In the days of their might, the Jaldehim, having enthroned themselves shapers of life, deemed themselves akin to the gods. Their pride soared higher than the clouds, and their works grew ever more daring, ever more reckless, until their folly disturbed the Balance of Creation. Long had the Four Divine Elements warned of their wrath, should this taboo be breached, and at last, their patience was spent.

Thus came the Cataclysm, a doom beyond all mortal reckoning. The heavens burned with Fire unending, the Water of the sky and seas surged in wrathful deluge, the Earth heaved and cracked, and the Winds howled with the fury of gods betrayed. For countless aeons, the world was riven and tormented, and the Jaldehim, whether noble or vile, were swept away to the last. Not even Pama, beloved of Shanmu, was spared.

Shanmu, the gentle World Tree, Ancestor of our kind, was stricken with grief so profound that he rejoined the wooden envelope he once shed to share the days of his beloved, never to return. Yet even in his sorrow, he shielded his children, wrapping us in the canopy of his power, so that we might weather the storm.

The other peoples of the world bore the gods’ trials as they could. The Dwarves, hardy and stubborn, delved deep into the bones of the earth, digging fortresses near the heart of the world where no fire nor flood could reach. The Orcs, long imprisoned upon the High Steppes by the will of the Elements, found their isolation turned to blessing, for the quakes of the Cataclysm shattered their bonds and opened paths to the world below. The Merfolk, in their ocean depths, suffered least, though the tides above churned with fury.

But the Sphinges, who had lent their cunning to the Jaldehim’s blasphemy, were not spared. The gods stripped them of their wisdom and majesty, casting them down to wander as beasts bereft of speech or reason.

As for the Human race, they had grown numerous in the shadow of the Jaldehim. When the storms of divine vengeance fell, though diminished to but a fraction of their former host, they endured. From the ashes of a ruined land, they built anew, founding realms and kingdoms on the rubble of their former masters’ hubris, though doomed to repeat it.

And so, the Age of Gods and Magic, the Age of the Jaldehim, ended, their foul memory etched in the scars of the earth and in the sorrow of Shanmu, who even now, in the long twilight of the world, grieves for the wife and kindred he could not save.

–extract from Chronicles of a Bygone Autumn, original author unknown, translated from Elvish by Orlan L. Turner, circa 500 BK.

-

Remembrance 15, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Grey Woods

Five days after Flynt’s attack, the children entered the forest at dawn. They had told their parents they would gather firewood, roots and winter berries—and they would. But the real purpose of this outing was the start of Sarmin’s magic training.

Truth be told, Kaydence was uneasy about this whole affair. Using magic unsettled her enough—let alone teaching it. And how could she? How dared she? What qualifications did she have? Having extraordinary power did not make someone a master of the craft, a teacher even less.

Even the sharpest of swords did not know how to forge steel.

Magic aside, Kaydence hated leaving her mother’s side so soon after the attack. But a promise was a promise—even one she already regretted. Maybe I should have dropped that twig down the cliff… She sighed, brushing a low branch out of her way.

Excuses. It all sounded like excuses to her. In truth, Kaydence had rapidly grown stir-crazy after days spent cooped up inside, watching over her mother. Stalking Greyport’s dark alleys during Annet’s night shifts at the One-Eyed Bear hardly scratched her itch—not when she was used to spending two-thirds of her day outside. She needed air. Space. Solitude to brood in peace.

And their current “houseguest” was not helping her mental state either.

The red pixie—“Sparki”—had apparently decided to extend their visit indefinitely. Annet, of course, was positively delighted to house the little menace. Kaydence, not so much. But since she could find no proof of tampering in her mother’s mind, so long as the horrible pest’s presence comforted Annet after her ordeal, Kaydence lacked the heart to forcefully evict it.

…Even if every second spent sharing space with that insufferable, glittery, petty nightmare creature gave Kaydence fantasies of fairycide.

Therefore, when Lenril offered to watch over Annet for the day, Kaydence shamefully jumped on the opportunity. Annet herself had all but shoved her hovering daughter out the door.

“K-K-Kay?” A timid stutter behind her broke through the girl’s brooding. “Are you s-sure this isn’t d-d-dangerous? We’ve walked p-p-pretty far…”

“We’ve not left the wards yet. Stop mewling,” Kaydence growled without turning. “You’ll never be a mage with that attitude.” She trudged ahead through the snow. Despite the biting cold, she looked unbothered, wearing little more than a thin tunic.

Sarmin scurried close behind her. In contrast to his surly, burly, bronze-skinned friend, the tiny Half-Elf was bundled tight inside a thick fur coat and multiple layers of scarves, making him look like a waddling fluffball. Only his wide green eyes, flushed forehead, and a stray tuft of blond curls peeked from beneath his deer-horned hood.

Around them, the hushed stillness of winter blanketed the woods. Beasts slumbered deep in their burrows, birds had migrated to warmer shores, and any fluttering greenery had long since withered away. The pale dawn light filtered obliquely through the Grey Ash Trees’ skeletal limbs, whose crooked weave cast faint, undulating shadows on the white-powdered ground.

In the distant sky far above, thin clouds raced west, toward the imperial mainland.

The wood’s air was crisp, its breeze sharp, and it carried off the children’s fogged breath as quickly as it formed. Frozen leaves crunched under their boots, hidden beneath the snow, while the faint whispers of the wind seemed to murmur secrets through the swaying branches.

Kaydence did not mind the quiet.

Yet, after a too-short spell of blissful silence, Sarmin’s scarf-muffled voice intruded again.

“What hap-p-pened to F-Flynt… after?”

Crack.

The low branch Kaydence was pushing away snapped.

“Don’t–” Kaydence stopped herself and drew a shuddering breath. Ephemeral red glyphs flickered around her in time with her exhale, hissing in contact with the frigid air. The snow beneath her boots melted to a sludge, and the branch in her grasp crumbled to cinders.

Forcing her grip to loosen, the girl resumed her trek. “Don’t know,” she answered curtly, still not turning. “Couldn’t find him.”

Not for lack of trying, either. Kaydence had spent every moment away from her mother hunting down the bastard. She had searched everywhere—his home, his family’s houses, the City Guard’s usual haunts, every shadowy corner and filthy ditch she could think of.

But the man seemed to have simply… vanished, like smoke slipping through her fingers.

Not that she believed he was gone for good, or that the fairy pest had actually vaporised him. It was never so easy to kill such a cockroach. Flynt was still out there—her gut told her so.

“It’s g-good that you d-din’t k-k-kill him.”

This time, Kaydence’s head whipped around, her wild hair framing a single crimson eye that gleamed like molten iron. Its pupil, now a razor-thin vertical slit, bore into him. “What did you say?”

Sarmin froze. His heart lodged itself in his throat, and a ghostly prickle skittered up his spine.

The light, icy breeze shifted, suddenly hot and suffocating, like the exhale of some hellish beast, breathing inches from his face. The icicles dangling from low boughs above his head suddenly seemed like the jagged fangs of a great maw—poised to snap shut on his frail neck. At the edges of his vision, the shadows of the forest warped, swelling into a black form too vast to fathom. It lurked, just out of sight—but Sarmin dared not turn away to look.

The shivers wracking his body now had nothing to do with the cold.

“I-I-I-I m-meant–”

“Watch your tongue, boy.” Kaydence’s growl echoed unnaturally, layered in deep, rumbling tones. “I’m in no mood for your self-righteous lectures. So think well before you speak again.”

“N-N-No! That’s not what–” Sarmin’s voice cracked as he shrank back, his gloved hands waving in denial. “I d-d-don’t care what happens to him! He’s… he’s a b-bad guy. It’s just… Just...” His words faltered, and he dropped his gaze, suddenly fixated on the tips of his boots.

“Just what?” Kaydence snarled. “Spit it out! Or must I find a cliff to dangle you from whenever I want a clear answer out of you?” Her ruby eye narrowed spitefully. “And here I thought you’d finally grown a spine.”

“No! P-Please… no.” The boy swallowed nervously. “It’s just… you g-get scary when you talk about… that stuff. I d-d-don’t want you t-to get… scarier.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I don’t… l-like it.”

The girl scoffed.

“And y-you…” Again, he trailed off.

“I what?”

“You looked sad.”

Kaydence stared at him blankly. Sarmin was not meeting her gaze.

Tension cracked around them, the air itself seeming about to set ablaze.

“I-I-I’m sorry–”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

With a deep, weary sigh, Kaydence seemed to deflate. “…Whatever.” She blinked, and her pupil was round again, the transition so seamless Sarmin would be forgiven to think he had imagined it. The cold breeze returned, as if the forest was releasing the breath it had been holding, and the lurking darkness faded away. With one last unreadable glance, the girl turned away, brushing past another low branch and stalking off. “Hurry up. We’re almost there.”

Sarmin lingered in place momentarily, too stunned to move. Then, with a small yelp, he scrambled after her, realising he was already getting left behind.

“Ah-ah! W-Wait! Kay!”

* * *

As Kaydence had promised, they soon arrived.

Before them, amidst the whitened woods, loomed a dense wall of evergreen bushes. Though they appeared obviously wild, the bushes were strangely uniform in breadth, shape, and height, and evenly spaced in a perfect circle.

Without a word, the surly girl slipped through, leaving Sarmin to hurry after her.

The breeze vanished as the children crossed into a secluded clearing, perfectly encased inside the verdant hedge. The circular glade was forty paces across. It centred on a small hill crowned by a ring of weathered standing stones. Each stone had once stood at half a grown man’s height, but many were now cracked and toppled, their jagged edges peaking through the snow layer. A frozen brook coiled around the base of the hillock, its surface glinting faintly in the wan morning light. Beneath the ice, a quiet gurgle whispered, like a voice too soft to catch.

Kaydence silently climbed the mound and stopped at the ring’s edge. Kneeling by one of the fallen stones, she lightly swept off the snow, revealing the bare rock. Sarmin lingered at her heels, curious but unsure whether to speak up.

“It’s an old fairy ring,” Kaydence answered his unspoken question quietly. She sounded, not quite reverent, but somewhat melancholic. “Don’t worry,” she sighed, standing. “It’s broken. But there are a few minor ley lines crossing beneath here. That’ll be helpful later on.” She surveyed the clearing and gave a satisfied nod. “This’ll do.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Kaydence had led them farther from town than usual. It spared them having to watch out for patrols and wandering trappers—but exposed them to monster attacks. They were still within the limits of Greyport’s wards, but those were not an impenetrable barrier. The cost of enforcing a solid frontier over such a large perimeter would have been untenable.

Instead, the wards worked as a repellent, creating an oppressive aura that grew stronger the closer a monster ventured to its source. Near the city, the effect would be unbearable. But here on the fringes, a monster’s unquenchable thirst for mana—induced by their parasitic core—might push them through the discomfort. The fact that this clearing acted as a mana hot spot only compounded the risk.

However, Kaydence had not chosen this place just for its ley lines. She had come across it the other night while searching for the Spirit Spring, and since the fairies had settled further in this direction, they had pruned most of the local monster population. So, nothing truly dangerous should be lurking nearby.

And if something does? Well…

Kaydence could always use more monster cores.

“Err… K-Kay… You look kind of s-s-scary, right no–”

“Alright!” Kaydence cut him off with a sharp clap. She pulled from her belt the waterskin containing her hard-gotten gains and threw it at him. “Catch!”

Startled, the Half-Elf fumbled with the recipient, nearly dropping it before clutching it to his chest. “I’m not thirsty?” he said, confused. “I thought you were going to t-teach me magic?”

“I am,” Kaydence scoffed. “Against my better judgement. But if you’re going to question my methods before we even start… we can always…” She gestured back the way they came.

“N-N-No! I’m listening! I’m listening!” Sarmin waved nervously. The waterskin slipped from his grasp, but Kaydence’s hand shot out to catch it before it hit the snow.

“Careful, twig.” She pressed the leather bag roughly into his chest, making him stumble. “I sacrificed my dignity to fetch that stuff. So you treat it with the care it deserves, or your face meets the ground next. Understood?”

Sarmin nodded frantically, now hugging the waterskin like a mother held their newborn. Yet, despite multiple warnings, he could not help run his mouth again. “D-Do you mean your hair?”

“I told you! We are not discussing that!”

“Eeeep!” The tiny Half-Elf squeaked, shrinking into his coat like a turtle in its shell. “S-S-Sorry!”

Kaydence huffed, angrily blowing hair off her face, and squinted at a garish pink lock in her otherwise raven-black mane. Damn those pixies. Days later, the colour still mocked her efforts to remove or cover it. Dye slid right off. No spell she dared use worked. And even ripping the hair out at the root and regrowing it with magic only produced more bright, horrifying, unbearably pink.

Stupid fae magic. How ridiculous.

At least all the glitter was gone. Finally.

“Look,” she said. “Just… focus, okay? This stuff’s not easy to come by. Don’t make this a waste of my time. I’ve got better things to do.” She did not.

Sarmin nodded seriously—but then hesitated right away. “W-What… do I do with it?”

“You drink it, dummy.” Kaydence rolled her eyes. “Slowly. It’s got a bit of a kick. Ah, but don’t worry too much. I diluted it, so it shouldn’t burn a hole in your gut. Not a big one, anyway.”

“W-What?”

“Then you’ll try to feel the mana.”

“K-Kay, what was th-that about a ho-hole–”

“You’ll probably be at it for a while, so find a comfortable position.”

“Kay!” Sarmin protested, his frustrated pout half-hidden beneath his scarves.

“Yes?” Kaydence’s smirk did not quite reach her eyes.

“W-What if I c-can’t feel it?”

Kaydence’s smile melted off, and a scathing retort died on her lips. Looking into Sarmin’s anxious eyes, full of hopes and fears, she suddenly lost the desire to mess with the kid. Maybe it was because she could see how much this meant to him.

It meant a lot to her, too—for very different reasons.

As Seifer, learning magic had been akin to self-inflicted torture, a gruelling crucible riddled with gruesome injuries and mental distress, all to satisfy the impossible expectations of a cruel man who saw his sons as nothing but tools for his ambitions—all for that approval, and to win the affection of a man who had none to give.

In the end, Seifer killed that man with his own hands, his blade driven into that hard, cold, shrivelled heart.

Or perhaps it had all been about Kayden—the older sibling, the genius, the golden child who made everything seem effortless. Both brothers had been monsters in their own right. But where Kayden took to the sword, magic and academics like a fish to water, Seifer’s every achievement had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the jaws of failure through sheer will and self-destruction—through sweat, tears, and blood.

In the end, Kayden the Hero was the one who—once again—bested Zeipheron the Demon, bisecting his corrupted body and casting his fell soul into the future with a magic Kaydence could not begin to comprehend.

Every second of this new life was a slap in the face, reminding her of her inadequacies.

Even Seifer’s own mother had seen him as nothing more than a monster—an abomination of her cruel husband’s making, less than human, less than a beast, a naked blade, a bloody weapon. Just the sight of him had terrified her.

The only one who ever cared–

“Kay?”

The soft voice jolted her back to the present. Kaydence’s breath hitched as her chest tightened. She blinked, shaking off the useless memories.

Anyone Seifer had tried to help ended either dead—or worse.

She would not make the same mistakes.

Kaydence’s hand hesitated, then landed awkwardly on Sarmin’s head. She ruffled his hair through his hood. “You’re an Elf, twig. Chin up. You’ll do fine.”

“D-Dad is an Elf,” Sarmin corrected meekly. “I’m only half.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kaydence shrugged.

And it did not. Her words were not empty platitudes. Elves were the direct descendants of a god and a demigoddess—of Shanmu, the World Tree, and Pama of the Jaldehim. Magic ran thick through their veins, like sap, one might say. But Kaydence preferred to liken it to a parasitic weed, an invasive species that would spread everywhere if given the chance to grow.

In the first place, distinctions between so-called “Half-Elves” and purebloods were barely skin-deep: softer features, rounder eyes, shorter ears, and marginally briefer lifespans. And as a half-blood grew into their magic, those differences would naturally fade.

Nothing was ever “half-magical.”

Magic abhors a vacuum. It had been so since Arakhan, the Sea of Possibility, the Primordial Creation, and the source of all mana, had been locked in an endless struggle against Nu, the Void Incarnate, before the birth of Space and Time and the inception of Reality as it was today.

Sarmin’s mother might have been a mundane Human without any talent for magic, but that meant less than nothing. The boy’s potential was inevitable. Magic would awaken in him—it was only a matter of time. The only question was whether he would flourish alongside it, or become nutruient for its hungry roots.

Teaching him a solid, reliable foundation was the only course. It would hopefully steer him clear of the pitfalls that ensnared so many young mages—making him less of a threat to himself and everyone around him.

But Kaydence did not have to be the one to teach him.

The Radiant Empire tested the magic affinity of all its citizens. This “Appraisal” took place during the month of Flames—the third month of the year—and covered all children turning twelve by the first day of Enliven—the fourth month and the start of the scholastic year. Any child who tested positive was shipped off to a magic academy and underwent at least four cycles of mandatory training.

Mostly, this was to ensure they did not accidentally blow themselves up along with their family and neighbours. The empire liked to ensure any subsequent explosions were aimed squarely at its enemies.

Patriotic indoctrination aside, Kaydence begrudgingly respected the system. In Seifer’s time, those without a mentor were left to figure out their powers alone, creating countless accidents, rogue sorcerers, and a tragic waste of magic potential. Simply criminal, in Kaydence’s opinion. In those warring times—which historians now called the Shattered Era—even another handful of mages could have saved countless lives.

“Kay?”

Kaydence realised she had drifted off again. Meeting Sarmin’s worried, hopeful gaze, she huffed and flicked his forehead—hard. He tumbled backwards with a yelp, crashing into the snow and sliding down the small hill.

“Ow!” He curled on the ground, holding his forehead. “W-W-What was that for?!”

“Your face pisses me off.”

“Eeeeh?!”

“Alright. Enough delaying.”

“B-But you’re the one–”

“I said, enough.” Kaydence crossed her bare, muscles tense, and huffed in exasperation. “Get back up here, sit down, and drink.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sarmin struggled to his feet and back to her. At the top, he hesitated, eyeing the thick snow where she was pointing. Kaydence rolled her eyes. A circle of spinning red runes formed before her finger, and a ball of blistering hot fire shot into the ground, instantly sublimating the snow in a burst of vapour.

“There, you big baby. Now sit.”

The boy obeyed, settling onto the newly cleared, scorched patch. His wide, starry eyes were fixed on her hand. “Will I be able to do that, too?!” His anxiety had been seemingly forgotten, and his blinding enthusiasm was like nails raking against Kaydence’s soul.

“Ugh…” She sighed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ll talk about affinities later. First, you need to learn how to sense mana inside your body. That’s step one. For beginners like you, it’ll be tough because you’re too used to it being there. So, we’ll start by introducing some foreign, unaspected mana.” She nodded at the waterskin he had held onto through his tumble. “Once you get a feel for that, sensing your own will be much simpler. Questions?”

Sarmin stared up at her in silence.

“What?” Kaydecne grunted.

“You sound m-much nicer when you’re g-giving instruct– ow!”

Her fist thumped against his head.

“That’s your imagination. Now, if you don’t have any more questions–”

Sarmin raised his hand.

Kaydence let out a long, suffering sigh. “…Yes?”

“Can’t you just push your mana into me so I can sense that instead?”

“That’s–” Not a bad question, actually. I guess he can think for himself. Kaydence rubbed her chin, moderately impressed—though she would never admit it. “We could, but… No.”

Sarmin’s had shot up.

“Three reasons why.”

Sarmin’s hand went down.

Kaydence rolled her eyes and raised a finger. “One. We don’t know your affinities yet. Pure Arcane mana will be easier to sense than mana attuned to the wrong element. Elves are generally attuned to either Light, Water, or Earth, so my mana would be a terrible fit. I might just as well set you on fire and be done with it. So, unless you aspire to become a pile of ash, we’ll stick to mana water for now.”

A second finger rose. “Two. Think of mana like… a territorial guard dog. Your mana is your dog, which patrols your property—your body. If another dog tries to barge in, yours will go nuts, snapping and snarling to keep it out.

“That ‘property,’ that space where your mana has authority, is what we call your ‘aura.’ Even mundane people have one, though undeveloped. This is why a Fire mage can’t light a flame inside someone’s skull or why an Air mage can’t simply suck the air out of your lungs. You can overpower an aura, but that’s just a waste of mana. Better just cast a bigger fireball from the outside and burn the entire person to a crisp.”

A large orb of flame appeared above Kaydence’s free hand for emphasis, large enough to engulf Sarmin’s head. But instead of being intimidated, the boy practically vibrated with captivated interest.

“Life and Death magic are somewhat unique in their interaction with a mage’s aura because they’re closest… to…” Kaydence’s impromptu lecture trailed off as she noticed Sarmin hanging to her every word as if she were spitting gold.

“Ahem.” She coughed awkwardly, extinguishing her flames. “Anyway, that’s not important right now. What matters is that if I shoved my mana into you, your mana would fight it. And that would make this entire exercise way harder than it needs to be.”

A third finger went up. “And three…”

Sarmin leaned closer, eagerness painted all over his face.

“I’m not planting my ass in the mushy dirt to feed you mana for hours on end while you flail around like an idiot trying to sense it.”

The boy’s expression fell into a wounded pout.

Kaydence snorted. “You’ll live, twig.” She jabbed a thumb toward a nearby giant ash tree. “I’ll be in that tree, taking a nap. Wake me up when you feel something or the sun’s about to set. Whichever comes first. Got it?”

Pout gone, Sarmin nodded so hard his hood slipped off.

“Good. Now drink—just a sip. I don’t expect miracles today, so save some for later. And–” Sarmin’s hand shot up. Kaydence groaned. “What are you, five? Stop raising your hand. This isn’t school.”

“S-Sorry–”

“And quit apologising all the time!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “If you want to be a mage, man up and find your damn spine already!”

“Err…” The tiny blond boy looked uncertain.

Kaydence dragged a hand down her face. “Your question?”

“Ah, y-yes. How d-do I sense the mana?”

“You’ll figure it out,” she said flatly, already turning away.

“B-But–”

“No buts! Except planting yours down,” Kaydence barked as she lept above the evergreen hedge and easily scaled the tree. She settled onto a low branch, leaning back against the trunk and pretending to close her eyes. “Now shut up and get to it before I start throwing snowballs at your dumb face.”

Through the crack of her eyelids, Kaydence watched Sarmin fidget. He glanced nervously at her, then at the waterskin in his hands, before finally settling cross-legged on the snow. He took a cautious sip, grimacing as the mana water, even diluted, burned down his throat like a strong spirit. Finally, he closed his eyes and rested his palms on his knees. His breathing evened out fairly quickly, turning slow and steady.

Huh. Not bad. Kaydence grudgingly admitted Sarmin’s posture was textbook perfect—something a proper magic instructor might demand.

Not her, though. She was of the opinion any mage worth their salt should be able to replenish their mana reserves in any position—sitting, prone, doing a handstand, hanging upside down, or dodging fireballs. Meditation forms were a crutch, and crutches broke under pressure. On the battlefield, rarely could a mage afford to sit still like a statue.

Admittedly, unlike Seifer’s time, this era was not one of constant warfare, and Kaydence would have time later to hammer the “correct” mage etiquette into the boy.

Still, Sarmin’s instinctive rule-abiding came as no surprise. He was eager to please, quick to obey—a model student in all the ways that made Kaydence cringe. That mindset might serve him well initially, but it would doom him in the long run. To rise above mediocrity, he would have to break free of it. Weak-willed mages rarely lasted long. If enemies or bad luck did not get them first, their own mana would eat them alive.

Well, it’ll be years before he has to worry about that.

Kaydence yawned, and this time, it was not feigned. She had only meant to pretend to sleep—give the kid his space without her looming over him. But she had not slept a wink in the past week—not since Flynt violated her home. Even with Life magic bolstering her body, her mind was still only human.

Now, in the quiet of the woods, away from the bustle of the city and the need for constant vigilance, her fatigue and stress finally caught up to her.

Before long, she dozed off, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

In her dreams, Sarmin’s earnest face melted into another—a little Human girl, no older than ten. Hair like spun sunlight. Eyes darker than the void between stars. Her laughter chimed like heavenly bells.

Ominous shadows extended into the clearing. The snow wove into a plush carpet. Towering bookshelves stood in place of the evergreen hedge, too tall, too dark, leaning oppressively, ominously over them. But the girl’s laughter kept the darkness at bay.

Small arms wrapped around Kaydence’s much larger frame.

“Sei! Show me that spell again! I promise I’ll get it this time!”

“Yuna… Go bother Kayden. He’s better at this stuff than me.”

“But big brother Kay is so booooooring! He never plays with me and just lectures foreeeever! I want you to teach me!”

“Magic is not a game, Yuna. If Father finds out–”

“Nananana! Not listening!” The girl giggled, seizing Kaydence’s massive hand with her own tiny one, and tugging her along as she skipped down an opulent, indistinct, blurry hallway. Her voice turned sing-song as she danced ahead. “We’re gonna do some magic~ Sei’s gonna teach me magic~ I’m gonna be soooo amazing at magic~!”

But the warmth of her small hand slipped from Kayence’s grasp, and Yuna kept skipping ahead.

Kaydence reached out, her voice catching in her throat. “Yuna, wait–”

The hallway dimmed with every step the girl took, shadows bleeding in from the corners and pooling at their feet like old blood. Kaydence ran, feet pounding against the viscous ground, but the distance only stretched wider.

The walls around her twisted. The hallway spun. The faded opulence warped into jagged, menacing shapes that clawed at the edges of her vision. In contrast, the light at the end of the corridor grew brighter, and brighter, searing her eyes—and then burst into a roaring inferno.

“Yuna!” Kaydence’s shout cracked with desperation, but the little girl never turned back.

Her song drifted through the spinning chaos, hauntingly sweet, each note fraying, distorting as she skipped straight into the flames.

“Yunaaaa!” Kaydence’s voice shattered into shards that shredded her throat.

The inferno consumed the little girl, and the song died.

Asleep on her branch, Kaydence breathed a distressed whisper as a lonely tear slipped down her cheek.

“Yuna…”

* * * * *