he had his phylactery- the necklace his dads had given him as a boy- folded inside.

Jeremiah nodded and took the bag of chalk and ash that he had collected before. While Rafael worked, he poked a small hole in the bag and began the process of walking a circle around the ritual spot. The grainy mixture slowly poured out, creating a curving line that over time became the circle and runes needed to perform the magic that they intended to.

"I did not know if Mother was coming or not. I am... glad. It will be nice for her to get to see me be myself again."

Jeremiah lowered his head when he saw Zora, nuzzling his mother's shoulder with his head as gently as he was able. "It's good to see you, Mother. I'm glad you came..."

"I'm ready though," he said, nodding his skull to both of his family and going to collect the necklace from its silk wrapping.

It was a flat piece of uncut Chrysoprase, wrapped in copper wire and held on a braided leather and hemp cord.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

The ritual seemed to take forever, even the wind seemingly stopping so as not to interrupt. Jeremiah waited patiently for Rafael to give Zora the cut necessary to draw her blood, sitting at the center of the ritual circle with his phylactery laid gently across the large mostly flat stone that was there.

The effect itself wasn't nearly as spectacular as it had been the night he had tried to bring Broen back. There was no pillar of fire or smoke, no flashes of lights or other overtly mystical affects that would have signaled this as some big, powerful magic. That was, as Jeremiah had come to recall, something of the trick to magic itself.

Often the most potent and powerful effects seemed like the simplest of things. Oftentimes, their effects were neither direct nor knowable until they happened.

When the ritual was over, Jeremiah sat breathless, staring down at his phylactery. He was afraid to pick it up. What if the magic, if nature itself had rejected his apology? It not working was not the worst thing that could happen, he knew too well now. His claws twitched as he looked up to Rafael and Zora for something. Encouragement, maybe? Reassurance?