Gabriel surged through the crowd, elbows jutting out as he shoved aside clusters of students. The world seemed to spin chaotically around him. He felt a desperate need to anchor himself in the unfolding mystery. The old woman was the catalyst, the one who had unwittingly upturned his life. Ever since she placed that Ash damned necklace in my hands, everything changed.

The memory of their first encounter haunted him; her words had seemed mad at the time, yet her prophecy had unraveled his reality. She had foretold the loss of his princely title, a prediction that passed with startling accuracy.

His urgent walk escalated into a full sprint, boots clacking against the cobblestones, each step echoing the turmoil within him. Disgruntled murmurs followed in his wake as he jostled past the bustling throngs. He darted around corner after corner in a frenzied chase, his heart pounding in his chest.

Just as despair began to seep in, Gabriel considered abandoning his frantic search. Rounding yet another corner he halted abruptly. There she was—the grizzled old woman, emerging from the shadows as if materializing from another realm. Her two striking eyes, one amber and one deep blue, fixed upon him with an intensity that cut through the chaos. The look in her eyes was sharp and knowing, as if she had expected this very moment.

"You're a witch!” Gabriel demanded, his voice laced with both accusation and desperation.

“My, my, if it isn't the prince no longer," she cackled, her voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Gabriel cast a nervous glance around, wary of eavesdroppers. Spotting a few curious onlookers, he quickly ushered the old woman to turn the corner, seeking a quieter spot away from prying eyes.

"Such powerful jaws, broad shoulders, but why are your brows furrowed so, my former prince?" she teased, her eyes shimmering with mischief.

"You were right. I'm no longer a prince," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

"Ahhh, but what is a prince, really?"

"I don’t have time for your riddles," Gabriel snapped, frustration mounting. “Who are you?”

“A friend. And time? You have plenty. Years yet to go to save your sister.”

Gabriel stared at her, struck dumb for a moment. Then a sharp pang of worry cut through him. “My sister, is she well?”

The woman tapped her wrinkled finger against her chin, seemingly lost in contemplation. “Well, she is a future queen to be after all.”

Gabriel stepped closer, the warmth of her pungent breath wafting over him. He steeled himself against the discomfort. "How do you know these things?"

"What is the past? The present? Or the future," she chuckled, her laughter weaving through the air like a haunting melody.

Gabriel's patience thinned dangerously close to breaking. An irrational urge to yank at his short hair gripped him, frustration boiling over. A darker impulse whispered to him, suggesting he silence her cryptic teasing once and for all by tightening his grip around her frail neck.

The woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Now, now, so much anger," she said, shaking her head.

"Just give me the answers I need," Gabriel demanded, his voice tight with frustration.

"What there is to tell is not mine to give."

"Enough with the riddles—just tell me straight!"

"Angry boy, why are you so angry?" Her voice took on a darker, more ominous tone.

"Because you're not telling me anything!"

"My, my," she sighed, her voice threaded with a touch of mockery. "Your anger doesn't stem from a lack of answers. No. It's because you're suppressing something powerful within you. A caged beast straining to break free."

Gabriel was taken aback. Does she know about my powers? He had thought he had hidden his magic to all but himself. Maybe she doesn’t know, and is just looking for answers? She did give me the necklace, though. I can’t risk it. “What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“And the boy accuses me of speaking in riddles,” she scoffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You already know the answer, Princeling. Use the power, harness it.”

She knows. He couldn’t admit it, not to her, not to anyone. “Woman, you make no sense.”

"Yes, boy, you're smarter than you look," she responded, her smile crooked and knowing. "You’re bottling up your magic. Release it, and your anger will dissipate along with it."

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Gabriel paused to consider her words. Recently, his anger had been overpowering, a constant companion since his life had turned upside down. He had assumed it was all because of the betrayals and secrets uncovered. Could it really be because he was suppressing his magic?

“I lose control; my anger is all I know when I let it go,” he confessed, his voice tinged with fear.

“Exactly, child. It reacts to your deepest needs. You’ve allowed your anger to control you. Now, you must master it,” she explained, her eyes piercing into his.

He leaned forward, desperation etched into his expression. “How do I do that?”

“Practice, boy, how else? In the quiet corners of the night, it’s the dark shadows that cover you. Practice!”

Gabriel felt a persistent unease each time he tapped into the strange power. Was the power itself corrupt, or were his feelings of guilt shaped by his own beliefs? His thoughts churned, too entangled to untangle in the moment.

“The warrior priests—are they sorcerers, too?”

The woman let out a cackle that seemed to stir the surrounding air. “No, no, they pretend they are above such powers, but indeed, they use it. Just as they use everything else.”

That gave him pause. What is she referring to? “Then why do they preach against magic?”

“Ahh, that is a question for them, not for a lowly seer like myself,” she replied, her tone mocking.

What is a seer? He wanted to ask, but he had other questions he needed answering first. “What is this magic? How does it work”?

“It’s the metal. It's as mysterious as it is powerful. No one truly knows its origins. It has existed for ages, an ancient enigma. It doesn't create; it reveals.”

“Will I be able to send waves of fires too?”

She looked at him askance, “My, my, you have been busy, little one. No, you won’t. The magic manifest itself differently in each of us.”

“Why?” Gabriel asked, seeking with desperation to understand how it all worked.

“Question after question. We are children trying to understand the world of gods. No one really knows, our best guess, it brings out what already lies within us, imposing order on this chaotic world.” She paused, took a breath, then in a low voice asked, “How does your magic manifest?”

Gabriel ignored the question. He had too many of his own. “You’re suggesting that Victra would want us to use magic?”

She puffed out her cheeks in mock annoyance. “Why don’t you ask the priests that? Or maybe not, if you value your life, that is,” she quipped with a sardonic twist of her lips.

“Where does the metal come from?”

“No supply exists. It is dwindling, like the hope within Valandor. What metal we do have has been passed down through generations,”

“So, could I gain more metal from the corpse of a dead sorcerer?”

“Now that, boy, is a very interesting question,” she mused, her eyes narrowing slightly as if reevaluating him. “Strange that you would ask that. Strange indeed.” She paused, giving him a measured look. “No, if the metal is touching a sorcerer when they die, it becomes corrupted. It’s unusable then, and it's best to bury it with the dead.”

“I still don’t understand how the magic works. Why does it only surface when I’m angry?”

“It’s because you are still a novice to its ways. Magic flows more freely during heightened emotional states—the stronger the emotion, the more potent the magic. You must harness the power and remember the sensation it brings, not the emotion itself. Then, try to invoke it again based solely on that sensation,” she instructed.

Her gaze then intensified, boring into his as if trying to transfer knowledge through her eyes alone. “Practice, boy. But keep this to yourself. Trust no one.”

“But I can trust you?” Gabriel asked sarcastically.

Her laughter turned high-pitched, almost gleeful. “Now you are asking the right questions.”

“I need to know. Why did you give me the necklace?”

“It was time for your capabilities to match your potential.”

“That tells me nothing,” Gabriel said, pressing a hand to his forehead as the beginnings of a headache throbbed behind his eyes.

“Fate weaves mysterious patterns, and sometimes I can grasp the threads. You, my boy, are no ordinary thread.”

“How so?”

Her eyes shifted, turning an eerie pale white as she seemed to slip into a trance, her voice seemingly emanating from a distant realm as she edged closer to Gabriel, who instinctively recoiled. Fear enveloped him, a cold sweat breaking across his skin as he stepped backward.

"Destruction you shall sow, and in its wake, darkness shall bloom. Sorrow skulks in the shadows of your deeds. Yet, from this dark soil, a light unforeseen shall spring—your own radiance. Within you, the eternal dance of shadows and luminescence weaves its tale. The threads of fate remain tangled; the tapestry's end, obscured and unwoven."

As the old woman's voice trailed off, Gabriel leaned heavily against the cold stone wall, his legs suddenly devoid of strength. Another prophecy hung in the air, another he neither understood nor wished to see fulfilled.

Her eyes flickered, and the pale white of her irises vanished. He had always found her gaze unusual, but with the eerie white hue, she had taken on an almost ethereal aspect.

Gabriel wrestled with the weight of her words. I don’t want to cause destruction or sorrow. What did she mean? Light and darkness fighting within me?

He became acutely aware of the unusual stillness around them. The usual bustle of the city had dimmed to a hush, as if the world itself was eavesdropping on their conversation.

Pushing off from the wall, Gabriel straightened up, a new resolve firming his posture. "I won’t let any of that happen," he declared, the determination clear in his voice.

The witch flashed a small, knowing smile. "Who can truly know? Trust in yourself, and always beware of lurkers in the shadows."

As if on cue, the sound of muffled footsteps grew louder. "Who's there?" a voice called from around the corner, slicing through the tension of the moment.

Startled, Gabriel turned to see a guard approaching. The guard's expression was a blend of confusion and suspicion. His eyes, sharp and inquisitive beneath the brim of his helm, swept across the scene. His uniform was impeccably maintained, a testament to the disciplined rigor of his position, yet his brow was deeply furrowed, clearly puzzled by what he encountered.

"What’s the meaning of this?" the guard demanded, his intense gaze locking onto Gabriel. "Are you causing trouble?"

"We were just talking," Gabriel responded, trying to sound calm despite the adrenaline still coursing through him.

The guard’s eyebrow arched skeptically. "Who are you talking to?" he asked, looking around.

Gabriel turned to point to the old woman, but to his dismay, she had vanished yet again. He let out a weary sigh.