Chapter 7: Shadows in the Light
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Whisker
The air of the Last Bastion lingered with the earthy scent of wet stone and wild lavender, thickened by the faint coppery tang of old blood left from recent skirmishes. The city was alive in ways familiar yet unsettling to Whisker. Flickering street lanterns cast an otherworldly glow, hues shifting from blue to violet with each gust of wind. Aether, thick and vibrant, pulsed faintly through the ancient cobblestone streets, adding to the dreamlike ambiance. But despite the hum of faint magic beneath his feet, Whisker could still feel the quiet that stretched between him and Tanaka as they walked a few steps behind the rest of the group.
Ahead, Felix and Ava’s voices rose and fell in a familiar rhythm, their intense debate filling the space with sharp, clipped tones as they gestured toward each other. Mirabelle led the way, calm and focused, exchanging a few quiet words with Aric, who scanned the empty streets with the ever-watchful eyes of a soldier. Meanwhile, Lucas and Aria shared a soft exchange of laughter, a rare sound that felt strange but oddly comforting in the shadowed city. The background chatter served as a cocoon for Whisker and Tanaka, allowing them a quiet space where Whisker could finally share what had been weighing on him.
“You’re quiet,” Tanaka’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, startling him.
Whisker blinked, glancing at him. “Yeah, just... thinking,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure how to explain what was going on in his head, and wasn't sure if Tanaka would even understand.
“You’ve been thinking a lot since we left the hall,” Tanaka continued, his voice calm but probing. “What’s bothering you?”
Whisker hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground. He had never been good at expressing himself, not in words. Back when he was a raccoon, communication had been simple—movement, body language, instinct. There were no complex emotions to navigate, no words to find. But now, everything feels tangled and confusing.
Tanaka glanced at him, brow raised in quiet curiosity, but Whisker didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he let out a deep breath and muttered, “I don’t think… I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”
Tanaka raised an eyebrow and said nothing, as his footsteps paused for a heartbeat before he resumed, allowing a beat of silence to pass. “None of us know why we’re here, Whisker. We all have something missing, something we left behind.”
“No, I mean…” Whisker struggled to find the right words, and his hand lifted, tracing absent shapes in the air before falling to his side. “I wasn’t even human, Tanaka. Everyone else… you had lives, people who cared about you, a reason to be chosen, maybe. But me?” He gestured toward himself, to his new form, a shape that still felt foreign and strange. “I was just a raccoon, scavenging for food scraps in the alleys.”
The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Whisker had never said it out loud before, had never even really let himself think it fully. But now, standing here in the quiet streets of a world he didn’t understand, it felt like the only truth he knew.
Tanaka was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered Whisker’s words. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than Whisker expected. “You’re right. I was human. We all were. But that doesn’t mean we understand more than you.”
Whisker frowned, unsure where Tanaka was going with this.
There was a pause, a heavy silence as Whisker tried to process Tanaka’s words. He wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could become something more than the scared, confused creature he felt like.
But the doubt still gnawed at him. “Why me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Why would they choose me?”
Tanaka didn’t answer right away. He looked up at the darkened sky, his gaze distant, as though searching for an answer that wasn’t there. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a long moment. “But you’re here for a reason, Whisker. I believe this. Just like the rest of us. Maybe it’s not clear yet, but you’ll find it.”
Whisker stared at the ground, his chest tight with the weight of Tanaka’s words.
A reason for being here?
Could there really be a reason why he was here? Or was it all some kind of mistake, some cosmic joke that had thrown him into a world where he didn’t belong?
He felt so small beside them, insignificant. Just an imposter in a human’s body, trying to figure out where he fit in a world that was bigger and more dangerous than anything he had ever known.
The gentle creak of wood and leather shifted as Tanaka’s hand rested on Whisker’s shoulder. The grip was firm yet reassuring, grounding him in a world that so often felt intangible. “You say that like it’s less than us,” Tanaka said, breaking the silence.
“You don’t need to be like us,” Tanaka said softly. “You don’t need to be human, or brave, or anything you’re not. Just be you.”
Whisker looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I saw someone who stood up in that Grand Hall today, someone who offered to help without hesitation.” Tanaka said as he continued to hold his shoulder.
Whisker’s gaze flicked up to meet Tanaka’s, eyes wide with surprise. “I… I just wanted to be useful. I don’t want to be…” He trailed off, his voice almost inaudible. “Useless.”
“Courage is just that, Whisker,” Tanaka replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s stepping up when you’re terrified. And even now, as you tell me these things, you’re showing bravery. That’s something anyone would envy.”
Whisker blinked, caught off guard. The words warmed his chest, quieting some of the insecurities that had tangled there. But uncertainty still gnawed at him, stubborn as ever. “Maybe. But sometimes I feel like… maybe all this—everything—is just a mistake. That I’m a mistake.”
The city’s ambient sounds—a faint hum of distant machinery, the distant clang of an aetheric construct moving through its nightly patrol—filled the silence Tanaka allowed before responding. “Mistakes?” Tanaka’s voice was steady, strong, anchoring Whisker’s spiraling thoughts. “Maybe we’re all here by accident, Whisker. But that doesn’t mean we don’t belong.”
They continued walking, the flickering lamplight casting their shadows long against the stone. As they neared the lodge, Mirabelle led them up a winding street lined with curiously colored stones that shifted from indigo to emerald in the moonlight. She stopped at a tall, dark lodge with twisting, living vines weaving up its wooden exterior and casting shadows in the shape of ancient runes. Lanterns, glowing with a gentle blue flame, cast a tranquil light over the entrance, where a towering figure cloaked in shimmering scales and adorned with broad, leathery wings stood awaiting their approach. Its eyes gleamed as it beckoned them inside with a subtle motion.
Mirabelle raised a hand, signaling for the others to hold back while she and Aric stepped forward to converse with the imposing figure. Their quiet exchange lasted several minutes, marked by occasional gestures in the party’s direction. Whisker managed to pick out a few stray words—"room," "no trouble"—as the creature’s gaze roamed over each of them, examining them with a scrutinizing intensity.
Why is it looking at us so much?
Mirabelle leaned in, revealing a small, glinting pin from her pocket, which seemed to catch the creature’s attention. After a nod of understanding, it reached beneath the counter, extending a set of tarnished keys toward her as she discreetly handed over a few small, silver-like coins. With a toothy grin, its sharp fangs glinting in the lantern light, the creature let out a puff of steam from its flared nostrils. Stretching out its long, clawed arm, it pointed past the drapery-covered entryway, indicating the staircase and hallways that awaited them beyond.
Inside, the warmth of aether-infused lanterns painted the walls in rich hues, the scent of burning herbs mingling with something earthy and sweet. The others continued inside, their voices fading as they split off into their rooms, but Whisker lingered, watching as Tanaka took a long, deep breath and looked back at him with an expression Whisker couldn’t quite read.
Tanaka’s voice softened, almost wistful. “You know, my son… he was always so sure I’d figure everything out for him. But sometimes, I think he never realized how lost I felt.” His gaze lingered on Whisker, eyes reflecting a vulnerability Whisker hadn’t seen before. “So even if it doesn’t feel like it, you’re already finding your way, Whisker. And that’s more than some of us managed.”
As Tanaka spoke, Whisker felt a strange tug, something both hopeful and grounding. He wasn’t sure if he fully believed Tanaka’s words, but for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely out of place in this strange, surreal world. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, but Tanaka’s presence gave him the courage to keep asking the questions.
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Hiroshi Tanaka
Tanaka stepped into the lodge, the world outside quieting to a muffled hum as the wooden door closed behind him.
The lodge seemed to bathed in a warm glow from suspended orbs, each hovering over a rune-inscribed metal plate. Together, the orbs cast soft, moving patterns across the walls—a blend of deep purples, blues, and whites, like a dusk-lit forest canopy. A warmth filled the air, subtle but deeply comforting, mingling with the scent of incense—something like sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine—that reminded him faintly of home.
They were greeted by a tall, dragon creature, Monsterfolk Aric had called them, at the reception, his scales shimmering in shades of green and gold under the light. The Monsterfolk inclined his head to Mirabelle, accepting a small pouch of coins as he handed over a set of worn iron keys. "Rooms for all of you," he said, his voice deep, almost rumbling. “Breakfast begins at first light. There are fresh springs in the back should you seek the waters.”
The others moved through the hall, casting curious glances at the intricate tapestries that depicted scenes of ancient battles and serene forests. Tanaka noticed Ava’s gaze linger on a particularly grim scene—an ominous figure rising over a fallen city. Nearby, Lucas murmured something low to Aria, who glanced around, her serpent tail gliding silently across the polished floor.
Ahead of him, Lucas pointed at one of the orbs, his eyes narrowing with interest. “Fancy light show they’ve got here. Wonder how long they take to charge those things up?”
“Or what’s in them,” Ava muttered, her tone skeptical as she reached up to prod an orb, which promptly floated just out of reach. “Magic’s impressive and all, but I wouldn’t trust my light source to behave like it’s got a mind of its own.”
Felix let out a quiet chuckle. “From what I’ve observed, it isn’t a science you can just pick apart, you know. It’s more… a circulatory system than circuitry. You’re trying to dissect it with Earth logic. I think we have to start looking at it in a different perspective.”
Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she glanced at Aria, who was tracing her fingers along a series of ancient tapestries, her gaze distant, almost haunted. Mira stood beside her, whispering something that made Aria smile, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little.
Mirabelle and Aric led them down the corridor, where the walls grew rougher, carved from dark stone veined with shimmering silver lines that pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. Aric glanced back at them, a flicker of uncertainty in his otherwise stoic face. “Stay together, all right? It’s safe here, but…I don’t want you all getting into any trouble.”
Lucas gave a mock salute, murmuring to Felix, “Safe here, he says. Only thing I know is constant in this place is chaos.”
Mirabelle shot Lucas a stern look. “It’s our one sanctuary. Don’t jinx it.”
Finally, they arrived at a spacious meeting room toward the back of the lodge. The walls were lined with bookshelves and intricately carved statues, each bearing the image of a different magical beast he recognized from some classes in university: griffins, chimeras, and even more creatures Tanaka didn’t recognize. A low table sat in the center, piled with maps, scrolls, and several arcane-looking artifacts that glimmered in the low light.
“Settle in, everyone,” Mirabelle instructed, her tone weary yet determined. “Tomorrow, we enter the sewers near the aqueducts. It won’t be an easy journey, but if Everlight’s down there, we owe it to him—and to this city—to bring him back.”
Aric unfurled a map across the table, his finger tracing a path along the dark, winding lines. “Everlight may still be alive, and if there’s any chance he is, we can’t abandon him.”
Tanaka stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the map. “Do we know what’s down there? Beyond the corruption?”
Mirabelle crossed her arms, her expression resolute but shadowed with concern. “Not much, unfortunately. Most search parties sent down haven’t returned. Only one survivor made it back, and he came out alone, raving and barely coherent. The corruption is deep, worse than I remember from my last time down there.” She hesitated, casting a glance at Aric, who returned her gaze with a grave nod.
“Something… unnatural,” Aric murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mirabelle’s gaze drifted back to the table. “From what we could piece together from the survivor’s ramblings, there’s something festering beneath the rot—something alive, or at least conscious. Everlight might have been right about the source lying somewhere down there.”
“‘Wrong’ and ‘unnatural’—not vague at all,” Lucas muttered, arching an eyebrow.
Aric placed a steady hand on Lucas’s shoulder, his tone heavy. “This is serious, Lucas. I’ve known Everlight for years. If he’s gone silent down there, it’s not a good sign. He was chasing a lead, one he’d felt certain about, and he knows the corruption better than any of us. If he hasn’t resurfaced, something must’ve gone terribly wrong, and we’re running out of time.”
Tanaka gave a slow, understanding nod, a sense of dread settling in his chest. “And the path down? Do we have a map, anything to go on? We can’t afford to stumble into a trap.”
Mirabelle’s expression softened, though her resolve was unshaken. “Aric’s been down there more than anyone, so he’ll guide us. We’ll follow his lead and make sure we find Everlight—one way or another. We have to.”
“Or else, it’s the end of the city. Thanks for the groundbreaking news, Mirabelle,” Lucas snarked.
Aria shot Lucas a glare, cuffing him on the back of his head. “Lucas! Can’t you see she’s worried about him, not just the city? Show some respect.”
Tanaka met Aria’s gaze, nodding in agreement. “Aria’s right. Mirabelle, we’ll bring him back. I’m ready for whatever’s down there. But let’s make sure we’re prepared.”
A quiet ripple of agreement ran through the group, though Tanaka noticed Whisker standing slightly apart, a glimmer of doubt flickering in his eyes. Placing a reassuring hand on Whisker’s shoulder, Tanaka offered him a steady nod as Mirabelle began the final briefing, detailing each member’s role and designating lookout positions, with Aric leading the way.
As the meeting wound down, Mirabelle’s voice softened. “Food will be brought to your rooms tonight, so don’t be alarmed. Eat well and rest. Tomorrow, we’ll need every ounce of strength we have.”
They dispersed, some moving off to explore the lodge, others sinking into quiet conversations by the firelight. Tanaka felt exhaustion tugging at him as he followed the path down a dimly lit hallway toward the room he would share with Whisker, who had already gone ahead.
Where does he get the energy after everything? Tanaka wondered, a weary smile playing at his lips as he finally stepped into their shared space.
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As Tanaka stepped through the doorway, the soft sound of water splashing reached his ears, bringing a small smile to his lips. He gently pushed the door open, and there was Whisker, leaning over a basin, his hands submerged in the clear water, studying it with a focus that made it seem like he was uncovering some hidden mystery. Across the room, a tray of food was laid out on a nearby table, its rich aromas mingling with the faint scent of water and soap.
“Washing your food?” Tanaka teased, a playful grin spreading across his face as he leaned casually against the doorframe.
Whisker looked up, startled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “It’s… just an old habit,” he admitted, his voice quiet but laced with a self-conscious smile.
Tanaka chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, filling the room with a sense of ease. “Well, I’m sure it’ll taste even better now. Cleaner, right?”
A shy smile spread across Whisker’s face, and he shook his head, a hint of amusement sparking in his eyes. For a moment, they simply stood there, silent but comfortable, sharing a quiet camaraderie as the room's soft glow cast long shadows that danced along the walls.
Old habits die hard.
Tanaka thought, his gaze lingering on Whisker.
I wonder what else still clings to him from before…
Tanaka didn’t know much about Whisker’s past or what it was like to survive as a raccoon in a human city, let alone an American one. But he didn’t need those details to understand the feeling of being out of place, of not belonging. In his own way, Tanaka had felt the same disorientation after his death—thrust into a new world he didn’t understand, surrounded by strangers. It was bewildering, unsettling. And for someone like Whisker, who had never been human before, it must have been even more confusing and isolating.
Tanaka’s gaze settled on Whisker, noticing the way his small frame seemed tense, his posture cautious and guarded. The young man—or rather, the former young raccoon—moved with a nervous energy, his eyes darting around as if he were bracing for something unexpected. Tanaka couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.
He reminds me of Ryota.
The thought struck him unexpectedly, and he felt a familiar ache settle in his chest. Memories of his son flickered through his mind—Ryota, who had once been so full of life, so eager to prove himself. But that was before things had shifted between them, before Tanaka’s mistakes as a father had driven a wedge that neither of them knew how to bridge.
Tanaka hadn’t seen Ryota in years. They had exchanged only a few strained words before Tanaka’s death, their relationship broken beyond repair. The regret of it still gnawed at him, a constant, quiet pain he carried with him. And now, seeing Whisker—this small, unsure creature thrust into a world that didn’t make sense—Tanaka couldn’t help but think of his son, of the boy he had failed. Tanaka felt a surge of protectiveness, a need to offer what he’d failed to give his son.
Maybe I can’t fix things with Ryota.
Tanaka thought, his heart heavy.
But maybe I can help him.
“Don’t worry,” Tanaka said, his voice gentle. “Old habits are hard to shake.” He settled onto the bed across from Whisker, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. “You know,” he continued after a pause, “I think we’re all still holding onto parts of who we were. It’s like... we can’t fully leave those behind, even if we try.”
Whisker’s shoulders eased a bit, and he looked up with tentative curiosity. “Like I said, back when we were walking… I’m not like you guys,” he murmured. “I was just... small. I’ve never been brave.”
Tanaka shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To think that way. Because I used to be… well, a salaryman. My job was predictable, controlled—a way to provide for my son. I thought it was what he needed most.” He trailed off, then added, “But I ended up becoming a stranger to him.”
The confession hung in the air, and Whisker nodded, his gaze softening. “But you were doing it for him, right? Because you cared?”
“Yes.” Tanaka sighed, the weight of years pressing down on him. “But sometimes, the way we think we need to protect people isn’t what they actually need. My son… he needed a father, someone to talk to, not just someone who worked himself into the ground for him. I didn’t see it until it was too late.”
Whisker hesitated before speaking, his voice quiet but resolute. “But you’re here now. Doesn’t that mean… you can make it different? Maybe you could still find him… if we make it back.”
Tanaka smiled faintly, a small spark of hope flickering. “Maybe.” He patted Whisker’s shoulder, meeting his gaze. “But for now, I think we’re both here because there’s something we’re meant to do, some way we’re meant to protect this world. And I think that’s something my son could be proud of, even if he doesn’t see it.”
Whisker offered a small smile, looking down. “I guess... even if we don’t understand why we’re here, maybe it’ll make sense later.”
“Exactly,” Tanaka replied, his voice steady. “We’re doing what we can with the time we’re given. And I think that’s all anyone can ask of us.”
They sat in silence, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling around them like a blanket. Tanaka found himself feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of peace, however fleeting. Watching Whisker reminded him that perhaps, in some way, he had another chance. A chance to guide, to offer the support he hadn’t been able to give his son.
Just then, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Tanaka glanced at Whisker, who gave a small shrug, as if to say, not expecting anyone. Rising to answer, Tanaka opened the door to find Mira standing there, her expression both hesitant and apologetic.
“Ah, sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Mira’s voice was quiet, her gaze flickering nervously between them.
“Not at all,” Tanaka replied, offering a warm smile to ease her nerves. “Is something on your mind?”
Mira looked like she wanted to say something, but after a second of hesitation, she shook her head with an embarrassed smile. “No, it’s fine. You both looked like you were having a moment. I’ll… find Aria instead.” She stepped back, looking slightly sheepish.
Tanaka and Whisker exchanged a glance, sharing an amused smile at the brief, awkward encounter. “Good night, Mira,” Whisker called after her, his voice soft but sincere.
With a small wave, Mira disappeared down the hallway, and the two of them chuckled lightly, breaking the solemnity of the moment with shared laughter. As the quiet settled around them again, Tanaka placed a comforting hand on Whisker’s shoulder, feeling an inexplicable sense of connection.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the weight of the day's events finally giving way to something softer, more hopeful. Outside their room, faint laughter and soft voices could be heard, the sound of their companions finding rare moments of solace amid the night’s quiet. The lodge seemed to breathe around them, the warmth of the aether-infused walls pulsing gently in time with the distant sounds of laughter and quiet conversation.
Tanaka leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling, where faint constellations were painted, each star glowing faintly in the dim light. It was strange, he thought, how in a world so foreign, he could find echoes of home—of what he’d lost and, perhaps, what he could still find again.
As he closed his eyes, Tanaka felt the weight of regret shift, if only slightly. Perhaps, here in Aetheria, he could begin to reconcile what he hadn’t been able to before. And as he listened to Whisker’s steady breathing beside him, he felt, for the first time in years, that he wasn’t entirely alone in that journey.
They sat in silence, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling around them like a blanket. Tanaka found himself feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of peace, however fleeting. Watching Whisker reminded him that perhaps, in some way, he had another chance. A chance to guide, to offer the support he hadn’t been able to give his son.
Just then, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Tanaka glanced at Whisker, who gave a small shrug, as if to say, not expecting anyone. Tanaka slowly got up and opened the door to find Mira standing there, her expression both hesitant and apologetic.
“Ah, sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Mira’s voice was quiet, her gaze flickering nervously between them.
“Not at all,” Tanaka replied, offering a warm smile to ease her nerves. “Is something on your mind?”
Mira looked like she wanted to say something, but after a second of hesitation, she shook her head with an embarrassed smile. “No, it’s fine. You both looked like you were having a moment. Maybe. Maybe another time.” She stepped back, looking slightly sheepish.
Tanaka and Whisker exchanged a glance, sharing an amused smile at the brief, awkward encounter. “Good night, Mira,” Whisker called after her, his voice soft but sincere.
With a small wave, Mira disappeared down the hallway, and the two of them chuckled lightly, breaking the solemnity of the moment with shared laughter. As the quiet settled around them again, Tanaka placed a comforting hand on Whisker’s shoulder, feeling an inexplicable sense of connection.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the weight of the day's events finally giving way to something softer, more hopeful. Outside their room, faint laughter and soft voices could be heard, the sound of their companions finding rare moments of solace amid the night’s quiet. The lodge seemed to breathe around them, the warmth of the aether-infused walls pulsing gently in time with the distant sounds of laughter and quiet conversation.
Tanaka leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling, where faint constellations were painted, each star glowing faintly in the dim light. It was strange, he thought, how in a world so foreign, he could find echoes of home—of what he’d lost and, perhaps, what he could still find again.
As he closed his eyes, Tanaka felt the weight of regret shift, if only slightly. Perhaps, here in Aetheria, he could begin to reconcile what he hadn’t been able to before. And as he listened to Whisker’s steady breathing beside him, he felt, for the first time in years, that he wasn’t entirely alone in that journey.
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Mira Inoue
After her brief, awkward moment at Tanaka and Whisker’s door, Mira backed into the dim hallway of the lodge, her cheeks warm from embarrassment.
She had hoped to talk to Whisker—he was gentle, easy to talk to in a way few others were. He reminded her of Arséne, her friend from art school in Paris. Whisker didn’t have Arséne’s imposing height or his nervous laughter, but there was something quietly reassuring about his presence. Arséne, like Whisker, had always been soft-spoken, happy, and a little nervous but endlessly supportive—especially of her.
It was that memory that had first drawn her to Whisker. Back when she was in university. Arséne had been there for her, staying up on sleepless nights before finals, keeping her company while she and him lost themselves in their work. She remembered him flicking paint at her, feigning innocence when she glared. Little by little, he would distract her until she broke into laughter, her stress dissipating as they exchanged splatters of color and snippets of half-formed ideas.
And Whisker, too, had a calming effect—quiet, understanding. She felt that he’d listen, even if her visions were hard for others to accept. It's why she had hoped to speak to him and have that same comforting reassurance. But interrupting him and Tanaka had felt wrong.
Watching him and Tanaka, Mira sensed there was more to their bond than mere friendship. She hadn’t missed the way Tanaka’s watchful gaze rested on Whisker or the gentle authority he seemed to carry when speaking to him. It felt almost… paternal. Mira found herself wondering.
Did Tanaka have a family back on Earth?
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The thought settled heavily in her mind, and she pushed it aside, continuing down the hall, her fingers tracing the rough stone walls as she moved.
The lodge was quiet, save for the faint hum of the strange, floating orbs casting a soft, shifting glow across tapestries adorning the walls. These tapestries weren’t mere decorations; woven with threads that shimmered like starlight, they depicted scenes that seemed to breathe, each thread alive with its own story. One particular panel drew her attention—a scene of two warriors locked in combat, one striking the other down from behind. Their faces were twisted with emotion, a haunting mixture of sorrow and betrayal.
Mira stopped, studying the tapestry more closely.
One panel in particular drew her attention—a powerful image of two warriors locked in a tragic clash, one striking the other down from behind, their faces etched with conflicting emotions. She stopped, her gaze drawn to the sorrow etched on the attacker’s face, a depth of regret that seemed to bleed from the threads themselves.
She paused, her gaze drawn to the sorrow etched on the attacker’s face, a depth of regret that seemed to bleed from the threads themselves.There was a heartbreaking regret etched into the attacker’s expression, as if this act of violence had cost them dearly. The defeated figure, caught mid-collapse, struck Mira with an eerie familiarity.
Her heart sank as she lingered on it, wondering if the man she had seen trapped in her visions, surrounded by darkness, could indeed be Everlight. While the defeated figure, caught in mid collapse struck Mira with an eerie familiarity.
He looks like the man from my visions.
She thought, a shiver running down her spine.
Mirabelle’s Everlight.
Her heart sank as she lingered over the scene, questions swirling in her mind. The fallen figure in her visions had been younger, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
This warrior in the tapestry seemed older, more worn by time and fate. Could it be that this was the man the heralds had once tried to raise?
Everlight’s father?
The thought struck her deeply, as if she were staring at the legacy of a doomed fate.
If so… is he part of some tragic lineage, one that Everlight himself can’t escape?
Instead of raising him, they had summoned us.
The misfit group that is now tasked with restoring a city and unearthing the mysteries it held.
A ripple of doubt surfaced, and Ava’s earlier dismissal of her vision echoed in her mind, her words rational yet disheartening. Ava had brushed off Mira’s warnings, attributing them to stress, the chaos of battle, or Mira’s unfamiliarity with Aetherian magic. Yet Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that what she had seen was real, a warning rather than mere imagination.
Taking a steadying breath, Mira pulled herself away from the tapestry and continued down the hallway, her gaze drifting to the small, closed doors of her companions.
She paused by one where faint voices trickled through. Felix’s clipped tones mingled with Ava’s sharper, almost ethereal cadence. She caught a glimpse of Felix, his clockwork frame gleaming in the light, and Ava gesturing to symbols she had inscribed on the wall with her translucent hands. They were deep in debate, passionately dissecting the rules—or lack thereof—that governed magic here.
“Aetheria defies those laws,” he was saying, his tone thoughtful. “You can’t reduce it to mere equations, Ava.”
“But logic must apply here too,” she retorted, her voice a mix of frustration and fascination. “There has to be an underlying structure—something we can break down and understand.”
“Not everything has to follow a formula, Ava,” Felix countered, his tone exasperated but amused. “Some things… exist beyond reason.”
“I’m telling you, there has to be an underlying structure,” Ava insisted, tracing equations that hung glowing in the air.
Mira lingered briefly, catching the intensity between them. Ava’s impatience clashed with Felix’s calm persistence, a strange energy thrumming beneath their words. It was clear they each had a lot to prove, to themselves and perhaps to each other. Mira glanced away quickly, slipping down the hall before they noticed and she became entangled in their fervent exchange.
Passing Aric’s room, she noticed it was empty, his armor neatly arranged on the bed, though his sword was missing. She guessed he might be at the springs the dragon-like Monsterfolk had mentioned—he had taken heavy injuries in the battle. Mirabelle had healed him, but Mira suspected he would still need rest.
Aric from her experience was an intriguing fellow, a complex mixture of humor and loyalty. Even more, his protectiveness toward Mirabelle was fierce and constant. She could see why Everlight had chosen him as a fighting companion; there was strength in him, but also a vulnerability he kept hidden beneath his easy smiles and quick jokes.
Though it did tickle her that he had taken his sword.
Always, the diligent soldier.
Mira slowed when she reached Mirabelle’s room, the door slightly open. Through the crack, she saw Mirabelle sitting by the window, her face etched with worry. She looked so different from the warm, capable leader Mira had come to rely on. There was a comfort in Mirabelle’s presence, in her quiet strength. She was nothing like Mira’s parents, who had thrust her into art school and brushed off her fears.
She admired them both. Mirabelle and Aric were together since they got here we're patient. They were helping them navigate this strange world,and giving them time to adapt in ways her parents never had.
But now, seeing Mirabelle’s exhaustion, Mira hesitated. Her vision, her worries—it would only add to the weight Mirabelle already bore. She thought of Ava’s words, the dismissal that had left her feeling so small. What if she was wrong? What if it was just her mind playing tricks on her? She turned away, deciding to leave Mirabelle in peace.
Continuing down the corridor, Mira’s thoughts drifted to Paris, to her old life. Her mother’s sharp words echoed in her mind: We raised you to be strong, so act like it. She remembered the loneliness that had clung to her despite her success, the feeling of existing just outside reality, her visions dismissed as a mere artist’s fancy. It was as if everyone around her had insisted on seeing only one side of her—a side she could barely understand herself.
Rounding a corner, a quiet laugh caught Mira’s attention, drawing her gaze to the next room where Aria and Lucas were chatting, their voices lighthearted, their expressions relaxed.
Lucas had his usual smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement, while Aria’s serpent tail coiled comfortably beneath her.
Though bLucas, as usual, had a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced up at one of the floating orbs illuminating the space.
“Think they'd notice if I snatched one of those orbs?” Lucas smirked, a playful challenge in his tone.
Aria rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Do you think you could even catch one? And what would you even do with it? Watch—it’ll just phase right out of your hands the second you try.”
Lucas grinned, reaching up as if to grab one. “Hey, we’re heading into the dark, aren’t we? I could use a little extra light… you know, besides you.” He winked, making Aria laugh. “They’ve got tons of these. Trust me, it’s practically begging to come with me.”
Mira couldn’t help but smile as she approached them.
Mira hesitated, but Aria noticed her and offered a welcoming smile. “Hey, Mira. Want to join us?”
Mira’s heart thudded as she met Aria’s curious gaze. She found herself speaking before she could second-guess it.
“Oh Aria actually I wanted to talk… mind if we—?” she hesitated, glancing between Aria and Lucas, unsure if she was interrupting.
Aria’s expression softened, and she nodded, welcoming Mira with an easy smile. “It’s our room, Mira. I don’t mind at all. Come on, you look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Lucas seemed to catch the shift in Mira’s tone. Giving a mock-salute, he took a step back, offering a playful farewell. “Well, don’t have too much fun without me, you two,” he said, winking and whistling as he headed off with a casual wave.
“Oh, hush, Lucas,” Aria smirked, waving him away. “And get your mind out of the gutter!”
Once they were alone, Mira settled down beside Aria, who offered a warm, inviting smile, leaning back on her bed with an easy posture that made Mira feel as if they were just two friends sharing secrets.
“Well, it seems you two are getting along well,” Mira teased, her voice light but curious. “Since when has Lucas been so… friendly? I don’t think I’ve seen him drop the snark once since we got here.”
Aria chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. “Oh, he’s still a walking sarcasm generator,” she admitted. “But underneath all that, he’s not as bad as he wants everyone to think. Once you push past the walls, he’s… well, let’s just say he’s been surprisingly decent. But seriously, Mira, what’s on your mind?”
A faint smile tugged at Mira’s lips, but it faded as she looked away, suddenly uncertain. Her fingers traced patterns on the edge of the bed as she gathered the courage to speak. “Aria, I… there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, her voice almost a whisper.
Aria didn’t press, just nodded, her gaze calm and attentive, waiting patiently. That gentle encouragement was all Mira needed.
Taking a deep breath, she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been having these visions. I keep seeing a man trapped...I think it’s Everlight, surrounded by this horrible darkness, I think it’s the corruption. It’s like it’s trying to consume him.” She glanced down, her hands twisting nervously. “And there’s something else—a figure, always watching. I can’t see its face, but it’s there, lurking in the shadows. It feels like… it knows us. I don’t know.”
The words tumbled out in a rush, and as they did, Mira felt a strange sense of release, as though a weight had been lifted. She slumped slightly, letting out a shaky breath. “God, it feels so good to get that out. I just… I need someone to believe me.”
I finally said it. Please Aria.
Aria’s expression softened, her gaze thoughtful. “Visions?” she echoed gently. “Have you had them before?”
Mira nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her robe. “Since I was a kid. I’d see these… fragments, flashes of things that hadn’t happened yet. But no one believed me. They thought I was just an overly imaginative child, too sensitive, too… distracted. I started to believe that too. But then…” She hesitated, memories flickering painfully to life. “Then I saw my own death, weeks before it happened. And even then, I thought it was just… nonsense. Until it was too late.”
Aria was silent for a moment, her face a mixture of understanding and sadness. “That must have been terrifying,” she murmured. “To carry something so heavy and have no one to share it with.”
“It was,” Mira whispered, her gaze distant. “I tried to make sense of it through my art, painting these glimpses of what I saw. It was the only way I knew to cope, to put it somewhere. My family thought art would make me ‘normal’ somehow, that it would fix whatever was ‘wrong’ with me. But they never understood what I was actually trying to paint.”
Aria watched her, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Art was your escape, wasn’t it? A way to hold onto those pieces of yourself that no one else saw.” She paused, her own gaze softening with distant memories. “I can understand that. Music used to be that for me—onstage, I felt like I belonged. But offstage, I was just… lost. It was as if my purpose only existed in those moments under the lights. When the music stopped, I didn’t know who I was.”
A ripple of relief washed over Mira, finding an unexpected kinship in Aria’s words. “That’s exactly how it felt,” she said softly. “It’s strange, though… here, in this world, my visions feel so much stronger. They’re vivid, almost like someone is pressing them into my mind. I see Everlight, trapped in that darkness, and I don’t know what it means. Ava thinks it’s just stress or confusion, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s real.”
Aria smiled gently, her eyes kind. “It sounds like you were always meant for a world like this, Mira. Aria reached out, resting a gentle hand on Mira’s shoulder. “Mira, trust yourself. No one else has seen what you’ve seen, and that makes it hard for them to understand. But it doesn’t make it any less real.”
Mira looked up, her heart swelling with gratitude as she met Aria’s steady gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with relief. “I was starting to think I was losing my mind.”
Aria offered a small, encouraging smile. “You’re stronger than you think, Mira. It sounds like you’ve been carrying this part of yourself for a long time, and that takes courage. Just remember—you’re not alone in this. We’re all here now, facing whatever comes together.”
A warmth spread through Mira at Aria’s words, easing the weight of her fears. She let out a soft, grateful laugh, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “Thank you, Aria. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to listen.”
Aria winked, a hint of playfulness returning to her expression. “Well, if anyone gives you a hard time about these visions, just send them my way. I’ll set them straight.”
Mira smiled, feeling the tiniest spark of hope flicker within her. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she had once thought.
With Mira feeling more at ease after sharing her visions, she turned to Aria with a mischievous smile, a spark of playfulness lighting up her expression. “So,” she began, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt, “what’s going on with you and Lucas? I mean, he was actually nice just now. That has to be a sign of the apocalypse, right?”
Aria groaned, rolling her eyes as she leaned back on the bed, feigning annoyance. “Oh, please. Lucas is Lucas. He’s sarcastic and annoying and… just occasionally happens to be less of a pain.”
“Right,” Mira replied, drawing out the word as she leaned in, clearly not buying Aria’s dismissal. “Just an occasional, definitely-not-charming, snarky companion.”
Aria reached over, giving Mira a light shove that sent her nearly falling back off the bed. “Oh, don’t you start too! You know you’re the last person who should be giving me grief about this.”
Mira laughed, catching herself before she toppled over. “I’m just saying! Since when is he anything more than an eye-roll generator? You must have a soft spot if he’s got you smiling.”
Aria shook her head, unable to suppress a smile as she looked up at the ceiling. “Fine, maybe he has his moments,” she admitted, still sounding reluctant. “But I refuse to give him too much credit. He’s… he’s just Lucas, and that’s plenty complicated enough.” She gave Mira a playful shove. “Now go ahead, tease all you want.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” Mira replied, grinning wickedly. “Next thing I know, you two will be quoting poetry to each other under the starlit skies!”
“Don’t push it,” Aria said, giving her a mock glare before they both burst into laughter.
Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of voices drifting from down the hall, unmistakably Ava’s voice rising above the rest, sharp and insistent. Mira raised an eyebrow as she and Aria turned to listen, catching snippets of an animated debate between Ava and Felix.
“Do they ever stop?” Aria murmured, amusement clear in her voice as she shifted to a more comfortable position.
Mira shook her head, stifling a chuckle. “Honestly, I think they’d argue with each other in their sleep if they could.”
From the faintly open doorway, they heard Felix’s calm tone cut in, “Not everything here conforms to Earth’s physics, Ava. Magic isn’t bound by the rules we know.”
“And that’s exactly the problem!” Ava shot back, exasperated. “If this place doesn’t have rules, how do we make sense of any of it? There has to be a logical way to approach this world.”
Mira shared an exasperated, amused glance with Aria, rolling her eyes as they listened to the exchange. “They sound like they’ve been waiting to go at it like this since we got here,” she whispered.
“Just another day in our peculiar new world,” Aria quipped, barely containing her laughter.
Their laughter finally settled, Mira felt a rush of warmth and comfort, realizing how much she’d needed this—being able to confide in someone and then share a laugh in return. She smiled at Aria, feeling lighter than she had in days.
“Thanks for listening, Aria,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. “I really needed this.”
Aria’s gaze softened, and she reached out, giving Mira’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, Mira. We’re all in this together, right?”
Mira nodded, her heart lifting, before she excused herself. “I’m going to wash up a bit,” she said, slipping into the washroom and closing the door behind her.
Standing alone, she faced the mirror and gazed into her reflection. The girl staring back was both familiar and foreign—a petite sprite with iridescent wings shimmering in shades of blue and purple. Her blue skin glowed faintly, as though it contained a scattering of stars, and her long, flowing hair looked like a cascade of midnight sky. Gone was the small, dark-haired girl in paint-stained clothes, replaced by this ethereal creature that seemed to belong to a world she was only beginning to understand.
She touched her reflection, fingers brushing against the cool glass as memories of her past flickered through her mind. The girl who had once struggled to find her place in Paris now faced a world that defied every rule she’d ever known. Somewhere between those two worlds, she hovered—no longer fully belonging to either.
Lost in thought, Mira was suddenly drawn back by the sound of raised voices drifting down the hall. Ava’s voice, sharp and animated, carried through the stillness, and Mira tilted her head, listening to the continued debate. Ava’s tone held an edge, questioning not just the world they’d found themselves in but perhaps, beneath it all, how they could ever hope to return home.
Taking one last glance at her reflection, Mira straightened, feeling a subtle spark of strength she hadn’t felt before. She stepped out of the washroom, heading back into the world that waited beyond, ready to face whatever came next.
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Ava Singh
Ava leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, her gaze focused on her faintly glowing, translucent hand. Smoke drifted off it in quiet, ephemeral curls. Her thoughts swirled with the same intensity, latching onto questions without answers and answers that never quite fit.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” she said, breaking the silence with a sharpness that hung in the air. “How did we even get here? We were living our lives, just… existing in a world where magic wasn’t real. Then suddenly, we’re pulled here, thrown into a mess that doesn’t make sense.” She paused, her voice lowering. “There has to be some kind of logic. Nothing ever happens without a reason.”
Across from her, Felix considered her words, his mechanical fingers tapping a slow rhythm on his knee. “Well, you left out one small detail, Ava. We died.”
She scoffed, the frustration pushing through her voice. “Thats not the point. The point is, here we are, very much alive—or something close to it. And the further point is, why us? There’s nothing special that ties us together. The only connection we share is… death. But that doesn’t explain why we ended up here.”
Felix’s brow furrowed, his gaze drifting momentarily as if calculating invisible blueprints in the air. “It’s a connection, though, let's not dismiss that. Death in some cultures…is a transition. We were on one path, cut short, and only to be brought here. Think about it. If these gods that Mirabelle are real, perhaps then it was a redirection.”
Ava’s mouth tightened. She prided herself on her ability to make sense of things, to dissect events and analyze them into manageable pieces. But here, in this bizarre world of magic, and myth, her usual methods were failing her. Even her ethereal body she woke up in, with its ghastly wraith form made no sense. She glanced down at her hand again, the ethereal light casting an unnatural glow. Her body felt foreign.
“Nothing in this place operates on logic,” she muttered, her gaze drifting back to Felix. “It operates on rules we don't understand. And that scares me. If I’m honest. I can’t stand not knowing.”
“So you're telling me you're not even a little curious?” Felix teased, though his voice softened as he studied her. “After all, you’re quite the puzzle-solver.”
She huffed, trying to shake off her frustration. “Puzzles come with instructions and solutions Felix. This… this just is chaos.”
A faint smile played at the corner of Felix’s mouth. “Maybe it’s structured chaos, like an architectural design left half-complete, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. Or perhaps this world is more like an intricate dream, where every step creates new paths that follow unspoken rules.”
Ava raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a poetic way to say ‘we don’t know a damn thing,’ Felix.”
His smile widened, almost imperceptibly. “Then why not start somewhere? You’re trying to analyze this world as though it were Earth, but what if it follows a completely different framework? We’re dealing with a construct where myth and reality blend. It reminds me of old cathedrals—architects carved gargoyles and saints into every corner, not because they were logical, but to ward off spirits and make people feel protected. Could we be dealing with a world built on similar… intangible rules?”
Ava considered this, her frustration softening. “So you’re saying this world could be held together by beliefs, not laws?”
Felix shrugged. “Possibly. Though, frankly, I haven’t worked out the details yet,” he admitted with a smirk. “But if artists and architects for centuries could create worlds to protect people’s spirits, why couldn’t this place exist on something more… ethereal than hard rules?”
Ava let out a long breath, the knot in her chest loosening just slightly. It was strange, but somehow, his words resonated. “It sounds plausible. But then, where do we fit in? Are we meant to be pieces within the architecture, or merely observers of it?”
She looked up at him, half-challenging, half-hopeful. He met her gaze, thoughtful. “Maybe a bit of both. If this were a blueprint, we’d need to understand not only how to fit into it, but also how to step outside and see the structure as a whole.”
She scoffed lightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You make it sound almost romantic, this idea of understanding it all.”
“Says the woman who can summon shadows,” he replied with a subtle, knowing smile.
She narrowed her eyes, but a small laugh escaped her, and she quickly stifled it. It was maddening, the way he could both ground her and make her laugh in such absurd moments. But the warmth was fleeting, and her mind returned to the ever-present mystery that weighed on them.
“Do you remember the agents from the Seven Houses?” Felix’s tone turned quieter as he shifted in his seat, glancing at the doorway as if expecting someone to eavesdrop. “The ones that slipped through the barrier? The aura they had… it was unlike anything I’d ever seen or felt.” He lowered his voice further. “Mirabelle mentioned they shouldn’t have been able to break through. That’s a serious structural weakness, Ava. It’s not just magic; it’s… selective. Calculated.”
Her mind churned over this memory, a scientific instinct bristling within her. “Agents able to bypass a supposedly impenetrable barrier…” She ran a hand through her hair, frustration sharpening her gaze. “It reminds me of controlled failure points. In architecture, certain areas are designed to yield under stress to protect the rest of the structure. But if that’s true, then what purpose does this breach serve?”
“It could be a manipulation,” Felix said, his voice just above a whisper, eyes distant. “An engineered flaw, perhaps, meant to force certain outcomes.” His tone became slightly more charged. “Or a test.”
She was quiet for a moment, her mind reeling with possibilities. “And then there’s the ritual itself,” she said, glancing up. “We’ve been here a day, and I’m still trying to understand why. If this were a deliberate summoning, why us? There’s no logic in that.”
Felix sighed, shrugging. “We died, Ava. I think that’s the starting point. We’re dealing with entities that transcend our understanding of life and death. Who’s to say this place isn’t a parallel realm?”
She mulled over his words. “There was research—real research, I mean—on life after death, cases of near-death experiences.” She met his eyes. “Theories that consciousness could exist independently of the body. Some neuroscientists, like Dr. Sam Parnia, have researched it for years, but nothing ever fully explained what happens after the heart stops.”
“Yet, here we are,” Felix replied, his tone almost amused. “Our very presence could upend those theories, wouldn’t you say?”
Ava’s mind surged with possibilities, grounding her thoughts in scientific reasoning. “Let’s theorize. We’re facing anomalies to our original nature. This includes a mix of humans that aren't like the ones from earth, coupled with God forbid creatures and non-human forces. Then you have what they called the Seven Houses, to magic like Mirabelle’s magic. And we even have these marks on us. They’re intricate, but they seem to act like power conduits or enhancements… something.” She gestured to the faint markings on her arm, frustration spilling over. “Do you think they’re remnants of whatever pulled us here?”
Felix’s gaze shifted toward his own arm. “If I were building a mechanism, I’d incorporate fail-safes, redundancies,” he said, almost musing aloud. “Maybe these marks are a way to bind us to this world’s magic. Or worse, they’re a way to monitor us, to manipulate our actions.”
Ava smirked at the thought. “Another layer of manipulation,” she muttered. “Do you think we’re their pawns?”
He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Is it so wrong to think we might have some freedom within the strings?”
She huffed, glancing back at the doorway, as if the agents from the Seven Houses might still be lurking just beyond.“Then we start with the magic—the raw essence of it. We analyze it, break it down, and find the rules that govern it.”
Felix raised a brow. “You speak as though you can hold magic under a microscope.”
Ava’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Who says I won’t try?”
Felix’s gaze turned distant, the soft whir of machinery echoing as his limbs adjusted in thought.
“So something struck me as we've been here. This city, it's people, I've oticed some similarities to our myths and folklore. Hell even the art. So what if this place is more of a mirror or linked in a way? What if it reflects things Earth artists, writers, creators—whatever—drew upon without knowing, like some kind of unconscious tether?” His voice lowered, contemplative. “It would explain the familiarity, wouldn’t it? It’s like our world has always glimpsed fragments of Aetheria without ever realizing it.”
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A parallel plane?” Her scientific mind latched onto the concept, even if every fiber of her rational thought resisted. “The physics of that—multiverse theory, perhaps. There would have to be a stable, underlying connection between the two planes for influence to seep through. But that only hypothetical. We have no evidence. ” She tapped her chin, almost wistful. “But if that's the case then, we're back where we started. Why call us here now?”
“So hypothetical, if it's exactly as Mirabelle said, and the gods brought us here—or rather, that the gods bet on us. What gods would wager their world on newcomers with no attachment, no understanding of this place?”
He arched a brow. “The capricious kind, apparently.”
Ava smirked at this, letting the hint of humor relieve her tension for a moment.
They held each other’s gaze, a shared intensity that flickered like an unspoken challenge. She didn’t mind the subtle undercurrent of flirtation that swirled between them, though she’d never admit it. In the strange and hostile world of Aetheria, Felix’s sharpness, his ability to balance both logic and a strange human warmth, kept her anchored.
But then her thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the weight of their reality, the corrupted soldiers, the agents breaching what Mirabelle said was their protective barrier around the city. Then a thought struck her.
“The corruption we saw earlier—those soldiers,” she said, bringing her voice down even more. “You think it’s like a contagion?”
“Maybe,” he answered thoughtfully. “Or something engineered. Whatever it is, it’s targeting. I just wish we knew what.”
Ava paused, glancing at the symbols she’d etched on the wall with her wraith energy. She let out a soft sigh, feeling the weight of their conversation settle around them. “We can’t sit and wait for more answers. We have to act, even if it means getting our hands dirty.”
“Good thing I’m used to that,” Felix replied, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
She felt a strange warmth at his words. In all of this uncertainty, his steadiness, his confidence, was a relief. Perhaps the only relief she’d felt since waking up in this bewildering, terrifying place. “So… we move forward,” she murmured, not quite asking, but seeking his confirmation.
“One way or another, but we aren't going to figure it all out at once, not tonight at least.” he replied, a flicker of resolve in his gaze.
“Then let’s at least end tonight with outlining what we do know.” She raised her hand and, with a wraithlike swirl, traced a glowing line against the wall, marking points to emphasize her thoughts.
“One: the ritual failed and called us instead of the champion they meant to summon. Two: Mirabelle and the heralds believe the Seven Houses or the Gods were involved with being gere.” Her eyes flicked to him. “Three: Everlight is missing, and the Last Bastion’s barrier is starting to flicker and fail. And four—” her voice tightened, “the corruption seems to be intentional and created. Maybe a contagion. Anything else I'm missing?”
Felix stood, crossing to join her at the wall, his face with a smirk “You forgot we died, and everything we knew is thrown out the window. That and magic. But you know, those are small details.”
Ava allowed a rare smile to surface, and she pushed back the tension just long enough to quip, “Yes of course, how could I forget."
After a final shared glance, she broke away, dissipating the markings on the wall with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Goodnight, Felix. Get some rest—we’re going to need all the clarity we can get.”
Ava stood, feeling the exhaustion of the day weighing on her shoulders.
“Right.” Felix watched her as she left, the faintest shadow of a smile lingering.
Felix met her eyes, his own softened, though his usual composed expression remained. “Good night, Ava,” he replied, his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he turned back to the scattered notes they’d drawn across the wall. She almost wondered if he’d stay up the entire night, dissecting the details and filling in the gaps. In a way, it was reassuring to know that he was as lost in this strange puzzle as she was—and that he wouldn’t stop searching for answers.
He turned and stood there a moment, watching the now-empty wall where their debate had been etched. Ava herself turned towards the doorway, where she would make her way back to the room she was sharing with Mirabelle tonight.
She slipped into the dim hallway, letting her footsteps fall softly on the cool stone. The lodge’s quiet was oddly comforting, the low hum of magic thrumming through the walls like a heartbeat. As she made her way back toward her room, her mind drifted through their conversation, examining each piece they had turned over.
Magic. Corruption. The agents from the Seven Houses.
The memory of those agents reappeared with sudden clarity, their imposing presence, the weight of their gaze bearing down on her in the Grand Hall. Even now, the thought sent a chill down her spine. How could anything, anyone, wield such power without a clear design? And if those agents could breach the supposed boundaries of the Bastion, what other cracks lay in wait?
The magic here—she still couldn’t fully accept it. As a scientist, magic defied every rule, every formula she’d ever known. She raised her hand, watching the faint wisps of wraith light spiral around her fingers, twisting and curling like a living thing. She’d always believed that understanding came from testing, from observation, but how did one observe something that was part of themselves?
If I only had my equipment, I could study these things.
Lost in thought, she barely noticed Whisker’s door as she passed, but a slight rustle from within caught her attention pulling her from her thoughts. She paused, glancing through the narrow crack of Whisker and Tanaka’s door, as curiosity got the better of her.
The room was dark but for the faintest glow from a high wall lamp casting uneven light on Whisker’s bed, where he lay sprawled, his small form curled as though still clinging to the instincts of a former life. He shifted, his body twisting and turning, fists clenched around his sheets, sweat beading and glistening on his brow. His breaths were shallow, almost frantic, escaping in short, pained gasps.
Ava’s lips pressed together in a slight frown.
What does a raccoon dream of? Scraps of food? Shadows in alleyways?
But the rhythm of his movements held something... different. His hands clutched at the sheets, fingers clawing into the fabric as though warding off some unseen danger, his brow creased with an expression closer to fear than discomfort.
Her eyes narrowed. Then, from the corner of her vision, she saw something move—a thin line of shadow, slithering from under the bed frame. She blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks, only for the shadows to stretch upward, reaching toward Whisker like tendrils, slowly wrapping around the edge of the bed, then drifting closer toward him, curling, pulsing. She couldn’t pull her gaze away; the shadows seemed alive, more than a trick of the dim light, slipping over his form as though feeding on his fear.
Ava took a step back, instinctively.
What is this?
Her heart thudded against her ribcage, a chill rolling over her even as her logical mind tried to grasp at an explanation.
Exhaustion. You’re seeing things. That’s all.
But the shadows persisted, creeping, their darkness pooling until they encircled him completely.
Then, as she blinked, they vanished, leaving only the faint glow of the wall lamp casting a gentle halo around his restless form.
Her breath stilled, her eyes searching the room, half-expecting the shadows to reappear.
It was nothing.
She told herself firmly, forcing her mind back to reason.
Just shadows, moving in the dim. A product of exhaustion.
They’d only arrived here a day ago. Not even that, really. Between waking up in their strange bodies, the horrors they’d witnessed, and everything they’ve experienced in this city, this world. he knew her mind wasn’t immune to tricks.
It’s so hard to believe it’s only been a day.
Even as she continued down the hall, unease lingered, winding itself around her thoughts. But by the time she reached her own room, exhaustion dulled its edges, and the faint remnants of logic began to take hold.
Mirabelle was already there, quietly folding a shawl, her gaze distant and pensive, but she glanced up at Ava and offered a slight nod.
Ava met her gaze, hesitated, then opened her mouth, ready to share the moment she’d witnessed.
Everlight must still be on her mind.
As she slipped into bed, Mirabelle’s eyes narrowed slightly, as she sensed the shift in Ava. “Something wrong, Ava?”
She paused, glancing down at her translucent hand, watching faint wraith light curl around her fingers as her scientific mind struggled to make sense of it.
It was nothing.
She assured herself.
Just the shadows. Just a trick of light.
But as she climbed into bed, her gaze drifted toward the door one last time, and a whisper of doubt curled through her mind.
Then as though the doubt was taking form there was a scream from down the hall.
Dammit.
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