Morg and Xisa were practicing together in the garden again. It was nothing exciting this time; they weren’t even performing simple spells, like changing the shapes of rocks or the properties of water or whatnot. This time, they were supposed to be focusing their magic inward.

According to Maisha, mana was something similar to blood and breath; it flowed through the body, strengthening and empowering it. It didn’t have its own veins or channels but rather infested the already existing systems and networks of a witch, spreading into each individual cell. And unlike other circulating systems of the body, the flow of mana could be felt. Tracked. Controlled.

Not that Morg could sense any of that.

She knew she had controlled her mana before- she had to in order to use her magic. But it came naturally to her, like instinct. Trying to observe it was like trying to feel her blood cells moving through her veins. Or like trying to watch the internal processes of her organs; she knew her kidneys were purifying her blood, but it wasn’t as if she could see that process. Nor did she want to. The thought of observing her insides made her squirm. And even if mana didn’t seem to be as messy as blood and flesh were…

Morg scrunched up her nose.

And then there was the matter of the next steps her mentors had mentioned. Aside from just tracking, she had to learn to control. Even if you can see your kidneys purifying your blood, how are you supposed to control it? Suddenly you’re supposed to be aware of all the steps it takes for such a complex process to occur and execute said process?? Wasn’t it better to just keep relying on instinct at that point!? She had asked Songbai this very question, but her mentor had shaken her head solemnly.

“Imagine something going wrong in your body- kidney failure, stomach cancer, brain tumor- sometimes the factors contributing to the problem are internal. In other words, by maintaining complete control over your body’s systems, you could prevent or even reverse such internal failings. This concept is similar to what we do when controlling mana. But mana by nature is wild and chaotic- it doesn’t adhere to the same rules that our internal systems do. By default it’s… broken in a sense. You can’t just rely on instincts. Move your hands the wrong way and BAM! Your parents are frogs.”

Morg had given Songbai a sheepish look at that.

“It’s imperative that a witch keeps their mana under control. Otherwise accidents are bound to happen. Luckily for us, it's not as difficult as it sounds. Once you get the feel for how to sense it, it's only a matter of time before you understand how to control it at a basic level. It may not sound like it from the examples I’ve given, but you don’t need a complete mastery over your mana to keep it in check. Just get a basic understanding for now. From then on, you can only improve.”

Morg thought that Songbai had made the process sound way too easy. How was she supposed to sense it? Her mentors had made it sound like it would come naturally, but Morg couldn’t feel a thing!

Tch, some mentors… all they ever tell us to do these days is to meditate out in the garden!

Morg peeked her eyes open and tossed a sideways glance at Xisa. Her friend sat peacefully beside her, completely calm and still, as if she truly was looking deep within herself. As if she could already sense the mana coursing through her veins. As if…

Wait… Morg’s eyes widened as she leaned her face in closer. Is Xisa… asleep??

Morg gently pushed her friend’s shoulder, but rather than opening her eyes, the young witch only slumped down further.

She really is asleep!!

A mischievous grin crept across Morg’s face. Although they were well on their way to spring, the weather continued to be cool and dreary. By now, the snow back in Morg’s hometown would have all melted. But here, piles of snow still lay scattered in patches across the ground. Morg crept over to one such patch and gathered together a handful of the fluffy ice. Then, creeping back to where Xisa sat by the garden, Morg very gently tugged at the collar of Xisa’s shirt.

Haha! Payback for breaking my harp! She thought playfully.

Careful to avoid the spot where Yuzan usually sat, Morg dumped the snow down Xisa’s clothes. Xisa’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a shocked breath as Morg flung herself back into a seated position and closed her eyes, acting as if nothing had happened.

In actuality, Morg hadn’t really held a grudge against Xisa for the harp business. She had more or less gathered what happened after the four of them had talked it out, and if anything, she felt a bit guilty. And besides all that, the harp was no longer broken. Songbai had by some miracle pieced it back together almost as soon as she had broken free from the spell that had turned her to stone. Albeit, the harp wasn’t quite the same as it had been before- the carving on the soundbox was less detailed and slightly different, and the lengths of some of the strings seemed to have changed, but at the very least, her prized possession was still playable.

Even now, Morg’s fingers itched to test out the instrument, but upon learning that Morg’s music had possibly brought things to life, Songbai and Maisha had confiscated and hidden the harp. Naturally, Morg had been heartbroken by this turn of events.

Playing the harp had given her a sense of control during this tumultuous period in her life. She couldn’t help that she was a witch, or that her parents couldn’t quite accept her. She couldn’t even control her own magic. But the harp had returned a sense of stability to her heart. Something to keep the homesickness at bay. Now even that seemed like a lie- she hadn’t been in control at all, even when it came to her music.

Morg couldn’t help but wish that Xisa had never discovered the strange occurrences surrounding her harp. Or at least, that she hadn’t told Morg about it. And even if Morg knew Xisa hadn’t been at fault for anything, there was still a lingering bitterness that crept out from time to time.

Suppressing that mischievous grin, Morg’s thoughts turned back to her little prank.

Did she realize it was me yet? Morg wondered with her eyes closed in anticipation. Will she throw snow back at me?

Though she wasn’t particularly excited about getting a shirt full of snow, a snowball fight would be way more fun than sitting around and trying to visualize her mana or whatever. Morg expectantly peeped her eyes open at Xisa. But when she saw her friend’s expression, her heart immediately lurched.

Only a hint of sadness leaked out of Xisa’s teary gaze, but as someone who had hardly ever shown her emotions in front of Morg, she may as well have been bawling.

Did… did I make her upset?! Morg thought in a panic. Because of the snow?!?!

“I-I-I’m sorry, I was just trying to play!” Morg cried desperately. She had never wanted to know Mandarin more than she did now. Scurrying over to Xisa’s side, Morg began brushing remaining bits of snow off Xisa’s shoulders, but Xisa’s expression still had a bit of a heartbroken look to it.

“Wh-why don’t we go take a break?” Morg hopelessly suggested, “I can make us some hot tea or something…”

Suddenly Morg felt a shadow of feeling trickling into her mind through that passageway she and Xisa shared. She immediately began blocking it out, as she always had since discovering how. But then, catching another look at Xisa’s expression, she hesitated. And the emotions crept into her mind like molasses, much slower than they ever had before. A chaotic mix of anxiety, melancholia, regret, guilt, and something she couldn’t quite describe bubbled up in her chest, foreign feelings drowning out her own.

Morg cut them off before they could overwhelm her. But… was that how Xisa felt towards her? Did she think that Morg was… angry at her? About the harp mess, or something else?

“Xisa, I… I’m not upset with you, I was just trying to play!” Morg said worriedly, even while knowing her friend wouldn’t be able to understand her. That hint of sadness remained in her friend's gaze. Feeling frustrated, Morg plopped down in front of Xisa and took the girl’s pale hands in her own.

“I really don’t blame you for anything,” Morg said, pouring as much sincerity and feeling into her words as she could muster. “We’re still good friends!”

Xisa responded with a blank stare.

“Haa…” Morg sighed. The lingering anxiety from Xisa made her already troubled heart pound even harder.

This isn’t working… It's so frustrating!

Then, as she was contemplating the predicament, Morg was struck with an idea so obvious she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before; if Xisa could transfer her feelings to Morg, shouldn’t Morg be able to transfer hers to Xisa?

Determined to get her intent across, Morg closed her eyes and wandered her way around her mind, tracing a path back to where those foreign sensations had originated. She imagined herself standing before a seemingly endless tunnel, peering into the darkness where wisps of feeling occasionally seeped through.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Okay… so now what?

She couldn’t just… walk through the tunnel and into her friend's mind, right? How did Xisa do it?

First she tried yelling down the tunnel in her mind;

Xisa! I’m not upset with you!

She winked an eye open, but her friend’s expression remained stoic. Maybe a little confused, if anything. Morg closed her eyes and tried again, imagining herself writing something in a letter and sending it through the tunnel, imagining her voice loud and echoing, even imagining herself running through the tunnel to meet with her friend, but nothing seemed to work.

Maybe I’m not focusing hard enough… Morg began wondering. Furrowing her brows, Morg considered the exact nature of the feelings that seemed to enter her mind through the tunnel. They were never concrete thoughts… just globs of abstract emotions.

Maybe I should focus more on broad feelings rather than a specific word for word message…?

With that idea in mind, Morg wrapped up the emotions and concepts she wanted to convey to her friend, imagining herself keeping a firm hold on them before clumsily flinging them into that endless tunnel.

It's not your fault, we’re still best friends, please don’t feel so anxious or sorry…

And this time, as she did so, she felt a sort of… numbness pass through her, starting at her fingertips and toes and fizzing its way up to her scalp.

Morg snapped her eyes open just in time to catch a flash of shock spread across Xisa’s face before her features settled back into their usual stoicism. The hand holding Morg’s tightened and, after a moment of stillness between two of them, Xisa suddenly lunged forward.

Morg didn’t understand what was happening until she was already caught in Xisa’s hug. Her eyes slowly widened as her own arms belatedly wrapped around Xisa, patting her friend’s back somewhat awkwardly. As she was contemplating, Yuzan wriggled his way out from inside Xisa’s shirt and flicked out his sticky tongue. Somehow, Morg thought he looked a little disgruntled as he settled on Xisa’s head.

“Puha…” Morg let out a breath of laughter at the sight, her heart warming. She had never had siblings growing up, and her neighborhood friends had always been somewhat aloof towards her- this was the first time she had ever had such a harmonious relationship with someone her own age, even if there were ups and downs.

As Morg tightened her arms around her friend, she found herself wondering if this is what it would be like to have a sister.

Maybe… it's okay that I don’t have the harp anymore…

*

It had been a little over a month since Suhail had seen that wild tree scrabbling out of the forest and onto the cobblestone paths that snaked around the village. Dante had replanted the thing with a flick of his wrist, though grimaced, as if the action had taken a great amount of effort. Effort or no, the action had been rather mind-boggling to Suhail, not to mention the unnatural tree itself. So much so that when he woke up the next morning, he was startled to realize that the entire night hadn’t been a mere dream.

Dante had appeared like a ghost when the rest of the town was as silent as a grave. Even in the dark, his blue eyes had shone like moonlight on still water. Suhail still wondered what the people of his town would have thought of this man. Suhail’s own eyes were a pale tan that flashed violet in the sunlight, and more than one of the villagers had noticed that oddity. Several people had said that he had the gaze of the evil eye. That a single glance from him could cast a curse that lasted for decades.

Not everyone agreed at first. But after a series of crop failures and a wave of flu, it didn’t take long for the majority of the town to turn against him. Eventually he became more than just someone with the evil eye; he became a witch. He vehemently denied it, of course, but he was an orphan with no one to take up for him. It was a hopeless cause.

“Usually when a community ostracizes someone for being a witch, they’re just picking on some innocent individual whose voice is weak,” Dante had said before casting a sidelong glance at Suhail. “Though I suppose, with enough guesses, eventually you’ll guess right, eh?”

Suhail was hungry and cold and tired of sleeping on the wet ground, so when the man ushered him through a nearby doorway, Suhail didn’t protest.

And that was how Suhail wound up in a village halfway across the world.

This new town was much quieter than what he was used to. Street vendors didn’t line the stone paths, and there weren’t as many animals around. And while the surrounding forests were similar with their evergreen trees, he missed the massive cedar groves of his hometown. Of course that didn’t stop him from romping around in the wilderness like he used to back home.

As he mulled over the events surrounding his arrival in Cyewen, Suhail trekked along a narrow trail snaking through the forest. Dante had warned him not to leave the house without him, and while Suhail was thankful towards the man, he hated staying inside all day. Not when there was so much to explore.

The fact that a hot meal and a soft bed would be waiting for him at the end of the day only made him more eager. He only worried that Dante would kick him out for disobeying.

Then again, Suhail thought to himself as he picked his way through a thorny patch of brush, it's only a matter of time before he kicks me out anyways.

Suhail was a magnet for misfortune. Or so everyone had said. Every time someone tried to take him under their wing, some terrible calamity would fall upon their house. Sickness, freak accidents, natural disasters, money problems, and so on and so forth. Suhail hadn’t believed any of it when he was younger, but now… well, he wasn’t so sure now. Maybe he was just unlucky.

After a while of romping through the woods, Suhail thought he could hear voices. Creeping closer, he squinted through the dense trees and spied what he thought must be a house. A woman with straight black hair and a stern expression was saying something to two girls who seemed about his age. They were all sitting outside in front of the house. He thought they might be in a garden, but it was difficult to see at this distance.

He tried to listen to what they were saying, but all the words just sounded like gibberish. He assumed they must be speaking English. He only spoke Arabic and a little French.

After watching the trio for a while longer, Suhail crept up to the side of the house, though remained out of sight. He briefly considered sneaking inside just to look around, but after a moment of contemplation, decided he didn’t want to cause too much trouble for Dante. He had broken into houses before, to steal a bit of food here and there, and it was always a bit of a risky operation, but it was loads of fun.

Well… not so much fun when you get caught…

Suhail scampered back into the woods and away from the house, following trails or bushwhacking his own way until he came across a beach. Smooth stones peppered the sandy shores as surging waves sent water lapping up to the edge of the woods. He sat on a weathered piece of driftwood and looked out at the water that stretched for miles. A saline mist filled the air, mingling with the fishy scent of seaweed. The whole island had a bit of that salty smell to it, but here, it was pungent. It reminded him a bit of home.

A pang of homesickness struck him, causing his brows to pinch together in frustration. He had left nothing behind and had no one to miss. Certainly no one would miss him. Why should he feel homesick? He stamped out the feeling.

Picking up the smoothest, flattest rock he could find, Suhail halfheartedly skipped it. It clumsily bounced off the water once before settling into the waves. He supposed he should be getting back soon.

*

A little while later, Suhail sneakily opened the door to Dante’s townhouse, hoping he could creep in undetected.

“Ah, Suhail, just in time,” Dante called, making Suhail jump. “Come over here, I have something for you.” He spoke gently, as he always had with Suhail, but this only made the boy more nervous. Surely he was upset that Suhail had snuck out.

Suhail closed the door behind him and gloomily made his way over to one of the many work tables and benches that littered the first floor of the townhouse.

Dante’s house had two levels. The top level was normal- it had bedrooms and bathrooms and a living space that all looked how rooms in houses usually looked. But the bottom level was different- the living space was littered with lenses and microscopes and mirrors and bits of clear and colored glass. Magnifying glasses were stuck in place with clamps and tanks of various liquids rested here and there. Though everything seemed cluttered to Suhail, Dante had made it very clear that moving anything just a hair's breadth out of place could ruin his… experiments? Suhail wasn’t really sure what was going on in this… laboratory of sorts.

Suhail stopped just behind Dante and peered over his shoulder. The man was squinting through what Suhail could only assume was a magnifying device as the piece of glass he was focused on was frighteningly small. Gluant, Dante’s slimy marbled newt, sat amidst the man’s wavy black hair, looking equally enthralled by the piece of glass. Without looking up, Dante grabbed something off the table beside him and held it out.

“Here,” Dante said, “these are for you.”

Suhail took the pair of seeing eyeglasses and studied them skeptically, holding them out with his thumb and forefinger. He had seen glasses like these before- some of the people from his hometown had worn them. Though he had never seen glasses cut into semi-circles like these were; he’d only ever seen rectangular or rounded pairs.

Suhail lifted the glasses closer to his eyes, studying the densely packed symbols etched across the lenses. Did all glasses have those? He had pickpocketed several pairs before, but he didn’t remember them ever having symbols scratched into them. Had he just missed it? Surely it would obstruct one’s vision more than anything else.

“How are they?” Dante asked, still immersed in the piece of glass before him. Suhail hurried to try them on, resting the half-moon glasses on the bridge of his nose. The world instantly sharpened. Startled, Suhail took in the room around him. It was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He could see things both at a distance and up close, and he didn’t have to strain his eyes or turn his head at odd angles just to get something into focus.

When Suhail didn’t say anything, Dante straightened his back and turned to look at the young witch with the eye that was unobstructed by the magnifying device.

“Well?” he asked expectantly. He wore an expression equal parts hope and worry, as if Suhail was about to evaluate his life’s work.

“Th-they’re very nice, thank you,” Suhail said, trying to smile, “I’ve never been able to see so well in my life.”

It was a genuine statement, but Suhail worried that his nervousness had made him sound insincere. Dante smiled quietly before turning back to his glass.

“Your eyes will grow sharper in just a few years. But for now, these will help,” he said as he gave Suhail a dismissive wave and resumed working on his project. Suhail watched Dante’s hands move delicately, etching infuriatingly miniscule symbols on the tiny piece of glass. Without realizing it, Suhail moved to get a better look.

When Dante noticed Suhail still hovering behind him after several minutes, he looked up to the boy again.

“Is there something else?”

Suhail started when the man suddenly turned to him, giving him his undivided attention.

“Um! I was just wondering… how these… worked?” the young boy squeezed out as he fiddled with the half-moon glasses on his face. Dante’s expression visibly brightened at Suhail’s words, his unobscured eye glowing with excitement.

He had really just been looking over Dante’s shoulder because he was curious about what the man was doing. And it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. But it felt awkward to say so aloud, so he settled for a question about the glasses.

Dante removed the magnifying device from his eye and set it aside, his chair spinning so that his whole body now faced Suhail.

“Well,” Dante said, his eyes glittering, “first let me explain to you the optics of the human eye.”