Evan sat at the edge of the cliff, his bony legs dangling over the precipice as the single moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the calm sea. The night was quiet, except for the ever-present roar of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below. He stared out at the endless stretch of water, thinking how, even as a skeleton, the ocean at night was still terrifying.
"Always was freaky," he muttered to himself, the dark expanse reflecting back nothing but cold indifference. The contrast between the serene surface of the water and the violent crashes below sent a chill through his bones, though he wasn't sure if it was the ocean or his current predicament that caused it.
Malakar's voice broke through the relative silence. "You're still thinking about how to summon those swords, aren't you?"
Evan blinked—or at least, he felt like he did. "Yeah, I mean, how the hell did I do that?"
Malakar’s chuckle echoed inside Evan’s mind, full of its usual dark amusement. "It's simple, really. We’re bonded, which means I can sense your magical connections. Think of it like... sharing a body, but without sharing the thoughts. Or, in my case, without the control I’d prefer."
Evan glanced down at his skeletal hands. He flexed his fingers, watching the bones move with unnatural precision. “So, you’re saying I have magic? Just like that?”
"Not just like that. You're not some prodigy," Malakar replied, his tone sharp. "Magic runs through everyone in Udanara. You're no exception, despite being... well, bones. Our bond connects us on a deeper level, which is why you're able to access certain abilities, like summoning those Urumi swords. But make no mistake—I'm biding my time, waiting for my chance to take over your body."
Evan paused, his hollow eye sockets turning away from the ocean to stare into the night. "Why are you telling me that?"
"Why hide it? You should know what you're up against," Malakar said, his voice dripping with nonchalance. "You can't get rid of me. Not easily, anyway. So, for now, it’s in my best interest that you understand how this bond works. If you're weak, we both lose. And I don't like losing."
Evan swallowed—or at least, he felt like he did. The prospect of Malakar waiting for an opportunity to take control was unsettling, to say the least. He shifted his gaze back to the sea. “So, how do I get stronger? Because I don’t feel like I can fight off anything, let alone some magical rogue mages or whatever else is out there.”
Malakar's voice seemed to darken, taking on a more serious tone. "You need to get to a Grove of Echoes. It’s where you can understand yourself better. It’s... complicated."
Evan frowned, already feeling lost. “Okay, slow down. What’s a Grove of Echoes?”
Malakar sighed, clearly exasperated. "It’s a sacred place, alright? A mystical nexus where people in Udanara can... sort of 'manifest' their growth. Think of it like a giant tree. No, not just a tree—your Tree of Life." He paused, seemingly struggling to explain. "Every person has one. It’s a representation of their experiences, their skills, their potential. You go to the Grove, you see your tree, you interact with it... somehow... and that helps you understand what you’re capable of."
Evan squinted into the dark horizon, his mind swimming with Malakar’s vague explanation. “A Tree of Life? That sounds... metaphysical.”
"It’s more than metaphysical, you idiot," Malakar snapped. "It’s your path, your growth. You want to get stronger? That’s where you’ll figure out how. The Grove lets you manipulate your abilities, refine them. It’s the only way you’ll start to understand how to control your magic. And trust me, you'll need to figure it out if you don’t want to end up as some rogue magist's undead puppet."
Evan shook his head. “And this Grove... it’s just out there waiting for me to walk up to it?”
Malakar laughed again, a bitter sound. "Hardly. The Grove of Echoes is a sacred place, hidden behind Echo Gates that are scattered around cities and towns. You can’t just waltz into one. You need a connection to your Tree of Life—an understanding of yourself." He paused, letting the words sink in. "And considering you can’t even summon a weapon without panicking, you’re going to need help finding that connection."
Evan grumbled under his breath. “Fantastic. So, where’s the nearest one? Windmere?”
"Obviously. Windmere has an Echo Gate. It's guarded, but you should be able to access it if you don't get caught doing something stupid."
Evan let out a long sigh, his bony shoulders slumping. “You really don’t explain things well, do you?”
Malakar bristled. "I’m not here to hold your hand. The Grove of Echoes isn’t some magical playground—it’s a place where you face your past, your choices, and you grow from it. The Tree of Life responds to your experiences. The more you understand yourself, the more you grow. It’s not something I can just explain in a pretty little package."
Evan kicked a loose stone over the cliff’s edge, watching as it tumbled down into the crashing waves below. “Great. So, I go to this Grove, I... stare at some tree, and I magically get better at not sucking in fights?”
"That’s the dumbed-down version, yes." Malakar’s tone was flat. "But it’s more than just getting better at fighting. It’s about understanding your potential. Seeing the paths you can take. The Grove helps you reflect on your past—echoes of your choices—and it shows you what you could become."
Evan didn’t know what to say. It sounded surreal, almost too fantastical to wrap his mind around. "And what about you? What’s your deal in all this? What do you get out of me going to this Grove?"
Malakar didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter, more contemplative. "I’m tied to you. If you grow stronger, I grow stronger. Eventually, I’ll find a way to separate us. But until then, we’re stuck with each other. It’s in both of our interests to make sure you don’t get killed before that happens."
Evan stared at the moonlit waves, his thoughts swirling like the turbulent water below. He had come to Udanara as a skeleton, bonded to a centuries-old mage with questionable morals, and now he was supposed to seek out some mystical Grove to figure out who he was.
“Is it... dangerous?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Malakar’s laugh was soft but sinister. "Of course it’s dangerous. Everything in Udanara is dangerous. But if you don’t go, you’ll stay weak. And you’ll stay vulnerable."
Evan rubbed the back of his skull, feeling the smooth, cold bone under his fingers. “Fine. Grove of Echoes it is. What could possibly go wrong?”
Malakar chuckled, the sound low and dark in Evan’s mind. "You’re going to find out soon enough."
Evan stayed sitting, his legs dangling over the cliff edge, the sound of crashing waves below filling the otherwise quiet night. He stared out at the single moon hanging in the sky, its silver light reflecting off the dark waters of the ocean. There was something eerie about the way the calm sea stretched out before him, in stark contrast to the violent waves that roared as they smashed into the rocks below.
He tilted his head back, looking up at the path above him. It wasn’t like he could just climb out of here. Yasmin and Yucca had been able to fly off, leaving him here, a literal cliffside prison. He sighed heavily, though the act was purely habitual. There wasn’t much he could do but wait for them to return. Diving into the sea below seemed like a quick way to get smashed against the rocks or swallowed by the relentless waves. And even though he wasn’t entirely alive, he was pretty sure the sea would claim him just as easily.
"Would I even need to breathe?" Evan wondered aloud, more to himself than to Malakar. He felt the weight of the question settle in his mind. His lungs were gone, his chest a hollow cavity, and yet here he was, breathing like it was second nature. The cold air filled a space that no longer existed.
"Yes, you would," Malakar chimed in, his voice echoing from deep within Evan’s mind. "Just because you're a skeleton doesn't mean you escape the need for breath. You feel things as if you were alive, don't you? Why would that stop at something as fundamental as breathing?"
Evan sighed again, shaking his head. "Great. So, I'm stuck here."
For a few moments, the only sound was the ocean’s roar and the occasional gust of wind that sent chills through Evan’s bony frame. He shifted slightly, glancing around. There was no one coming for him. No magical escape route. He was alone, at least for now.
But then Malakar’s voice cut through the silence once more, this time with an ominous edge. "I hate to break it to you, but you might be wasting your time even thinking about the Grove of Echoes."
Evan frowned, confused. “What? Why? I thought you just said I needed to go there to figure out my magic.”
"Look at yourself," Malakar said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're a skeleton, Evan. The Grove of Echoes is tied to the Tree of Life. You, my unfortunate friend, are far from alive. The Grove might not work for you."
Evan’s confusion deepened, his hands instinctively rising to look at his bony fingers. "But... magic runs through everyone, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me? Why would the Grove not work?"
Malakar let out a long, drawn-out sigh, clearly frustrated by Evan's ignorance. "The Grove of Echoes is a place for the living, for those connected to the cycle of life. It's where they reflect, grow, and refine their skills by nurturing their Tree of Life. But you—" he paused, chuckling darkly, "you, my skeletal companion, have no life to nurture."
Evan's frown deepened. "So... what? I’m screwed?"
"Not exactly. You might need something else—something darker. The Grove is tied to life, growth, and vitality. But there’s another place. The Abyss of Whispers. It's where the dead, the undead, and those with... shall we say, darker affinities, go to find their power."
Evan felt his unease grow. “The Abyss of Whispers? That doesn’t sound good.”
"Because it isn’t," Malakar replied. "It’s the dark counterpart to the Grove. Where the Grove nurtures, the Abyss consumes. It’s not about growing your skills through positive experiences or self-reflection. It’s about feeding off death, destruction, and loss. Your power doesn’t come from life anymore, Evan. It comes from decay, from the end of things. You might need to access the Tree of Death instead."
Evan stared blankly out at the sea, trying to process Malakar’s words. “Tree of Death?”
Malakar’s voice became even more serious, the mockery dropping slightly. "For those like you—or like me, once—the Tree of Death is what gives you strength. It’s a twisted reflection of the Tree of Life, gnarled and decaying. Instead of growing through nurturing experiences, it feeds on death, on the destruction of life. Each time you embrace your nature, destroy something, or take a life, the Tree of Death grows stronger. And it’s rooted in the Abyss of Whispers."
"That sounds... terrible," Evan said quietly, shuddering at the thought.
"It is," Malakar agreed with grim satisfaction. "But it’s the path for beings like you. The Abyss is where you’ll confront death, decay, and your own darkness. But unlike the Grove, where the Keepers guide you with wisdom, the Abyss has Wraith Lords—beings of pure malice and torment. They won’t guide you, Evan. They’ll manipulate you, push you into making sacrifices to feed your Tree of Death."
Evan felt a pit forming in his stomach, or at least, where his stomach would have been. “Sacrifices? Like what?”
Malakar’s tone was cold. "The Abyss demands more than the Grove. Sacrifices are permanent. You might need to give up part of yourself—your memories, pieces of your soul. Or worse, sacrifice others to fuel your growth."
"Why would anyone want that?" Evan asked, horrified.
"Because power doesn’t come for free," Malakar replied sharply. "You want to survive in Udanara, don’t you? You want to become stronger, so you aren’t torn apart by the next werebeast pack or rogue magist? Then you have to embrace what you are—an undead abomination tied to death."
Evan felt cold, and not just because of the night air. "And there’s no other way?"
"Not for you," Malakar said. "The Tree of Life is for the living, for those who cling to the light. You’re not one of them anymore. If you want to survive, you’ll have to accept the darkness."
Evan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at the waves far below. The idea of becoming more like Malakar, of giving in to whatever twisted path the Abyss offered, felt like a betrayal of whatever humanity he still had left.
"But... what if I don’t want that?" he asked quietly, almost to himself.
Malakar scoffed. "What you want doesn’t matter. You are what you are now. And denying that will only get you killed faster."
Evan sat there in silence, the enormity of what Malakar was telling him sinking in. He was trapped between two worlds—no longer alive, but not fully dead. And the only path to power, to survival, seemed to be through embracing the very thing he feared most.
The sea continued to crash below, indifferent to his inner turmoil. He had to make a choice soon—whether to embrace the Abyss of Whispers and the Tree of Death or risk whatever other path might be out there. But for now, sitting by the ocean with the single moon glowing faintly above, he felt more lost than ever.
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"Think about it, Evan," Malakar said softly, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind. "The Abyss is waiting for you. It’s your only chance."
Evan didn’t answer. He just stared out into the endless ocean, feeling more isolated and disconnected from the world than ever before. Evan’s thoughts churned like the sea below, crashing and tumbling over one another in a relentless storm of uncertainty and dread. He stared out at the dark waves, trying to quiet his mind. But the intrusive, dark thoughts kept coming, like the endless tide that battered the cliffs beneath him.
Suddenly, the soft flutter of wings broke through the noise in his head. Yucca, the quieter of the two sisters, hovered in the air just above him, her wings shimmering in the moonlight like delicate stained glass. She was immaculate now—clearly washed and free of any wounds from the battle. Her silver hair, soft and straight, fell past her shoulders, catching the light in a way that made it seem like she was glowing. Her wings, delicate but powerful, fluttered gently, barely making a sound as she floated in front of him. She floated down from the cliffs above while Evan was lost in his thoughts.
Neither of them spoke at first. Evan sat there, his bony legs still dangling over the edge of the cliff, waiting for the more spirited one—Yasmin—to show up. But she didn’t. It was just Yucca, her glass-like eyes studying him with a quiet intensity that made Evan feel oddly self-conscious, even though he was, well, a skeleton.
He blinked—a habit he still couldn’t explain but found himself doing constantly, as if it was the last remnant of his humanity. His jaw had fallen open without him realizing it, hanging loosely in a way that clearly conveyed his awe. He snapped it shut, realizing that he was staring, his mind scrambling to catch up to the situation.
Yucca, however, was as composed as ever, her voice soft but firm when she finally spoke. "I have a mission to attend to, but I’m not going to just let you go, Evan."
Evan shifted uncomfortably, not sure how he felt about that. “Uh... okay,” he muttered, his voice sounding more unsure than he intended. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or anxious. Having someone around was probably better than being left alone, but at the same time, he wasn’t exactly sure what her intentions were.
"I told you so," Malakar’s voice rang through his mind with a smug tone. "You’re going to be her little pet now. A convenient tool for her to use whenever she sees fit."
Evan ignored Malakar, focusing instead on Yucca. She hovered there, arms crossed, her shimmering robe catching the moonlight as her wings fluttered softly behind her. She was beautiful, in a way that felt almost surreal—like she didn’t belong in the same world he did. Her robes, adorned with fragments of magical glass, glittered with subtle patterns of light blue and silver, flowing gracefully around her slim figure.
"I’m heading to Valarian," Yucca continued, her voice as calm as ever. “It’s a city quite a ways from here. I’ll be gone for a while.”
Evan blinked again, his brain struggling to process everything. “Valarian... right. So... you’re just gonna leave me here then?” He glanced down at the jagged rocks below and then back at her. “Not that I’m asking for a ride or anything. Just, you know... what do I do?”
Yucca let out a soft sigh, clearly not thrilled with the situation but also not about to abandon him. "No. I’m not going to leave you here. But I need you to promise me you won’t do anything... reckless."
"Reckless?" Evan repeated nervously. "No, no, I’m the least reckless person you’ll ever meet. Trust me, I don’t do reckless. I like staying alive—or, you know, undead or whatever this is.”
Yucca looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to Evan’s surprise, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It was so brief he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. “The only reason I’m doing this is because my sister performed an illegal spell on you,” she explained, her voice steady. “I know you weren’t lying about being oblivious to all of this.”
Evan’s jaw dropped again—not in awe this time, but in sheer disbelief. "Wait, so you’re saying the only reason you’re helping me is because of some illegal magic? Not because I’m a charming skeleton in need of guidance?" He was joking, but only half.
Yucca's face remained serious, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Don’t push it," she said dryly. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding, "I’ll teach you about Udanara—how it works, how to survive here. But you’re coming with me on this mission."
Evan blinked once more, completely thrown off guard. "Wait, seriously? You’re... bringing me with you?"
Without responding directly, Yucca raised her hand, and beneath Evan’s feet, small platforms of shimmering glass began to form, stacking one after the other in front of him, creating a makeshift staircase up the cliffside.
“Come on,” she said, her wings giving a soft flutter as she floated higher, leading the way. “We’ll be teleported at dawn.”
Evan stared at the glass platforms, then back up at Yucca, feeling a strange mix of hope and disbelief. He stood slowly, his skeletal joints creaking as he placed one foot on the first platform. It held firm under his weight, and soon enough, he was climbing the steps she had created, following her up out of the small stone hole he’d been trapped in.
As he reached the top, Yucca turned and tossed something toward him. A navy blue cloak with black trimming, the fabric heavy in his bony hands. The large hood would easily cover his face in shadow, leaving only his skeletal hands and just below his knees exposed. It wasn’t perfect, but a pair of gloves and boots could fix that.
Evan looked up at Yucca, feeling a wave of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. If he could look hopeful, he was definitely trying. “Thanks,” he said, his voice soft.
Yucca, still as reserved as ever, nodded slightly. “You’ll need it. If anyone sees you for what you are, they won’t hesitate to attack. Keep that hood up at all times.”
Evan swallowed, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. “Got it. Hood stays up. No showing off the bones.”
Yucca crossed her arms, her wings gently shifting behind her. “We’ll get you some gloves and boots when we arrive. But for now, this will have to do.”
Evan nodded, still processing everything that had just happened. He pulled the cloak around himself, the fabric falling neatly to his knees. The wind off the ocean ruffled the edges, making him feel a little more human—if that was even possible.
He glanced back at Yucca, still in disbelief. Of all the people he expected to help him, he hadn’t thought it would be her—the quiet, reserved one. Yasmin was the fiery, impulsive one, always ready to act. But here was Yucca, making the first move, offering him a chance.
For a moment, they stood there in the meadow, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the grass. The air was cool, the scent of saltwater still hanging in the breeze. Yucca’s expression remained serious, though there was something almost protective in the way she looked at him.
“We leave at dawn,” she said again, her tone firm. “Don’t do anything reckless.”
Evan couldn’t help but smile—or at least, he thought he was smiling. “I’ll do my best.”
As Yucca turned to lead the way back to their temporary camp, Evan followed behind her, his mind racing. Malakar, however, was less impressed.
"You’re her little project now. Just like I said."
***
The sun hung low in the sky as the wagon trundled along the road toward Windmere, the journey steadily drawing to a close. It had been several days since Paola’s chaotic encounter with the rogue magists, and the quiet that now settled over the group was welcome. Carter, who had taken to teaching Abraham the reins of the oxen, had finally let the boy take control. Abraham, with a cautious but determined expression, was guiding the wagon while Carter sat beside him, occasionally offering a silent gesture of reassurance.
In the back of the wagon, Paola sat with Oso, her familiar, a sandy-colored bear cub who had a knack for causing chaos wherever he went. The cub was rolling around playfully, swiping at Paola’s cloak with his massive paws, tugging at it as if it were some grand game.
“Oso, seriously,” Paola laughed, tugging her cloak back from his grip. “You’re getting too big for this. You can’t keep treating me like a toy!”
The cub responded with an excited growl, leaping onto her lap, knocking her backward into the soft bed of blankets in the wagon. Paola struggled to sit up, but Oso seemed determined to keep her pinned, licking her face with his sandpaper-like tongue.
“Alright, alright!” she cried, trying to squirm free. “I get it, you win!”
Oso finally relented, settling down beside her, his body pressed close to hers as if nothing had just happened. Paola smiled, scratching behind his ears, feeling the familiar bond between them strengthen with each passing day. There was a chaotic energy between them, but it was comforting in its own way, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this strange new world.
As she lay there, her mind half-focused on Oso’s playful antics, Paola’s attention drifted to the conversation happening just ahead of her. Poca and Ayla were talking, their voices low but animated.
“I understand what you’re saying,” Ayla’s voice carried softly, her tone measured, “but there’s always a right way to do things, even when it seems impossible. Abraham didn’t have to steal.”
Poca, ever the pragmatic one, chuckled softly. “Ayla, zat’s easy for you to say. You were raised by nobility. You ‘ad choices. In ze slums, there are no choices. People like me, like Abraham, we steal because we have to. You don’t wake up and choose to break ze law, you wake up and realize it’s your only option.”
Ayla paused, considering Poca’s words. “But... there are always other options. Aren’t there?”
Poca smiled, shaking her head gently. “Non, not for everyone. You’re thinking from your own experience, Ayla. You ‘ave never been hungry for days. Never ‘ad to watch someone you love starve. Ze ‘right’ way isn’t always possible for everyone.”
Ayla was quiet for a moment, and Paola could see the gears turning in her mind. “You’re right. I’ve never lived in the slums. I don’t know what it’s like. But does that justify stealing? Should we just accept that because it’s hard, people have no other choice?”
Poca’s gaze softened. “Zat’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying zat ze world isn’t black and white. It’s easy to say you should never steal when you’ve never ‘ad to. But if your only choice is to steal or watch someone you care about suffer, what would you do?”
Ayla’s brows furrowed, and she sighed, her frustration not with Poca but with the complexity of the issue. “I guess I just want to believe there’s always a way to do the right thing without resorting to breaking the law. I want to believe there’s hope, even for people in the worst situations.”
Poca nodded, her expression understanding. “I know. But sometimes, ze ‘right’ way isn’t clear. It’s messy. Abraham stole because his grandfather couldn’t take care of him anymore. Zat was ‘is reality. It’s not fair, but it’s life.”
Ayla’s eyes softened as she looked at Poca. “You’re right. I’m trying to understand. It’s just... hard to accept that sometimes there’s no good solution.”
Poca smiled warmly. “And zat’s why we help people like Abraham. So zey don’t ‘ave to make zat choice anymore.”
Paola watched the exchange with quiet admiration. The two women came from such different worlds, yet here they were, finding common ground, understanding each other in a way that surprised her. Ayla was opening up, seeing the world through Poca’s eyes, and Poca, ever the pragmatic one, was helping Ayla understand the complexities of life outside nobility.
Just as the conversation reached a lull, Paola felt a strange shift in the air. Her feline ears twitched, picking up on something—a faint sound, almost imperceptible, like the rustling of wings or the soft whisper of air being disturbed. She turned her head, glancing over the side of the wagon, but saw nothing at first. The road stretched ahead, quiet and peaceful, yet something about the atmosphere had changed.
There was a presence nearby.
Suddenly, a figure appeared before them, landing with barely a sound, her arrival so smooth and effortless that Paola almost thought she’d imagined it. A woman stood there—tall and striking, with a deadly elegance that immediately put Paola on edge. Her wings, large and ethereal, shimmered like a mirage in the fading light, their butterfly-like translucence catching the sun and casting dancing patterns of orange and yellow around her. They didn’t flap like bird wings, and Paola realized this woman could glide through the air without a single beat.
Her fiery red hair, cascading in loose waves down her back, glinted with golden undertones that seemed to catch the light just as her wings did. She wore a tight-fitting, enchanted leather outfit, the straps hugging her body in a way that was both practical and seductive, revealing the muscular curves of her arms and legs. Glowing thunderbolt symbols lined the edges of her armor, flickering with latent power.
Paola’s breath caught slightly. This woman radiated danger, not just because of her appearance but because of the energy rolling off her—an eager, almost reckless intensity that filled the air with tension. She wasn't just a threat; she wanted to be a threat.
The woman’s amber eyes gleamed with a flicker of amusement as she spoke, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper. “Well, well, what do we have here?”
Paola stiffened as Ayla instinctively shifted, her hand hovering near her broadsword, ready for whatever was about to unfold. Paola wasn’t sure if Ayla had noticed it yet, but this woman didn’t just look dangerous—she was dangerous.
“We’re just travelers,” Ayla said cautiously, her voice calm but firm. “Is there something we can help you with?”
The woman’s lips curled into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice carrying an air of indifference that was almost mocking. “I was just wondering if you might have seen or heard about a... little incident not too far from here. You know, involving a bunch of dead magists?”
Paola’s heart skipped a beat. This woman wasn’t here by accident. She knew something. The air around her crackled faintly, as if the very atmosphere was alive with her magic—fire and thunder, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest provocation.
Ayla’s grip on her sword tightened, though she didn’t draw it yet. “And why would you think we had anything to do with that?”
The woman—who hadn’t introduced herself yet—hovered a few inches off the ground, her wings barely moving as if gravity was simply an afterthought to her. “Oh, I don’t know,” she repeated, this time with a smile that was almost playful, though her eyes remained cold. “Maybe it’s the scent of chaos on you... or maybe it’s just a hunch.”
Her gaze shifted to Paola, who felt the weight of it like a physical thing. Those amber eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, Paola felt like the woman could see straight through her—into the mess of confusion, guilt, and raw power that simmered just beneath the surface.
“You...” The woman’s voice dropped, almost purring. “You smell... interesting.”
Paola’s heart raced, her mind flashing back to the chaotic fight against the magists. It hadn’t been clean. It hadn’t been fair. And Ayla had done what needed to be done, but the memory of it still weighed heavy on Paola. She didn’t have to ask to know that this woman—whoever she was—had probably been tracking them for some time.
Ayla took a step forward, her body language screaming protectiveness. “Who are you?”
The woman grinned now, her wings shimmering with a pulse of heat. She raised a hand, and sparks of electricity crackled between her fingers. “Hm, somebody. And I’ve been following the trail of ashes and bodies left behind by your little... adventure.”
Paola’s tail flicked nervously as she sensed the shift in the air, a slow build of magic coiling around Yasmin like a storm waiting to break. Ayla noticed it too—her eyes narrowed, her stance more defensive.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Paola said, her voice steadier than she expected. “It was either them or us.”
Yasmin’s grin widened, and the crackling energy around her intensified. “Oh, I know. That’s what makes it so much fun, doesn’t it? The way things just... explode when you least expect it.”
Her tone was light, almost playful, but Paola could feel the deadly intent simmering beneath it. Yasmin wasn’t here to have a conversation. She was itching for something more. Paola could sense the barely-contained chaos in her—a chaos that felt strangely familiar, almost like a mirror to the volatile energy that lurked inside herself.
Ayla, ever the protective warrior, took another step forward, placing herself squarely between Paola and Yasmin. “If you’re here for a fight, you won’t get what you’re looking for.”
Yasmin tilted her head, her fiery hair falling to one side as her wings flickered with an eager pulse of magic. “Who said anything about a fight?” She gave a little shrug, her smile turning wicked. “But if you want to make this harder than it needs to be... I’m not exactly opposed.”
Paola’s breath caught in her throat. Yasmin was like a bomb ready to go off, and the tension in the air crackled with the weight of that unspoken threat. She felt Oso shift beside her, his instincts picking up on the danger, but he remained quiet, his large eyes watching Yasmin closely.
“I don’t want to fight,” Paola said, stepping around Ayla and facing Yasmin directly. “But we did what we had to do. If you’re here to accuse us—”
“Accuse you?” Yasmin interrupted with a laugh, her wings shimmering brighter as the air around her pulsed with heat. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to accuse you. I already know. The question is... what happens next?”
Ayla’s hand finally rested on the hilt of her sword, her patience wearing thin. “We’re not your enemies.”
Yasmin’s eyes flashed with excitement, as if the very idea of conflict thrilled her. “That’s what they all say... right before they burn.”
The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Paola could see it—the explosion, the devastation that Yasmin could unleash without hesitation. She wasn’t bluffing. She didn’t need to. She was power wrapped in a beautiful, deadly package, and she knew it.
But there was something else in Yasmin’s gaze, something more than just a desire to destroy. There was curiosity. Interest. And... maybe even a hint of recognition. As if Yasmin saw something in Paola that intrigued her.
“I can feel it,” Yasmin said softly, her gaze locking onto Paola again. “That chaos inside you. It’s raw. Untamed. Just waiting to be let loose.”
Paola’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected Yasmin to sense the very thing that she herself was still struggling to control.
“I’m not like you,” Paola said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t want to unleash chaos.”
Yasmin’s smile softened, but her eyes never lost that dangerous glint. “Maybe not. But chaos doesn’t care what you want. It just... happens.”
There was a pause, a beat of silence as the two women stared at each other. Then, almost as if she’d suddenly remembered, Yasmin straightened, brushing a hand through her fiery hair. “Oh! I forgot to introduce myself properly, didn’t I?”
She floated back a few inches, her wings shimmering with a golden glow. “I’m Yasmin Ivetta, of the Arcane Forge. Magist, lover of explosions, and... very interested in seeing where this little adventure takes us.”