Lyra and Kiera were absorbed in the pages of several books on magic. Lyra, with the glow of fascination in her eyes, devoured every paragraph; she was enchanted by everything she had managed to learn in the last month.
Naoko, meanwhile, kept herself busy with the housework, though her mind was clearly elsewhere.
—Where is Zein? —she asked suddenly, breaking the silence—. Yesterday I stopped by the shop for Lyra and he wasn't there. Today the same thing has happened.
—Let's just say he's... "inspired" —Kiera responded with an enigmatic smile.
—I wonder what he's doing exactly —Naoko murmured, tilting her head curiously.
—Who knows. Maybe he's preparing a gift for you, don't you think? —Kiera let out in a tone of playful mockery.
Naoko, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, threw a ball of paper she had at hand toward her.
—Come on, don't joke about that! —she exclaimed, trying to hide her nervousness.
—Hahaha, sorry, sorry —Kiera laughed, dodging the projectile.
—But whatever it is, it must be something important for him to have spent the whole weekend locked up in it —Naoko added, making an effort to return to her work.
—True —Kiera conceded before making a short pause—. Now that I think about it, you and Zein are two of a kind. You're both too responsible for your own good.
Naoko didn't respond; she simply blushed more deeply and covered her face with the book she was holding, trying in vain to hide her smile.
Meanwhile, in the room, Zein was glued to the telescope's eyepiece, discovering the silent wonders of space. With the help of the books, he tried to make sense of the distant lights he saw beyond the atmosphere; however, no matter how much he observed, he couldn't find "that thing" Kiera had suggested—that missing link that would help him improve.
The room was total chaos. There were open books everywhere and papers with frantic notes covering every flat surface. Zein divided his hours into an exhausting cycle: he would review the complex spell Lucian had left him and then look through the telescope again, searching for a connection that eluded him.
It was then, as his eyes traced the patterns of the spell once more, that a haunting idea began to sprout in his mind.
—I saw something in a book called a "black hole." They look exactly like the spell you developed, Lucian. I wonder if you knew this was a black hole —he whispered to himself, his voice losing itself between the walls of the room—. You know, Lucian? I've been searching the books for all kinds of space-based magic, but none that I can use or that fit me. I feel like this is going to be impossible to achieve.
Zein undid the spell with a tired gesture and rubbed his eyes hard.
—What am I doing? I've started talking to myself from the exhaustion. I'd better go to sleep —he murmured, making the effort to get up from the floor.
—With all the effort you're putting in and you give up just like that —said a voice behind him.
Zein recognized that tone instantly; it was a voice that felt like metal sheets scraping against frozen glass, a sound that made his skin crawl. He turned abruptly only to find himself face to face with that figure—that shadow that was there again, static. He rubbed his eyes, incredulous.
—What is this? An hallucination? —he asked with a thread of a voice.
—It could be, but I assure you I am as real as you.
Without warning, the shadow sat on the floor in front of him. The scattered books and papers didn't seem to mind the fact that the figure was shrouded in black, ethereal flames.
—Come, sit —the shadow ordered him, patting the floor in front of it with a mocking gesture.
Zein, moved by a mix of caution and a curiosity he couldn't curb, obeyed and sat down.
—So? Does it feel good to finally exert yourself to obtain something? Does it feel good to pretend to be something you're not?
—I don't know what you're talking about —Zein retorted, feeling annoyance begin to bubble in his chest.
—Oh, of course you do —the figure snapped at him—. Until now, you've tried to protect Lyra, but tell me: at what point have you truly exerted yourself? You simply let events lead you aimlessly, like a fish swept away by the tide. You don't put effort into anything, not even for the single purpose for which you are supposedly here.
—That's not true. I've tried to protect Lyra with all my strength. Being trapped on this island wasn't a choice.
—Oh, please, stop playing the victim. Of course you haven't put effort into anything; nothing has truly mattered to you until now. Not even the deaths of your supposed "loved ones" have genuinely affected you.
—Of course they mattered to me! —Zein exclaimed, clenching his fists—. I feel helpless for not having been able to do anything to prevent it.
—It's not that you couldn't do anything, it's that you didn't want to —the shadow declared with a cutting coldness—. Look at Kiomi; she continues to consume herself over the death of her mother. And you? If she or Lucian had truly mattered to you, you would be just as broken as she is. But look at you, so whole, so... empty.
—Shut up.
—You're in a desert and you know it. An immense, barren desert, with no signs, no horizon. You are lost and you have no idea where to go. Your goal is vague; if you truly wanted what's best for Lyra, you would have left this island long ago. But you're still here. You're only putting her in danger for a stupid, selfish sense of curiosity about your past.
—Shut up! I'm telling you I've put in the effort and I'm giving it my best!
—If that were true, Lucian wouldn't be dead. Meliora wouldn't be dead. Your loved ones would still be here —the shadow pointed at him with a long, dark finger, its black flames flickering violently—. And you know it, because my words are nothing more than your own thoughts. I am you and you are me; that is something you will never be able to change.
—That's not true... I'm not you. I am... I am... —Zein hesitated, his voice faltering as his certainty slipped through his fingers.
—You? Who are you? —the figure mocked—. Even you yourself don't know who you are. You were supposed to come here seeking answers and you ended up focusing on something that had nothing to do with it.
Zein remained silent, unable to find a retort that didn't sound like a lie.
—You're a shell, Zein. An empty shell waiting for an owner to claim it, someone to serve. You have no purpose, no path, no life of your own. You have nothing that makes you unique. You know you're never going to achieve anything, no matter how much you pretend to try. And at this rate, Lyra is going to die... and it will all be your fault.
The shadow's voice rose in pitch, becoming a deafening roar that filled the room.
—Shut up! —Zein shouted, throwing the book he had in his hand at it.
The object passed through the figure of smoke and black fire as if nothing were there, hitting the wall with a dull echo that underscored his loneliness.
—You know perfectly well who you are, don't you? Kiomi knows it too; that's why she hates you so much. I even feel pity for Naoko and how much she's going to suffer in the future. By being with you, her destiny will be misery; because you, Zein, are a magnet for tragedies.
Blinded by rage, Zein began to hurl books at the shadow without stopping. The volumes passed through the black smoke one after another, falling uselessly to the floor with heavy thuds.
—You will meet your end soon enough with that mindset of yours —the figure continued, unperturbed—. This idea that everything is fine this way, that your abilities are enough to protect Lyra... when you know it's not true.
—That's not true! I've been striving to improve, to be capable enough to protect her! —Zein screamed, his voice breaking with desperation—. Someday I'll become so strong that I'll even be able to kill the Emperor!
—Hahaha... as if that were ever going to happen. You and I know you'll never be capable of such a thing.
Zein threw one last book with all his might. Upon impacting the center of the silhouette, the shadow finally began to fray.
—I am dying to know if you will remain an empty shell waiting for its owner, or if you will ever manage to be independent —the figure declared as it faded—. We will meet again, Zein Ravenscroft.
The shadow dissolved like smoke swept away by a cold draft, leaving a deathly silence in its wake. Zein let himself fall to the floor, without saying a word, without making a single move, simply collapsing under the weight of his own thoughts.
Alerted by the racket, Kiera, Lyra, and Naoko came running up, their faces distorted with concern.
—Are you okay, Zein? —Naoko asked, taking a step toward him.
—What was that? What happened? —Lyra inquired, looking at the mess of books all over the room.
—Nothing... —Zein responded in a monotonous voice as he slowly stood up—. Some books just fell off the shelf, that's all.
—But... —Naoko tried to retort, but she felt Kiera's hand rest firmly on her shoulder.
Turning, she saw Kiera shaking her head in a silent gesture, asking her to give him space; there were battles he had to resolve alone. Naoko reluctantly accepted, and the three of them went downstairs, leaving Zein standing in the middle of the chaos, motionless, lost in the echo of the words still ringing in his head.
A few days later, Zein was working as usual, but his mind seemed to have abandoned his body. He would suddenly stand still, petrified, only to resume his task with an unsettling normalcy. His companions noticed he wasn't present; throughout the entire week, he had evaded any questions or limited himself to absolute silence.
—Hey, Zein... a general from the army is looking for you —one of the triplets told him, approaching cautiously—. It seems to be about what happened at the docks a few months ago.
Zein stared at him for an instant, his eyes empty.
—Come, I'll lead you to where he wants to see you... —his companion added, visibly nervous because of the boy's attitude.
Without uttering a single word, Zein turned and followed him.