After some time, we finally came to a halt in front of a wall with the number 222 etched on it. Lyra spoke an enchantment that made the number glow.

“After you,” she said, prompting me to walk through the wall.

Just in case, I extended my arm to make sure I wouldn’t kiss the concrete. Luckily, my hand passed through the wall effortlessly.

“Hurry, before you lose that pretty hand of yours!” Lyra urged, to which I replied with a teasing grin.

“You think my hand is pretty?”

“Ugh, just get in!” she exclaimed, her pale cheeks blushing with embarrassment as she pushed me into the wall to hurt me, but I simply passed through the wall and entered a small, tidy room.

The room had a king-sized bed with blue sheets, a white nightstand, and a wardrobe. It resembled a common room in a tavern and was quite plain compared to the lavish hallway with golden chandeliers, big paintings, and nice floors. But there was one thing this room had that the rest of the academy did not: doors.

“Are they real?” I marveled at the plain sight of the wooden doors.

“Yes, they are real! They lead to a bathroom! Anyway, what is with your strange fixation on doors?” Lyra asked with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t like to feel trapped. Every building should have an entrance and an exit. This place feels like a prison; there’s nothing natural about it.”

“Well, it is a magic academy, after all; there’s nothing natural about magic,” she retorted.

I inspected the room more closely, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about it, other than the room having no exit.

“What now?” I asked, seeing how Lyra just stood near the wall we had entered through, staring at me as if I were some criminal.

“Now we wait,” she said.

“Wait for what?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And I need you here because...?”

“They ordered me to monitor your every movement and act accordingly if you were up to something suspicious,” she explained.

“How lucky I am to have such a beautiful pair of eyes following my every movement,” I teased as I walked up to her. “What does the description of ‘suspicious’ entail exactly? I inquired, keeping my eyes locked onto hers.

“Stop joking around!” she said, nuzzling me away. Her hair shifted slightly, revealing faint scars behind each ear. She immediately covered the scars with her hair upon noticing that they were exposed.

“Ah, you’re no fun!” I exclaimed, sitting on the bed, deciding not to press her about the scars.

Time dragged on; what felt like hours was only minutes. Lyra stood by the wall in silence, ignoring every comment I made. I lay on the bed, rolling from one side to another, bored out of my mind. I tried to fall asleep multiple times, but knowing she was standing across the room, staring at me, made it impossible.

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“How do you even know when night falls when there are no windows?” I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Lumen,” she replied, and with a wave of her hand, another mirror appeared on the wall, showing the sunny day outside.

“Great. Just great!” I sighed.

“Is something the matter?” Lyra asked out of courtesy, though her eyes revealed her indifference.

“I’m bored.” I continued to push the conversation, even knowing she didn’t care. “When your master appointed you to me, I was happy because, unlike the rest, you didn’t bore me. I guess I was wrong.”

“She is not my master,” Lyra answered in a hushed tone.

“What was that?” I inquired again, having heard her initial response, but decided to probe further.

“I said she is not my master.”

“What is she then to you? A teacher? A friend? Don’t make me laugh! I saw the way she looked at you when I was about to take your life. She couldn’t care less if you died. Saying she sees you as her pet would be an understatement because owners actually care for their pets. On the other hand, you are seen as nothing more than a pest—a worm people would squash without a second thought just because it is a worm,” I said, immediately regretting my harsh words.

I didn’t know exactly why I said what I did. To say I didn’t mean them would be a lie, and to say I wanted to hurt her would also be one. There’s something about her that pulls me in, like a moth to a flame. Her empty gazes, those hollow looks that speak more than words, resonate with me. Each lie she tells to reassure herself, each faltering step she takes as if it’s her last—it all reminds me of myself.

It’s her false idea of freedom that irks me. The way she parades her expensive dresses and jewels, thinking they make her free, annoys me even more. It’s an illusion, one I know all too well. I see in her a mirror of my past self, and that annoys me to no end. It’s like looking at a version of myself I want to forget, but there she is, living it out right in front of me.

It’s infuriating, this reflection of my own weaknesses and mistakes. Yet, despite that, or maybe because of it, I can’t seem to stay away. She’s a puzzle I want to solve, a mirror I want to shatter.

For a moment, she remained silent, as if carefully considering her response. Finally, she spoke in a low, curious tone.

“Why haven’t you killed me then? Why haven’t you squashed me like the worm I am? You had every right to. I was about to take your life without a second thought.”

“It’s not the worm’s fault that it’s a worm. Just like it’s not your fault you’re a slave. A worm can’t change what it is, but you can. The moment you decided to take my heart was perhaps the first time you made a decision on your own, without anyone’s direction. It was a moment of rebellion, a moment you chose not to be a slave. When I saw you were at peace as your life was about to end, I pitied you. I realized I would be killing someone who saw death as a mercy, and I didn’t want to give you an easy way out. When I flirted with you earlier and you made it clear you weren’t interested, I respected that because it was your decision. You intrigue me; every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me. What are you?”

My sudden question left her speechless.

“What are you?” I pressed on.

“W-what do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question. What are you? Sometimes you act like a slave, and sometimes like a free person. Which one are you? If you’re a slave, I’ll free you if you wish. If not, I’ll let you be.”

“How could you possibly free me? These golden bracelets were put on me as a child to look like expensive jewelry, but they act as shackles. They restrain my magic, monitor my movements, and manipulate my will. There’s no way to break them. Trust me, I’ve tried...” she said, lowering her head.

“Remember the arcane circle that trapped us? Do you remember how I made it disappear?” I asked. She looked puzzled. For everything the Void Veil touches, it erases from existence and from other people’s minds. “I could make your shackles disappear just like that.”

It took her a moment to process what I had said. She didn’t know whether to believe me or not, whether I was messing with her or not.

“Did you mean everything you said today?” she asked.

“Every word,” I answered without hesitation.

“Even the compliments?”

“Those especially.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Because I can.”

“And what if you can’t?”

“I’ll try harder.”

She chuckled at my words, her eyes sparkling with life. But that warm gaze quickly turned cold.

“The chains... they’re all I know. Freedom is a dream, but dreams often become nightmares. The thought of freedom is too much. It’s safer here, in the familiar.”

“As you wish,” I said, lying on the bed and turning to the side, falling into a deep slumber.