The echo of my heartbeat seemed to bounce off the church walls, a pounding rhythm repeating a single word.
Three. Three. Three days.
What do you mean three days? It can't be. There can't be only three days left.
Think, Arek. In the dream I was older, right? I examined my hands, small, still a kid's hands. They weren't the same. In the dream I had different hands, a different voice.
"...instead in another six years the Elves should come," Father Tyeron continued, unaware of the earthquake shaking my soul, "and they'll light the fire on the tower. It'll burn for years. They say it's quite a sight."
"Fire?" I asked, my throat dry.
"Yes, every red moon the Sylvan Elves perform a ritual on one of these towers. Years ago I witnessed the fire on the one at the Living Sea. A blue light so bright it resembled a fragment of a star. The second one from now will be at our city's tower."
Of course! It has to be that. The fire. The tower had a fire on top before it collapsed in my dream. And the other me mentioned that bastard killed my parents nine years earlier...
My fingers traced rapid patterns along my sides. Without glancing down, I ran a quick mental calculation, fitting the dates together with desperate frenzy.
It's the next Red Moon, not this one! The one six years from now!
"Can't wait to see that ritual, eh?" the priest commented with a smile. "In any case, the County festival is also very beautiful, you'll see. For the elves' one you'll have to be patient."
"S-sure. Thank you, Father. I'll go look for Sipar now."
"Why don't you go welcome Isabella instead?"
"Welcome her? After what she did?"
"Arek!" The reprimand erupted so loudly from Tyeron's throat that I shrank with shame. "Isabella will be our guest often over the next few years. Be polite. Not to mention you now have two teachers in common, not just one."
"Two?"
"Yes. Me and Magnus."
"No. I refuse. What could that sleaze Magnus possibly teach me?"
"Magnus is a great mage, certainly above my level. Just think, Arek. He's a Grand Master. Didn't you see the crest?"
"Crest?"
"Never mind. He'll explain it to you. Know that in magic he can definitely give you better help than I can. I have various qualities, but Magnus beats me in pure and simple magic. You have abilities that deserve to be cultivated, Champ."
Suddenly I understood. I don't know how, a click, like a piece snapping into the right place. Compensation. Coins. Magnus.
"Go on, go welcome Isabella, she's in the library. I also told Sipar to leave her alone for a bit. I swear, earlier he was staring at her so intensely it almost embarrassed me. Seems like he's never seen a girl before. Sure, Emma and Lirka are a bit masculine to be honest, but staring like that..."
Father Tyeron kept moving his lips for a while, but his words weren't reaching me. Only my thoughts. Six years. I have six years to get stronger.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles went white.
I won't let that pig take away my new family. I'll make him pay for every single drop of blood I saw on that pavement.
"...at his age it's too early. Oh well, I've talked enough. Go welcome the new recruit then. She won't be a Grey, but I'm sure she'll become one of the family in no time."
Then a pat on my back struck so hard I forgot the pain of the premonition for an instant. But only for an instant. The cold weight returned, pressing on my chest. Six years to save them all.
I left the church through the main door and headed to the nearby building, the Library of Eteria.
In front of the half-open door I stopped. The heat of the day was giving way to the cool dampness of evening. The coolness on my skin, then a noise from inside. A thin sound, almost a broken hiss. I eased the heavy door open, careful not to make noise, and entered.
The hall wasn't lit like usual. Almost all the lamps and candles were out, letting the darkness devour the corners of the shelves packed with volumes.
The air smelled of cold wax and old dust. The only source of light came from the large table at the end of the row of shelves. There, a flickering candlelight illuminated a figure on a stool.
It was a little heap of thin bones and fabric, collapsed over the wooden table. Her back was to me, her neck exposed and fragile.
Is she… Crying?
I took a step. Then another. The boards creaked under my weight, a dry groan that filled the void between us. I didn't want to spy, but that tremor shaking her shoulders drew me closer.
"What the hell do you want?"
Her voice was sandpaper, scratched by tears but sharp as a blade ready to strike. She spun around. The back of her hand swept furiously over her eyes with a violence that must have hurt, wiping away tears with rough, almost angry gestures.
"I... Father Tyeron asked me to…"
"To what?" she cut the words from my throat. "To come check if the poor little girl is okay?"
"Actually… No, I…"
"Then get out!" Her voice cracked, glass splintering under too much pressure. "Go show off with your stupid fox and your stupid plans. You never would've beaten me if you'd been alone!"
Impossible. The word landed wrong. My stomach contracted. It wasn't the burning anger of someone who'd lost a duel. It was something thicker, a dark mud weighing her down inside. Envy? No. Worse.
"Are you angry... about the fight?" The words emerged small, almost shy.
She burst out laughing. A harsh sound.
"About the fight," she repeated. "Sure. Why not? Let's add that to the list too."
She shifted closer. The air around her began to vibrate, an unstable hum that made the hairs on my arms stand up. Whatever she was holding back, it was running out of room.
"I'm Isabella Aster—" her voice broke. She breathed. Then continued, lower. "I've been considered a prodigy since I was three. I control all five forces of magic, I'm the first in over fifty years to have this ability." Her fingers tightened on the necklace. "My family has titles, wealth, power..."
So she is really a noble. Astermond?…No, impossible.
She stopped. A tear ran down her cheek, quickly followed by another.
"And I'm useless."
I stood frozen, breath caught. Useless? With all that power pressing under her skin?
"My father sent me here," she continued in a whisper that rose from an abyss. "He says it's for my education. To give me a purpose. To make me... better." Another bitter rasp. "But I know what it means. It's another place where I can't cause damage. A place to keep me hidden. Away. And to punish me and hide his shame."
The words struck harder than I expected. Damage. Hidden. I felt the echo of something I couldn't grasp, a weight I recognized without fully understanding it.
"Isabella..."
"You don't understand!" she shouted, and the force of the cry made me step back. "I... I should have… At least…" She bit her lip. Her teeth sank into the flesh until the blue lipstick on it turned white from pressure, almost to the point of bleeding. "It doesn't matter. It's too late anyway."
Too late for what? The shadow that crossed her face stopped me. My blood froze. It wasn't wounded pride. It was the reflection of something black, something personal eating at her heart.
"Everyone's afraid of me," she murmured, and her voice dropped low. "And they're right."
I'm not afraid of you. Am I?
"That's not true," I offered, before reason could stop me. "You're strong, but…"
"Too strong!" The words exploded. "Don't you get it? My magic is too strong! I need to be able to control it. And when... when..."
She closed her eyes with such force her eyelids trembled, as if fighting not to see a ghost.
Her hands clawed at the pendant around her neck. Her knuckles turned white as her fingers pressed against a blue stone with force that seemed ready to shatter it. The pearls marked the skin of her neck, pulled taut, leaving small red marks on the pale flesh.
She's trying to suffocate something. But what?
Through the gaps in her fingers, a strange shadow. An engraving, in the heart of the sea-blue stone. A complex profile that the candlelight caught for an instant before she covered it completely, as if wanting to crush it, make it disappear inside her palm.
"My father had plans for me," she whispered. "He said I'd become something great. That I'd... that I'd make a difference."
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was broken.
"But after what happened, everything changed."
After what?
The question burned in my throat, but something—the shadow that crossed her face, the way her hands gripped that diamond like it was the only thing keeping her alive—stopped me.
The silence became a physical weight between us, thick with dust and secrets.
"It's not your fault," she murmured suddenly, staring at me as if my questions were written on my forehead. She laughed again, an empty sound, on the edge of hysteria. "No, wait. That's what I tell myself every day. And it never works."
Her hands didn't leave the necklace. If anything, they gripped even tighter, as if that was the only way to hold herself together.
Her turquoise hair fell over her face, hiding half her gaze. Tears had left shining streaks on her cheeks, and her hands kept gripping that pendant like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
She's not a witch. She's not... I don't know. I don't know what she is. But she's not a monster.
I didn't know what had happened. I didn't know what was devouring her from the inside. But I knew that weight. That feeling of carrying something no one else could see but that broke your back every single day.
She's a kid who, despite wealth and power, has lost something very important.
"You know," I ventured, and my voice emerged lighter than I expected, "technically you won."
She glanced up sharply, eyebrows furrowed.
"What?"
"The fight. You won." I eased toward her. "All four of us on the ground. If it hadn't been for Magnus's protection, Emma and Sipar would definitely be dead..."
"You disarmed me. You made me fall…"
"And what good did it do?" I settled in front of her, resting my arms on the table. "I was immune to your light magic, sure. But I still passed out. Lirka was hidden in shadow, she caught you by surprise, and yet you crushed her in an instant. Emma and Sipar didn't even have time to react."
One corner of her mouth trembled. Not a smile, but something like it.
"Are you... are you trying to make me feel better?"
"No." This is the moment. Now or never. I placed my hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm. I stared straight into her eyes. "I'm telling the truth. You're terrifying when you fight. And I think you were still holding back."
She blinked, surprised.
"How do you—"
"Because if you'd really wanted to hurt us, we wouldn't be here talking." I ran a hand through my hair. "And that brings me to the point."
"What point?"
"I have a problem," I pressed, and the words emerged rougher than I'd planned. "I need to get stronger. Much stronger. And fast."
Six years. I have six years before that bastard comes back.
She studied me, confused.
"I need someone who'll push me past my limits," I continued. "Someone who won't hold back. Someone who'll force me to find ways to survive things I shouldn't be able to survive."
"Why?"
"And so I need you." I ignored the question, she wouldn't believe me anyway. "Your magic. Your strength. Everything that scares you so terribly."
Her face contorted.
"You don't understand…"
"You're right. I don't understand." I didn't look away. "I don't know what happened. I don't know why you think your magic is too much, or what damage you're talking about. But I know one thing."
I leaned forward, my breath stirring the hair covering half her face in rhythm with my heartbeat.
And suddenly the vision returned. Her. Older. In a room I didn't know. The door closing behind us with that final click. Heat rushed to my face so fast I had to glance away.
It was her. In the vision it was her.
"Suppressing that power won't make you better. It'll make you more miserable."
She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged.
"And I..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I need you not to hold back. I need you to be as strong as you can be. Because otherwise, when the moment comes that I really have to fight, I won't be ready."
And they'll die. Again.
Isabella studied me for a long moment. Sky-blue eyes scanning mine as if searching for a lie, a crack, something that would tell her I was joking.
"You're saying," she murmured slowly, "that you want me to use you as... a target?"
"Well, training partner." I corrected her. "But yeah, basically."
"You're insane."
"Probably." A half-smile escaped me. "But you need someone who isn't afraid of your magic. And I need someone who'll push me to the breaking point and beyond."
Her fingers loosened their grip on the necklace slightly.
"And what do I get out of it?"
"A partner you don't have to hold back with. Someone you don't have to be afraid of being too strong with." I watched her without blinking. "And maybe... maybe proof that the power that scares you so much can be used to protect instead of destroy."
I need to learn to use the strength I've been afraid of until now. To protect them all.
The silence returned, but this time it was different. Not heavy, but suspended.
"You're really weird, Arek Grey," she murmured finally. But there was something new in her voice. Not warmth, not yet. But maybe the beginning of something.
"Arek," I replied. "Just Arek."
She nodded, almost imperceptibly. The tears had stopped falling, though the shining streaks remained on her cheeks.
"What if I really hurt you?" she whispered, barely audible. "If... if it happened again?"
Again?
I didn't know what she was referring to, but the weight in those words was real.
"I'll bear the pain," I answered simply. "I know how..." I shrugged, "I have my secrets too."
She stared at me as if she couldn't tell whether I was brave or completely stupid.
Slowly, something in her features softened. It wasn't a smile, not yet. But the tension around her cheekbones melted, and for the first time since I'd entered that library, she no longer appeared about to break.
"Alright," she declared, and her voice was steady. "But don't complain when I freeze your eyebrows off."
"Deal."
I extended my hand toward her. She gazed at it for a moment, hesitating. When the handshake came it was firm, almost too strong, as if she wanted to make sure I was real.
"Allies," she declared.
"Allies," I confirmed.
When she released my hand, her gaze had changed. Not happiness, that would be too much. But maybe... relief. The awareness of not being alone in that weight she carried.
I leaned against the back of a chair, feeling the tension dissolve from my shoulders. The library around us was still dark, the shelves loaded with shadows and dust, but it no longer felt so oppressive. Isabella gently ran her fingers over her eyes, drying the last traces of tears, and finally her ice-colored lips trembled upward.
It'll be okay. I repeated it to myself. As if saying it was enough to make it true.
I raised my gaze toward the ceiling, letting the silence embrace us.
And I saw her.
On the highest balcony of the library, hidden among the shadows of the shelves and crouched like a predator in ambush, there was a figure I could have recognized anywhere.