Chapter Three: Cassia (1)

  I came to the village in the early morning, when the world existed in that strange threshold between darkness and waking. The trees overhead were so dense that what lay beyond became irrelevant, only the forest floor mattered, and it was alive with mana.

  Flecks of it drifted through the air like luminescent dust, each particle carrying its own faint radiance. They moved slowly, deliberately, tracing invisible currents that wound between the massive roots and around the trunks of ancient trees. Where they gathered in greater concentration, the glow intensified, casting everything in an ethereal shimmer that made the packed earth and weathered bark seem almost otherworldly.

  I paused at the edge of the clearing, breathing in the charged air, a smile already tugging at my lips.

  The village was moving.

  Small sounds gathered first, embers stirred, soft voices murmured greetings, a pot struck stone and rang out briefly before being quieted again. Someone laughed, unguarded and warm, and the sound traveled farther than it should have, gliding along the roots before fading into the distance. My own laugh bubbled up in response, bright and delighted, as I stepped fully into the clearing, my loose brown cloak swaying with the movement. The fabric was simple, worn soft from use, and it hung open enough to reveal glimpses of the dark purple dress underneath, a splash of color against the earth tones of the forest.

  The children noticed me immediately.

  They came running from between the homes, feet pounding uneven rhythms into the dirt. One boy, Tomas, with his perpetually scraped knees and wild hair, tripped over a surfaced root and went down hard, only to scramble back up with a laugh, dirt streaking his cheek. I bit back a grin as I watched him dust himself off with exaggerated dignity.

  A girl with an uneven crown of woven leaves skidded to a stop in front of me, eyes bright. This was Cala, the self-appointed leader of the village children, who took her responsibilities with an intensity that I found endlessly amusing.

  "You're here!" Cala announced, as if saying it aloud made it more certain.

  I dropped into an elaborate bow, one hand flourished outward. "I am indeed! Did you think I'd forgotten my favorite students?"

  "You said you'd come back," another voice added from behind her, Pip, the smallest of the group, who rarely spoke above a whisper but never missed a lesson.

  "And I always keep my promises, don't I?" I replied, spinning to face him and tapping his nose gently with one finger. He giggled and ducked his head.

  They crowded close, tugging at my sleeves, excitement bubbling over into overlapping voices. I raised my hands dramatically, palms open, and felt mana gather instinctively at my fingertips. It responded the way it always did, eager, warm, familiar, like an old friend happy to play. I waited until the children quieted, their attention focused, though I couldn't resist winking at Sara, who was practically vibrating with anticipation. "Now then," I said, adopting my best scholarly voice that made several children giggle. "Who among you can recite the most fundamental principle governing the manipulation of ambient mana?"

  Blank stares. Perfect.

  I dropped the act and grinned. "Okay, okay. Who can tell me the most important rule about magic?"

  "Don't rush it!" several voices chorused, relief evident that I was back to normal.

  "Excellent! And why don't we rush it?"

  Tomas's hand shot up so enthusiastically he nearly clocked the girl next to him. She ducked with practiced ease, clearly not the first time. "Because mana doesn't like to be bossed around!"

  I laughed. "Exactly! You have to ask for a favor."

  The children dissolved into giggles. Cala wrinkled her nose.

  I traced a rune in the air with deliberate slowness, adding a little flourish at the end because why not make it pretty? The mana nearby responded to my motion, flowing eagerly into the shape I drew. It was nothing fancy, just a simple combination that pulled in ignis and heated the air enough to make the runes glow softly, like embers in a dying fire.

  The children gasped, as they always did. That sound never got old.

  "Can we do that?" Pip asked immediately, his whisper-quiet voice somehow cutting through the excited murmurs. His eyes were wide as saucers. "Can we draw in the air like you?" The question sparked a chorus of eager voices.

  "I want to try!"

  "Teach us how!"

  "Can we? Please?"

  My smile faltered. This was always the hard part. I knelt down to their level, meeting those hopeful eyes, and felt my heart squeeze. "I'm sorry, little ones. That's not for you."

  The disappointment that crashed across their faces was almost physical. Pip's shoulders slumped. Mira's leaf crown tilted sadly to one side.

  "But. . ." I added quickly, brightening my voice and watching their heads snap back up, "That doesn't mean you can't do magic! It just means children like you will have to get creative. Like your parents do. And you know what?" I leaned in conspiratorially, and they all leaned in too, creating a little huddle of dirt-smudged faces and eager eyes.

  "Sometimes the creative way is even better. More interesting. More... you."

  That seemed to help. A few smiles returned.

  I settled myself cross-legged on the ground and patted the dirt beside me. "Come on, gather round. Let me show you something good."

  The children dropped to their knees around me, forming an eager semicircle. I smoothed a patch of dirt in front of me with both hands, brushing away a few small stones and some leaves that had drifted in overnight. Then, with the same deliberate slowness I'd used in the air, I traced the same set of runes in the soil with my index finger. When I finished, I pressed my thumb against the center to activate it.

  The runes glowed in the earth, warm and steady.

  "See? Same principle, just... closer to the ground. More grounded." I paused, grinning at my own joke. "Get it? Grounded?"

  Tomas groaned. Cala rolled her eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck. Pip giggled.

  Perfect.

  "When you ask mana to do something, you need four things. You need the right mana, a medium, instructions, and an offering." I said, making sure the children understood before I continued.

  "That's a lot!" One of the children said, sighing loudly. "Can't you just teach us how you do it?"

  "If I could. . . I would, I promise." I said empathetically. "For now, you'll have to learn how to do it like your parents."

  One of the children let out a long . . . exasperated sigh.

  "Moving on." I said, watching Pip and Tomas laugh amongst themselves.

  "A medium could be anything, paper, metal, even the dirt like I just showed you. The better medium you have, the more likely mana will listen to you. For example, how would you like it if you were asked to help in the fields and your tools were filthy? Wouldn't you be more likely to help if they washed them off first?"

  "I wouldn't anyway." Tomas said, crossing his arms. "My dad is a baker, I wouldn't be in the fields."

  The other children laugh, some of them offering similar reasons they would not help.

  "Oh that's no problem." I said, waving my finger. "This might be a little advanced for children like you, but there are types of mana. You have to ask the right type of mana to do the right thing for you. You won't have to worry about that unless any of you plan to learn more than simple runes.

  "I want to!" Cala says, raising her hand into the air, her tail flicking.

  "Well I heard there is an actual school opening soon. You should ask your parents to apply for you." I said, adjusting myself on the dirt. "But, before we get too distracted, let's finish with the lesson." I smiled, watching Cala pout softly and cross her legs. "The instructions are next. Mana needs to know exactly what you want it to do. If you ask mana to do something and don't tell it what . . . well . . . it might get confused and start guessing for you, or even just get upset. Mana has its own language you'll have to learn."

  Cala raised her hand high over her head, looking impatient.

  "Yes Cala?" I said, laughing silently.

  "You keep showing us magic each week, but your acting like mana is alive?"

  "Oh it is." I said, drawing a rune in the air again and causing a purple smile to appear. "That's why you need to be very clear when asking for a favor. I don't want any of you to get hurt when I'm not around. Don't worry, most mana will listen. It will understand the time and effort it took you to write out the instructions and do what you ask even if you're a little wrong. But that doesn't mean you can write anything."

  The children started looking impatient, some of them drawing in the dirt.

  "Finally..." I said, taking care to reach over and grab Pip's arm before he tried to finish a much larger copy of my rune. "You have to offer something to the mana, something like a gift. Mostly it'll just be your time for small things. But if you want to do bigger things, like give yourself super strength, you'll have to give mana something. Nothing is free." I said, patting Cala on the head as she leaned in closer.

  "Like what?" She said as I stroked her head, taking care to avoid her sensitive growing horns.

  "Oh you could offer your snacks?"

  "My snacks?!" Cala recoiled in horror, matched in expression by the other children.

  I barely stop myself from giggling, raising a hand to cover my mouth as I wave them off with my other.

  "Oh relax, it's just an example." I said, managing to calm myself. "You could offer some bread, or a coin or two? It just has to have some value to you."

  "But what if I don't want to?" Pip said.

  "Well what would you do if you were asked to do something hard and weren't paid?"

  "I would get angry, I wouldn't work!" Pip said, rather enthusiastically.

  "Exactly." I said. "Now that we've gone over the steps, why don't each of you copy what I did?"

  The children scattered slightly, each claiming a patch of dirt. I moved among them as they knelt and crouched, guiding hands and correcting movements, gently turning wrists, slowing motions that grew too sharp. Dirt was already accumulating on their knees and under their fingernails, but none of them seemed to notice or care. When Pip's rune flickered out almost immediately, barely holding its glow for more than a heartbeat, I knelt beside him in the dirt and ruffled his hair.

  "Hey, that was better than last week! Did you see how it held for a whole second? That's progress, little one."

  His face brightened, and he tried again with renewed determination, his small finger carefully tracing the shape in the soil.

  Cala, predictably, was taking the exercise with utmost seriousness, her tongue poking out between her teeth as she concentrated. She'd brushed her patch of ground completely smooth before beginning, and now her finger moved with careful precision through the dirt. Her rune formed perfectly, glowing steady and bright in the earth. She looked up at me with such pride that I had to resist the urge to scoop her up and spin her around.

  "Beautiful work," I said warmly. "You've been practicing, haven't you?"

  "Every day," Mira said solemnly. "Just like you told me."

  "That's my girl."

  Tomas, meanwhile, was having less success.

  "It's not working," he said, scowling at his dirt-stained hands as if they'd personally betrayed him.

  "Hmm," I said thoughtfully. "Can I tell you a secret?"

  He looked up at me, suspicious but curious.

  I leaned in conspiratorially. "When I was learning, I once got so frustrated that I accidentally lit my teacher's hair on fire.

  Tomas's eyes went wide. "Really?"

  "Really truly. She had a bald spot for a whole week." I grinned at the memory, one I'd invented entirely, but the children didn't need to know that. "Even I make mistakes sometimes. You just need to keep trying."

  "Okay!" Pip said as he smoothed out his patch of dirt and tried again, this time with his shoulders loose and a slight smile on his face. His finger moved through the soil more gently, and the rune formed slowly, wavering but holding. When it finally dissolved, it did so gently, like a sigh, the glow fading gradually rather than winking out.

  "There!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands together and sending a small puff of dust into the air. "See? You just had to stop trying to wrestle it into submission."

  "I did it!" Tomas jumped up, pumping his fist in the air, dirt falling from his knees. "Did you see? I did it!"

  "I saw, I saw! Everyone saw! You're brilliant!"

  Small lights blinked into existence in the dirt around the clearing as more children succeeded, glowing runes traced in the earth that held for a few precious seconds before fading. A tiny girl named Sera, who couldn't have been more than five and had dirt smudged across her cheek, tugged at my tunic with both hands. "Miss Cassia? Can you make something big?"

  "Big?" I repeated, eyes twinkling. "How big?"

  "Really big!" Sera spread her arms as wide as they would go.

  "Well, I don't know..." I said doubtfully, though I was already sorting mana. "That sounds pretty big. Are you sure you can handle it?"

  "Yes!" several children shouted at once.

  I stood and stepped into the center of the clearing, brushing dirt from my knees and absently wiping my hands on my tunic, my fingernails were thoroughly caked with soil from kneeling beside the children and tracing practice runes in the earth with them. I took a breath, feeling the mana respond to my intention, and began to trace a much larger, more complex set of runes in the air. I drew the symbols into the air, much to the children's ongoing amazement that I was able to do so. I encircled myself with runes, creating an open ring that left only a small gap to separate the start from the end. It looked complex, but it was mostly for show. I knew I could do the same thing with a single rune, but if I actually did something complex, I doubt I would be able to come back.

  When I completed the final line, the set of runes started to fill with a deep blue mana. Mana had colors, like anything, and dark blue was the color of protection. Not to be confused with similar colors of mana which had very different effects.

  It entered from the first symbol, acting like a doorway as individual specks of mana entered the drawn rune combination and marched to where it was asked to be. Speck by speck, dot by dot, the combination filled with mana and then let out a pulse all at once as the extra mana was expended. When the entire combination shone brightly, I simply nodded my head and a wall of light connected all the runes, forming a solid barrier of dark blue light that would block anyone from crossing. It only lasted a few moments since the combination of runes did not include a rune that would continuously sort mana, and once the initial mana was used, the runes disappeared in tiny puffs of smoke as the mana I used to create the floating runes ran out. It would have been different if I had used a different medium like the children, but that wouldn't have been as fun for them.

  "Again!" Sera demanded immediately, dirt-covered hands reaching toward the sky. "Do it again!"

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  I laughed, breathless and happy. "Maybe next time. That one takes a lot of energy, and I need to save some for later." I said, coming up with an excuse to calm the inquisitive Sara.

  "For what?" Sara asked, still kneeling by her patch of dirt.

  "Oh, you know. Important business. Very serious stuff." I adopted an exaggerated expression that made the children laugh.

  The children giggled, and Sara attempted her own impression, drawing herself up as tall as she could while still kneeling. "Serious Stuff!"

  "Exactly!" I said, delighted.

  They played until the rhythm of the village shifted, until adults began calling the children home for their morning meal. One by one they scattered, though not without protests and promises to practice. Their hands and knees were thoroughly dirty, and several had smudges on their faces from where they'd absently touched themselves while concentrating. Sara was the last to leave, lingering to give me a fierce hug around the waist, leaving small handprints of dirt on my tunic.

  "You'll come back again right?" she asked, looking up with hopeful eyes.

  I smoothed the girl's hair, my heart squeezing. "Only if you don't tell your parents about me."

  Sara nodded, satisfied with this answer. She pressed her lips together, taking her hand and doing a mock impression of sealing her lips. I doubted I would be able to keep visiting the village if their parents knew about me . . . about our lessons.

  Sara started to walk off toward her home, joining Pip and Tomas who were the furthest behind the gaggle of walking children.

  I remained in the clearing, brushing dust from my hands, my smile lingering. The morning felt brighter somehow, warmer, as if the children's laughter had left something tangible behind. I hummed softly to myself as I moved through the space, straightening a few things, kneeling to look at the patches of dirt where the children had practiced their runes. I was tracing my finger idly through one of the dirt patches, remembering Tomas's triumphant expression, when the air changed.

  The children were still leaving, their voices carrying back to me as they walked toward their homes. Pip and Sera were the farthest behind, dawdling as they always did, still twenty paces from the tree line. They were laughing about something, completely oblivious. Then I heard it, the sound of something massive moving through the undergrowth. Not the careful scurrying of some of the smaller creatures. This was different. Rushing. Hungry.

  Birds exploded from the canopy in a panicked rush of wings.

  "Run!" I screamed, but the word barely left my throat before the forest erupted.

  The monster burst from between the trees like a nightmare given form. Its limbs bent at angles, jointed in too many places, each movement a jerky, insectoid horror. Thick, black matted fur covered parts of its body, but in other places the skin was bare and glistening, stretched too tight over bulging muscle and protruding bone. Its head was vaguely canine but elongated, the jaw hanging open to reveal rows of teeth that spiraled back into its throat like a lamprey's maw.

  And it was charging straight toward Pip and Sera.

  "RUN!" I screamed again, louder this time, my voice cracking with panic.

  The children heard me. Sera's head whipped around, her eyes going wide with terror. Pip froze completely, his small body locked in place. The monster's claws, each one as long as my forearm and curved like scythes, dug into the earth with every bounding stride, tearing up chunks of soil and roots, leaving destruction in its wake.

  This was a small village, there wasn’t even anyone who could use a sword. The closest guild was two villages over and they wouldn’t even know about the attack. I had to protect the children, I couldn’t just let them get killed in front of me. They had so much time left, so much life to live before . . .

  My thoughts were cut off as the monster roared.

  My hand came up, fingers moving through the air. Mana gathered at three of my fingertips, glowing bright red in the color of fire, bright yellow in the color of air, and bright blue in the color of energy. I traced the combination with desperate speed, three runes that blazed to life in the air before me. Heat, Ignition, Propulsion. The heat rune would heat the air before the combination of runes until it shimmered on the verge of igniting. The ignition rune would supply energy, igniting the heated air into a ball of flame kept burning by the added energy. Finally, the propulsion rune would cause the fireball to shoot forwards.

  The moment I completed the final stroke, the runes flashed and a fireball formed in the air before the combination of runes. It was quiet, the only sound emitting was a rush of air as the fireball shot forward.

  The sphere of flame streaked across the clearing, trailing sparks and smoke, the air around it shimmering with heat as it flew. It slammed into the monster's shoulder with a wet, meaty impact that sent a spray of embers cascading across its black matted hide. The smell of burning fur and something fouler filled my nostrils.

  The thing screamed, a sound like metal tearing and stone breaking, high-pitched and utterly wrong, and its head whipped toward the impact. For one desperate, hopeful heartbeat, I thought it would turn toward me instead.

  It didn't.

  The monster shook itself violently, like a dog shedding water, and bits of burning fur flew off in all directions. Then it immediately returned its attention to the children, its too-many eyes fixed on them with terrible hunger. The fireball had barely singed it. It hadn't even slowed down.

  "No, no, no!" My voice came out strangled, panic clawing at my throat.

  Pip had finally started moving, his small hand grabbing Sera's and pulling her, but they were so small, so slow, their little legs pumping as fast as they could. The monster would reach them in seconds. I could see it happening in my mind with horrible clarity, those terrible claws, those spiraling teeth, the children's screams. . .

  Doors were flying open across the village. Voices shouted in alarm. But no one was close enough. No one could reach them in time.

  Only me.

  A wise mage once told me that “When one fireball doesn’t solve something . . . there is only one solution.” I said, sighing. "My sisters are going to kill me," I breathed, and then I stopped holding back.

  I raised both hands, fingers spread wide, and the mana in the air responded like it had been waiting for permission. It shimmered, vibrated, and rushed toward me, condensing into spheres that ignited into purple flames the moment they formed. One, two, three, four, they appeared in rapid succession around my outstretched hands, hovering, casting everything in violet light.

  And that solution was. . . more fireballs.

  I thrust my arm forward and the first sphere launched itself at the monster with a crack of displaced air. Then the second. Then the third. They came faster and faster, each one forming and firing in a continuous stream, until it looked less like individual projectiles and more like a column of purple flame connecting my hands to the creature's body. The air between us shimmered, and I could feel sweat beading on my forehead from the heat.

  The monster roared, and this time the sound was different, pain, rage, confusion all mixed together. The purple fire clung to its hide like living things, burning hotter, refusing to go out, carrying with it my desire to protect the children. Chunks of blackened flesh sloughed off where the fire ate deepest, revealing bone and muscle beneath. The smell of burning meat and spent magic, filled the clearing and made my stomach turn.

  The creature's head swung toward me, its lamprey mouth opening impossibly wide, wider than should have been physically possible. Its eyes, too many eyes, scattered across its malformed skull in clusters, fixed on me with a clear rage.

  Then it charged.

  The ground shook with each stride, tremors running through the packed earth. I kept firing, kept the stream of purple flame pouring into it, my arms beginning to ache from holding the position. But it wasn't stopping. Wasn't even slowing. It was coming straight for me, and I could see the moment it would reach me, I could imagine those claws tearing through flesh and bone.

  I heard voices behind me, getting closer. Villagers, drawn by the noise and the screaming and the smell of burning. I couldn't look. Couldn't take my eyes off the monster.

  "Stay back!" I shouted over my shoulder, my voice raw and desperate. "Get the children inside!"

  The monster was fifteen paces away. Ten. Its claws left deep furrows in the earth with each step, dirt spraying up behind it like water from a ship's wake. The purple fire had burned away most of the fur on its chest and face, revealing the twisted muscle and exposed bone beneath, but still it came. Still it charged. When the monster was almost on me, when it was almost within striking range . . . it finally collapsed.

  I saw the creature tumbling end over end, its massive body ragdolling through the air like it weighed nothing. It crashed into the dirt ten paces away, or maybe twenty, I couldn't tell anymore, with an impact that shook the ground. Dirt and debris rained down around me.

  For a moment, everything was silent except for the high-pitched ringing in my ears. The world felt muffled, distant, like I was underwater.

  Smoke rose from the monster's corpse in thick, oily columns that twisted in the still air, reaching toward the canopy like grasping fingers. The ground around it was scorched black, the grass still smoldering, small flames licking at the edges and spreading slowly outward.

  I'd done it. The children were safe.

  Then I heard the whispers.

  At first, I thought it was just the ringing in my ears, but no, these were voices. Hushed and frightened and getting louder. I turned slowly, my body protesting every movement, muscles screaming, and saw them.

  Almost the entire village had gathered at the edge of the clearing. Twenty, maybe thirty of them, drawn by the noise and the screaming and the explosion that had probably been heard for miles. They stood in a loose semicircle, keeping their distance, staring at me with expressions I couldn't quite read through my blurred vision. Some of them carried pitchforks, or other improvised weapons. I saw a few of them holding scrolls or other magical items, most likely purchased from a traveling merchant the last time one visited the village. The scrolls were single use magic spells, expensive but useful for little ones in trouble.

  I blinked hard, trying to clear my eyes. I realized my hands were still glowing faintly with residual purple light. The mana clung to my skin like it didn't want to let go. I let the magic dissipate, watching the glow fade from my fingers, leaving only the red, tender skin beneath.

  "It's okay," I said, my voice hoarse and cracking. "It's dead. The children are safe." No one moved. No one spoke. They just stared. Then I saw their faces more clearly, and my stomach dropped.

  Fear. Shock. And something else, something that looked uncomfortably like horror.

  An older woman I'd seen before on the edge of town drying laundry had both hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. A man I didn't know had his arm around his wife, pulling her back slightly, positioning himself between her and me as if I might attack at any moment. Another woman was clutching her child so tightly that the boy was squirming, trying to get free, his face turning red.

  "It was going to hurt the children," I said, taking a step forward. My voice came out pleading, desperate. "I had to stop it."

  Several villagers took a step back. The movement was synchronized, instinctive, like a flock of birds startled by a predator. "Did you see..." someone whispered, the words carrying in the sudden silence. "In the air," another voice added, trembling. "No runes. She just... the mana just did it."

  My heart was pounding now, but not from the fight. From something worse. I looked around the gathered crowd, searching for a friendly face, for understanding, for anything that looked like the warmth I'd felt just this morning.

  Oh Mother, the children were there too, peeking out from behind their parents' legs. Sera stood near the front, her small face confused, her leaf crown askew. When I met her eyes, the girl took an involuntary step backward, pressing herself against her mother's skirts.

  That hurt more than the monster's claws would have.

  I looked around the gathered villagers, searching for a friendly face, for understanding, for anything that looked like the warmth I felt teaching the children. But everywhere I looked, I saw the same thing: fear, suspicion, and distance.

  "I would never hurt you," I said desperately. "Any of you. You have to know that."

  "We don't know that!" an older man shouted. "We've never seen anything like that before! It was not right, it's not possible, it's monstrous!" The noise was starting to increase in volume, some of the children being led away by their parents.

  "But I used it to save you," I said, my voice breaking. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

  The noise turned violent and a rock flew towards me. I raised my hands to stop it, but a barrier of pink light appeared in the space between the rock and myself. The rock impacted the barrier, bouncing off and flying back towards the villagers, causing some of them to scatter.

  "Cassia."

  The voice cut through the tension like a blade. I turned to see my sisters emerging from the forest path, their expressions dark with something that looked like fury mixed with resignation.

  "What have you done now. . ." Sitka said, her voice tight with barely controlled anger.

  "I'm sorry," I said, though I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for. My sisters were always like this, always disappointed in me for trying to interact with villagers or townsfolk. I knew why we shouldn't, but they are so . . . and despite what they tell me it can't be bad to leave home every so often? Well . . . ignoring what just happened.

  Sitka grabbed my arm the moment she was close enough, her grip tight enough to hurt. "What were you thinking?" Wisteria hissed.

  "I was thinking that thing was about to kill the children," I shot back, trying to pull my arm free. Sitka's grip didn't loosen. 'What was I supposed to do!"

  The villagers were frozen, still staring at the pink barrier as it pulsed between the three sisters and the crowd.

  "Nothing!" Sitka said, her usual detachment replaced by something sharper. "You weren't even supposed to be here. We only found out when Mother told us. We thought you were still sleeping. Is this where you go when you . . . sleep in?" Sitka added air quotes.

  I stared at my sister, confused and hurt warring in my chest. "But I stopped a monster, I couldn't just watch?"

  "That's exactly the problem," Wisteria said quietly. "You always have to do. . . something."

  "I can't do it," I said finally. "I can't just stand by and watch. It's not in me anymore."

  "Cassia," Wisteria said, and now her voice was gentle, almost tender. "Please. We're begging you."

  "And if I can't?"

  "Then nothing good will come of it," Sitka said. "For you, for them, for any of us. They need to be left alone, that's what they're for."

  The words sent a chill down Cassia's spine. "What they're for? They're not just . . ."

  "We know what they are," Wisteria interrupted. "Better than you do, apparently. Now come. We're leaving."

  "And if I refuse?"

  Wisteria's expression hardened. "Then we'll have a much more difficult conversation. One I'd prefer to avoid."

  It wasn't quite a threat, but it was close enough. I looked back toward the village, where I could see the crowd of villagers frozen in place . . . unsure what to do. I could still hear the low murmur of frightened voices. I thought of the fear in the villagers' eyes, of the way they'd looked at me like I was something monstrous.

  "Fine," I said quietly. "I'll come with you."

  "Thank you," Sitka said, and she sounded genuinely relieved.

  Sitka released my arm but stayed close as we turned away from the clearing. Wisteria moved to my other side, and together we walked toward the forest path. The pink barrier shimmered behind us for a moment longer before dissolving into motes of light that scattered on the breeze.

  I could feel the villagers' eyes on my back with every step. The weight of their stares pressed against me like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to turn around, to explain, to make them understand that I'd only been trying to help. But my sisters' presence on either side kept me moving forward, away from the clearing, away from the children I'd been teaching just moments before.

  We walked in silence until the sounds of the village faded behind us, swallowed by the dense forest. Only then did I speak. "They were going to die," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Pip and Sera. That thing was heading straight for them."

  "We know," Wisteria said softly.

  "Everything with you two is complicated," I muttered.

  A ghost of a smile touched Wisteria's lips. "Yes, well. That's what happens when you live as long as we have."

  "I look the same age as you," I protested.

  "But you don't act like it anymore," Sitka said, her voice sharp. "You've changed, Cassia."

  I stopped walking, forcing them to stop as well. "Changed? What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means you used to be helpful," Wisteria said, her tone more gentle than Sitka's but no less serious. "You used to listen. You used to understand that there are bigger issues."

  "And now?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  "Now you're just... difficult," Sitka said flatly.

  "Rude," I said, looking away from Sitka.

  "Maybe I'm tired of just accepting things," I shot back, frustration bleeding into my voice. "Maybe change isn't a bad thing. Maybe change is good."

  "Watch your tone, little sister," Sitka warned.

  "Why? Because I'm supposed to just nod and smile and do whatever you tell me?”

  Sitka's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. For a moment, I thought she might argue further, but then she simply exhaled, a sound of pure, weary resignation.

  "We're done here," Wisteria murmured, her hand briefly touching my shoulder. The gesture was almost gentle, almost apologetic. No more words were necessary. We all knew where this conversation would lead, and we all knew it would change nothing. We continued walking in heavy silence. The packed earth gave way to softer ground, cushioned by centuries of fallen leaves. Here, far from any settlement, the forest felt ancient and watchful. Sitka stopped and rolled her shoulders, and I felt the familiar tingle of her mana in the air. "We should go," she said. "Mother will want to know what happened."

  "Of course she will," I muttered.

  Wisteria shot me a warning look but said nothing. Instead, she closed her eyes and I felt her mana unfurl, responding to her will with the ease of long practice. Both Wisteria and Sitka clothes changed from the brown villager garb they wore to colorful outfits. Wisteria wore a dark pink tunic and pants, her clothes almost ill-fitting as they looked too large on her frame. Sitka was now wearing a black ankle length dress, fitted and looking extremely out of place as deep in the woods as they were.

  "Now . . ." Wisteria said, sighing and taking a slightly kinder tone. "Can we leave now Cassie? We had to skip breakfast to come get you. We won’t ask you to apologize or anything, we know you won't . . . but you should be thinking of what you’ll tell Mother.”

  I nodded, still upset, not wanting to talk anymore.

  "Finally. . .” Wisteria said with a long exasperated sigh.” The servants were making pancakes. I swear if they’re cold when we get home, I’m going to put a lock on your room again.”

  “Mother will just tell you to take it off.” I said, almost whispering.

  “Its the principle,” Sitka said, walking a stride away from the two. “Breakfast is important, we were taught as such after all.”

  Wisteria and Sitka took off their cloaks, exposing colorful wings that caught the ambient light and refracted it, sending cascades of color dancing across the clearing. Sitka's wings were deep black, shot through with veins of silver that pulsed with her heartbeat. Wisteria's were softer, a pink that matched her clothes that darkened to red at the edges.

  They were beautiful. They were always beautiful.

  I took off my own cloak, exposing my deep purple dress to the cool forest air. I stretched my own wings, rotating my shoulders and flexing the muscles that had been held too long in one position. They were different from my sisters, a deep purple that refused to stay solid in places, seemingly switching states of matter on a whim. Where Sitka's wings looked solid and powerful, and Wisteria's appeared delicate and precise, mine seemed almost playful and indecisive, the edges curling slightly as if caught in an invisible breeze.

  "Ready?" Sitka asked, though it wasn't really a question.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  Sitka went first, her powerful wings beating once, twice, lifting her smoothly into the air. Wisteria followed, her ascent more graceful, almost dance-like. I watched them rise above the clearing, their wings catching mana and scattering it in brilliant displays. Then I jumped, my own wings catching the air and pulling me upward. The sensation was always exhilarating, that moment when the ground fell away and the sky opened up before me. For a few heartbeats, I could forget everything else and just exist in the pure joy of flight.

  We rose above the treeline, breaking through the dense layer of leaves into the open space above. The forest stretched out below us, an endless sea of green broken only by the occasional clearing or stream that caught the growing light. Somewhere down there, hidden beneath the trees, was the village. The children. The villagers I'd tried to help.

  The villagers who now feared me.

  Above us was only the tree, massive, all consuming, all covering. Its green leaves made up the sky in all directions, a ceiling to the world itself. I looked back as we flew, my wings carrying me forward even as my heart pulled me backward. I could just barely make out the clearing where I'd taught the children, where I'd drawn runes in the dirt and made them laugh. It looked so small from up here, so insignificant against the vastness of the forest.

  But it hadn’t felt insignificant. It had felt important. Real. Like something that mattered.

  "Cassia," Wisteria called, her voice carrying on the wind. "Keep up."

  I turned forward again, watching my sisters fly ahead of me, their wings beating in perfect synchronization. They knew where we were going. They always knew. And I would follow, because that's what I always did. My sisters said nothing good would come of helping little ones. That these villagers needed to be left alone. But as I flew through the early morning sky, my wings catching the first true rays of mana breaking over the horizon, I couldn't help but wonder: if protecting children was wrong, if we were supposed to do nothing, then what did that make us?

  What did that make me?

  The question followed me as we flew, unanswered and troubling, while the forest stretched endlessly below and my sisters led the way home.