"Morada…" I murmured, staring down in shock.

Every molecule in my body froze as the name slipped from my lips. It was as if time stood still, as if the beating rain outside had grown quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Morada. The countenance of the girl in my arms hung in the air like a haunting echo.

A swirl of deep blues, purples, subtle greens, and blacks, she was like a walking nebula - distant and mysterious. But the girl I held now was a far cry from that image. Her clothes were in tatters. The layers of delicate lace and silk, the intricate embroidery, the bows and ribbons - all shredded, ripped, and stained.

The makeup she painstakingly applied to create an otherworldly charm was streaked across her face, smeared by rain and tears. Her usually sharp and vibrant eyes were dulled, staring at me in a silent plea. I saw desperation, exhaustion, fear - all in her glassy eyes that were barely conscious.

My mind was spinning, questions and worries whirling around like a tornado. She was a magical girl and had just been across the world. Yet here she was, collapsed in my arms, injured and unconscious.

"Help me get her inside. Quickly!” I shouted, turning around.

Carrie was the first to react, rushing over to help me support Morada. Together, we managed to lift her up and slowly make our way into the house. We laid her down gently on the couch, her body limp. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to her skin, the elaborate layers doing little to keep the chill out. Her lips were blue from the cold, and I could feel her body shivering under my hands.

"We need to get her dry and warm," I said, grabbing a blanket from a nearby chair and draping it over her.

Natasha had moved from her seat, inching closer to the couch. Her hands were clasped together, knuckles white. "Is she… will she be okay?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened?”

"I... I don't know, Natasha," I replied truthfully. I didn't have answers, just a heavy heart and a mind racing with fear.

I crouched down beside Morada, taking her cold hand in mine, the chill seeping into my bones. I gently squeezed her hand, a futile attempt to provide some semblance of comfort.

"Hey, please stay with us," I whispered, brushing a loose lock of hair from her face.

There was a quiet desperation in my voice that echoed in the silence of the room. She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal glazed eyes. "Hey Ikki… didja miss me?" she breathed, her voice frail and barely audible.

"She needs help, Ikki," Carrie murmured, her voice shaky. "More than we can provide."

I glanced up at her, “Could you heal her? With magic?”

Carrie’s purple eyes focused on Morada, scanning her for any severe injuries. Even amidst the chaos, Carrie seemed to be in her element, the smug and haughty demeanor I associated with her replaced with a mask of determination and focus.

She shook her head, “Unfortunately not. My family’s art specializes in the concept of Emptiness. It’s practically antithetical to physical healing arts.”

"Then we'll just have to do what we can until Talia gets here," I said, my gaze dropping back to Morada. My heart was pounding in my chest, and the room suddenly felt too warm, too constricting. I swallowed my fear, and quickly pulled out my phone, sending out a text message to Talia to let her know what happened.

We worked quickly and efficiently, retrieving towels, hot water, antiseptics, bandages, anything we could think of that could help. We tried to clean her up as best we could, treating her cuts and scrapes, trying to stop the bleeding.

Natasha, despite the anxiety in her eyes, was a natural. Her hands didn't shake, her voice remained steady, and her mind was sharp. She cleaned and bandaged Morada's wounds with more precision than I would have ever expected. Natasha had clearly undergone first aid training at some point.

Carrie was surprisingly helpful as well. She fetched things for us, helped keep Morada steady as we worked, and handed us towels and bandages. Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear and focused.

We managed to clean up Morada's wounds and get her into a pair of Midori's dry clothes. She looked less like a war victim and more like the Morada we knew.

She wasn't conscious anymore, her energy completely drained. But she was breathing and her color seemed better. Her features had relaxed a little, the lines of pain smoothed out. We draped another blanket over her, trying to keep her warm.

We all settled around Morada, the tension in the room morphing into a suffocating silence. Outside, the rain still drummed against the windowpanes, a somber lullaby for the weary. The warmth of the room did little to fend off the cold dread settling in our hearts.

As I watched Natasha leaning against the armrest, her eyes glued to Morada's face, I felt a knot in my stomach. There was something about the way she watched Morada. Her face was composed, almost emotionless, but her eyes were wide and vacant.

"Hey, Natasha," I began, my voice hoarse. "You alright?"

Natasha turned to me, blinking slowly. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Just... surprised. And overwhelmed. Is she a?"

It seemed like she was about to say ‘A Magical Girl’, but cut herself off before the words could escape her lips. There was a question in her eyes, but it was one she seemed unwilling, or perhaps too scared, to voice. Natasha was intelligent; she had no doubt started to piece together the puzzle.

She was less of a doofus than me, at least.

There was a long silence. Natasha continued to watch Morada, her expression unreadable. I could see the gears turning in her head, the pieces falling into place.

I saw her mouth something silently as her eyes widened in realization.

And then, she turned to me, her expression thoughtful, yet wary. "Ikki," she started, her voice inquisitive and quiet. "Why… Why are you so involved with magical girls?"

For a moment, I was taken aback. That was not the question I had been expecting. "Well…" I began, but I wasn't sure how to answer. How could I explain the bond I had formed with Midori, Talia, and the others?

"I don't know. It just happened after the Chaos Event with the dragon, I guess," I finally replied, shrugging my shoulders. "But they're my friends and I care about them. I want to help them, however I can. That goes for you as well, Natasha."

Natasha was silent, taking in my answer with a thoughtful expression.

"I see," she finally murmured, her gaze still fixed on Morada's unconscious form.

Carrie had been quiet, listening to our exchange. She was sitting on the floor next to the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looked… contemplative.

"Friends, huh?" she finally muttered, breaking the silence. Her voice was almost inaudible, drowned by the persistent rhythm of the rain outside. "How bizarre that you managed that in spite of all of my nonsense.”

Her words hung in the air, laced with a hint of bitterness, of regret. Carrie was a contradiction, a puzzle that I had never managed to solve. On one hand, she was the bully who made Natasha's life miserable for the last three years, the girl who lived for power and control. Yet, on the other hand, she was the girl who had just saved Natasha's life, who was now sitting in a room with two of her supposed enemies, helping out without a word of complaint.

I turned to her, studying her for a moment. The soft light cast long shadows on her face, deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth, and turning her hair into a tangled mass of dark silk. She looked older, more vulnerable. And I realized that, for the first time, I was seeing Carrie without her protective armor, without the persona of the bully she used to wear like a mask. This was Carrie at her core.

"Yeah well, you and your friends might have ironically pushed that along," I finally said.

She scoffed, a sound devoid of any humor. "They were never my friends, Ikki. They were minions, pawns. They feared me, respected my power, but they never cared about me. Whether it’s at school, or with my family’s work. And I... I never cared about them. "

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For a moment, she fell silent, her gaze dropping to her hands. Her fingers were fumbling with a loose thread on her sweater, her movements almost mechanical. "I… I haven’t had friends in a while," she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not real ones, at least. My brother has it worse — but at least I have Eleni and Chelsea, but I’ve never really let them in either. It's… it's lonely at the top, you know?"

There was an honesty in her words that I had never heard before. It was raw, painful, and heartbreakingly vulnerable. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.

Carrie's confession hung in the air, a stark contrast to the carefully crafted persona she had initially presented me. Her eyes looked tired, weighed down by something much deeper than physical fatigue. They held a kind of sadness that didn't quite match her usually smug demeanor. It was a side of Carrie I hadn't seen before, a side she hid behind a mask of superiority and arrogance. The ruthless bully, the girl who used her power to manipulate and control others, was revealing a side of her that was almost… human.

"But what you have with your friends here and... Natasha," she paused, hesitating over the name, "it's different. It's... real. Genuine. You care about each other, you rely on each other."

There was a bitterness in her voice, a regret that seemed to weigh heavily on her. Natasha shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name but didn't speak up. I watched Carrie, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl. For all her faults and cruelty, she was still just a girl, lost and alone in a world she barely understood.

A girl who made mistakes, who had regrets, who was scared of what the future held. I didn't forget or forgive her past actions, but I found myself understanding her a bit more.

"I'm sorry, Carrie," I said, my words sincere.

"Sorry?" she echoed, a puzzled expression on her face. "Why are you sorry?

"I'm sorry you've been lonely. That you've felt the need to push people away or control them. It must've been difficult," I replied.

She fell silent, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Save your pity, Ikki," she muttered after a moment, her gaze dropping back to her hands. "I made my own choices."

"You did," I agreed, looking back at her. "But it doesn't mean you can't change or do better now. It's never too late to try, Carrie."

Natasha suddenly chimed in. "You saved me, Carrie," she said, her voice soft but steady. She looked at Carrie, her eyes filled with a multitude of emotions.

I saw surprise, confusion, but also... gratitude?

"I... I won't forget that," she continued, a small, tentative smile on her lips. "So... thank you."

Carrie's eyes widened, her gaze flickering to Natasha. I saw her face soften, a subtle change, a tiny shift in the hard line of her jaw, in the furrow of her brows.

"You're welcome, Natasha," she replied, her voice surprisingly soft.

Just then, the door opened, revealing Talia. She was drenched, rain dripping from her hair and clothes. But her eyes were sharp and alert, her usual calm demeanor replaced with urgency. Her vibrant silver hair clung to her face and neck, hereyes wide with fear and concern. She shook off her coat, her gaze immediately falling on Morada.

"I got your message, Ikki," she said, walking in and closing the door behind her. "What happened? How is Morada?"

"We...we don't know," I admitted, gesturing towards Morada on the couch. "She was like this when she showed up. We cleaned her wounds, but..."

Talia's gaze moved to Morada, her eyes scanning her form. "What a mess," she murmured, moving towards the couch. "Let me see what I can do."

She lifted her hand, palm upward, her fingers curling in an intricate gesture, and began to recite a chant beneath her breath. The words held power, resonating within the room, a tangible force that caused the air to throb with energy.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped wide in alarm.

"Wait, no... No," she murmured, her eyes filled with panic as they met mine. "Morada's vitals are critical. She’s lost nearly a liter of blood and her organs are shutting down.”

The words punched me like a gut blow, and I tasted bile. The room spun, as a cold knot of dread twisted in my stomach. My mind was screaming for it to be a mistake, for Talia's spell to be wrong.

Talia's face was a study in conflict, a storm beneath the surface of her eyes. "I'm going to try something," she said finally, her voice firm despite the uncertainty that clouded her features.

The magic danced around her, crackling with unseen energy, an aurora borealis in our drab, dread-filled room. The air grew thick, heavy with the unspoken tension, a tangible entity that seemed to seep into our bones and squeeze our hearts. This was no ordinary spell. It was something far more potent, far more dangerous.

Carrie suddenly tensed with alarm and hastily moved forward, grabbing Talia’s arm mid-cast. "Wait!" she snapped. "The spell you're using—it’s—" She seemed to reconsider her words, glancing at Natasha and me.

Talia jerked her arm free, her deep blue eyes blazing in irritation. "I know what I'm doing, Carrie," she retorted, her gaze fixed on Morada. "She needs help, now!"

"I'm aware, but the strain of a spell like that could have long term consequences," Carrie warned, her voice surprisingly steady.

A thick silence filled the room. The weight of Carrie's words seemed to linger, the undercurrent of danger echoing ominously. Carrie and Talia's eyes met in a silent standoff, tension crackling between them.

For a moment, Talia seemed taken aback, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right," she admitted quietly, opening her eyes to meet Carrie's. "But she is a dear friend and the danger to her is immediate. The magic...it is costly, yes, but it is also her best chance. It is not the first time I will use it, nor the last."

With that, she turned her focus back to Morada, resuming her incantation. It was an old language, one that made the air around us feel heavy with power, thrumming in rhythm with her words. The words flowed around us, slipping through the cracks of the mundane world to tap into something much older, something that defied the cold logic of reality.

As the chant continued, Talia's hands moved in a dance, tracing the shapes of ancient symbols in the air. Faint lines of light traced her movements, forming the complex geometries of the spell.

Her chant was deep and ancient, something from a forgotten epoch. The kind of thing you could feel in your gut, feel in the marrow of your bones.

She traced a symbol in the air — looked like a stylized eye surrounded by seven stars, each star a different size.

Talia's body trembled as she pulled more magic from within, as if drawing on a wellspring of her very life force. Her eyes blazed with an inner fire, determination burning brightly as she threw everything she had into the spell.

Her chant grew louder, her voice resonating with a power that made the room shudder in response.

"Nabu Luli Gula..." she muttered, her voice booming ethereally as her eyes glowed an eerie silver.

The words were like a gust of warm desert wind, familiar, yet alien, filling the room with a powerful energy. The aura around her pulsed, a vibrant kaleidoscope of colors that danced in the air around Morada's body. The language she used was ancient, and i felt them in my very bones. It was a language of creation, of healing, a remnant of an era long gone and forgotten.

Then, she brought her hands down, the magic swirling and converging onto Morada. The air crackled, and for a moment, everything went white. I squinted, shielding my eyes against the sudden onslaught of light.

When the brilliance subsided, Morada's body glowed with a soft, ethereal light. It pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, a gentle beacon in the gloom of the room. Talia stepped back, swaying on her feet, the expended magic and exhaustion taking its toll.

Talia let out a breath she'd been holding, staggering back a step, her face pale and drawn. The cost of the spell was evident, the expenditure of energy had taken its toll. She stood there, hunched over slightly, breathing heavily.

"I've... done what I can," she said, her voice soft and shaky. "But it's not over. She needs proper rest." The last word seemed to echo in the silence that followed.

Her eyes were glassy, and she looked exhausted, but there was a faint smile of relief on her lips.

Talia finally collapsed, the strain of the spell evidently too much for her to bear. Carrie caught her before she hit the floor, her arms supporting the silver-haired girl. Natasha and I rushed forward to help, but Carrie waved us off.

"Idiot..." Carrie muttered, a surprising tenderness in her voice. "Just let her sleep it off, I guess."

Talia's unconscious form lay limp in Carrie's arms. Her face was pale, drained of all color. But even in her unconscious state, she looked serene, a sense of calmness enveloping her like a halo.

I shifted my gaze back to Morada, and to my surprise, I noticed a faint fluttering of her eyelids.

"Guys," I called, my voice choked with hope and anxiety. "I think Morada's coming around."

We all turned our attention back to Morada, watching as her eyes blinked open. They were hazy, unfocused, but they held a glimmer of consciousness. She winced, bringing a shaky hand up to her forehead, where a large bruise had started to form.

"Wha… what happened?" she mumbled, her voice weak but audible. Her gaze traveled the room slowly, taking in the sight of us.

We all waited with bated breaths, Carrie still holding onto the unconscious Talia, Natasha standing nearby, her expression one of mixed relief and concern.

"Morada," I called, gently placing a hand on her arm. "You're safe. You're with us now."

Her gaze finally landed on me, and she gave me a weak nod of acknowledgment, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. Her eyes traveled to Natasha and Carrie, confusion painting her face.

"Natasha? Carrie? What... why are you here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her brows furrowed, her gaze traveling back to me, confusion etched deeply in her features. "Ikki… something went wrong... we had… we were…"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes drooped in exhaustion. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment before a hoarse whisper escaped her mouth.

"One of... we had." Morada whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyelids fluttered, threatening to close, her face pale and sweat-drenched. "A traitor... we had a traitor. She..."

And then, with those words echoing ominously in the room, Morada's eyes closed again, her body falling limp as unconsciousness claimed her.

The room was plunged into a stifling silence, the only sound the patter of rain against the windows.

I was struck speechless.

A traitor? Among us? Among my friends? Morada's words hung in the air like a guillotine blade, casting a long, dark shadow over us. I looked around the room, meeting the shocked expressions of Carrie and Natasha. This couldn't be true, could it?

As the rain continued to fall outside, my mind raced with Morada's shocking declaration. A traitor among us. The words felt surreal, yet ominously real.

Trust, it seemed, had just become a much more complicated concept.