Dahlia let out a long, shaky breath as she eased herself into one of the library chairs, her frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "Sorry about that," she muttered, her voice quieter now, tinged with an exhaustion she couldn't hide. "I just can't handle how he's ignoring everything, even when it's so obvious it's affecting all of us. It's like he's in denial." She exhaled again, as if speaking the words lifted some of the weight pressing down on her.
Airam, sitting across from her, gave a small, understanding nod. "I get it. When I first started noticing... whatever this is, I was freaked out too. It's not exactly something anyone’s prepared for."
Dahlia’s gaze shifted to the cluttered table, her eyes scanning the stack of books piled haphazardly across it. She gestured toward them, her brow furrowing. "What’s with all these books? Are we studying for an occult midterm or something?"
Pandora’s eyes lit up with a spark of enthusiasm, and she leaned forward. "These are from the occult section of the library," she said with a smile that bordered on mischievous.
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "Why would we need occult books? It's not like we’re about to cast some big, dramatic spell or anything."
"Of course not," Pandora replied, her tone carrying an edge of mystery. "But I’ve been digging through them, cross-referencing stories and patterns. The occult is full of recurring themes, you know? And I’ve found something... interesting." She paused for effect, letting the tension hang in the air.
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Dahlia leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Recurring themes? Like what?"
Pandora smirked and flipped open one of the books, her fingers tracing the faded words on the page. "There are always witches, a warrior, and a caster. They’re portrayed differently across the stories, sure, but the core elements are always the same. Different names, different times, but always the same essence."
"What essence?" Dahlia pressed, her unease growing.
Pandora took a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "The Witch of Soul and Spirit, the Witch of War and Fire, the Green Witch, the Fae Witch, the Love Witch, the Witch of Light, the Sea Witch, a Valkar, and a Time Caster." Her voice lowered slightly, and the room seemed to grow quieter with her words.
Dahlia blinked, the list sending a shiver down her spine. "What does that have to do with us?"
Airam, who had been quietly flipping through another book, finally spoke up, her tone measured but somber. "Everything. I found a connection between those stories and the picture we saw."
Dahlia’s stomach twisted, and her voice came out softer now. "What kind of connection?"
Airam hesitated, glancing at Pandora as if seeking silent permission. Then she closed the book in her hands with a deliberate motion. "At the end of every story about them, the witches, the Valkar, the caster—they’re all cursed. A reincarnation spell. Every time they die, they’re given a new life. A fresh start, but with no memory of the last one."
The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the group. Dahlia felt her breath hitch, her mind racing. It was absurd. It was impossible. And yet, something in her gut whispered that it made a terrifying kind of sense.