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corner of her eye. Making the sign of the cross over him, she lowered the plastic lid. Click, the magnetic locks snapped shut, cutting him off from reality.
    He'd faltered on the way to his dream, choosing his new name. His choice of race was pretty clear, but the name... A series of hurried clicks through the generator brought him one last word from home as the Elven runes formed a rare Siam . It meant Stray Cat in Ilitiiri. And that used to be his secret. No one could have possibly known about that huge feral tom that used to visit him every night through the half-open window. For some reason, the cat had chosen Dennis' knees, warm and motionless, as his favorite place. It had scared Dennis at first as he was too weak to swat a mosquito, let alone confront a predatorial feline. But soon he'd got used to the beast's quiet purring and waited for him anxiously every night, unable to sleep until he sensed the familiar weight in his lap.
    After an hour of hobbling across the city, smiling happily at the passersby's snide comments about his broken-legged penguin gait, Dennis knocked at Madame Clo's door.
    He struggled to produce some semblance of speech, imagining he was asking to see Amara. Madame Clo had seen enough in her lifetime to figure out the mumbling of this strange boy with the nervously twitching face. With a shrug, she rang a gold bell embossed with a fine pattern of blackened silver. About fifty such little bells, made of all sorts of materials from stone to cut glass, crowded the carved mahogany table. At the time, he couldn't have cared less who they were supposed to summon or what kind of creature would answer the call of a bell made of a bat's skull with a large ruby as a clapper. A vampire, maybe? Possible.
    Amara had already arrived, summoned by the magical chime of the Call of Shadow. She now stood on the first floor landing, tilting her head to one side as she listened to her heart, feeling something stir within her frozen and — to be totally honest — dark soul of the Drow. This hobbling young man had awakened an inkling of maternal instinct within her, reminding her of a wounded fox cub straggling home believing his Mom Fox had the power to help him. So she couldn't reject him.
    Impassive, she gave a haughty nod at the steep stairs, inviting the boy to follow her. This was the first test he had to pass if he wanted to bear the name of man: Test of Spirit.
    The painful prickling in his awakening nerve endings made him bite his lip. Dennis leaned against the railings and pulled his trouser leg up, helping his yet irresponsive foot to conquer the first step. The Drow had already retired to her quarters, leaving behind the heady scent of a forest meadow. One more step. And again. He lost his footing and tumbled all the way down, the high steps knocking the wind out of him.
    He caught his breath and shook his head at the Orc bouncer's proffered hand. "I can do it."
    Amara sat in her boudoir, her hand monotonously stirring Nine Lives, her family's ancestral recipe. The kid could use some rush regeneration. Her delicate fingers reached into the ornate silver box for more precious powders as her keen ears registered everything that happened downstairs in the lobby: the bouncer's wheezing, the stupid servant girl's sniveling. Couldn’t they understand the boy had set himself a goal and was now fighting to achieve it? By helping him, you would prevent part of his character from growing, forever atrophying the future warrior within him.
    He made it. She didn't reject him. It didn't mean that his dreams immediately became reality. It took Dennis' body some time to wake up. Amara supported him when he walked, plied him with her potions and regaled him with legends of the House of Shadow. Dennis was intoxicated with all the new sensations while she borrowed generously from the Creator's rejuvenating flow, molding the boy into a proper Drow. His appearance suited the part: Dennis had consciously chosen the Ilitiiri