A Quiet Moment Before the Storm
The soft murmur of voices pulled Mira from the depths of sleep. Her body felt heavy, sore, every muscle aching as if she had been trampled by a beast. When she opened her eyes, the warm glow of lantern light greeted her. She wasn't in her room.
Instead, she lay tucked beneath thick blankets in an unfamiliar bed. The air smelled of sandalwood and fresh linen, a quiet comfort against the lingering exhaustion in her bones. A tray of food rested on a small bedside table—warm soup, soft bread, and sliced fruit.
A shadow moved beside her. Mira turned her head, her breath catching when she saw Akira seated at the bedside, silently combing through the tangles in Mira's hair.
Mira blinked. This felt… familiar.
As children, whenever Mira had been sick or tired, Akira would care for her in the same way—brushing her hair, bringing her food, quietly keeping her company. The memory made her chest tighten. After everything that had happened between them, was Akira still looking after her like before?
"You're awake," Akira said softly, not pausing in her movements.
Mira swallowed past the lump in her throat. "How long was I out?"
"A day," Akira replied. She set the brush aside and reached for the tray. "Eat. You need your strength."
Mira hesitated before taking the bowl of soup. The warmth seeped into her fingers, soothing yet oddly unfamiliar. "You didn't have to stay."
Akira sighed. "You collapsed. Again." A trace of frustration laced her words, but the concern in her eyes softened it. "If I hadn't been there, Ren would've had to carry you again, and I don't think your pride could handle that."
Mira made a face. "I'd rather die."
Akira rolled her eyes but smirked. "Exactly."
A comfortable silence settled between them as Mira ate, but the heaviness in her chest didn't fade. She had pushed herself too hard, again. And now, she was falling behind while everyone else was getting stronger.
After a few moments, Akira spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "Mira… what are you trying to prove?"
Mira froze, her grip tightening on the spoon.
"I…" The words tangled in her throat. What was she trying to prove? That she belonged here? That she wasn't weak? That she wasn't afraid?
She swallowed. "I just… I don't want to be left behind."
Akira's expression softened. "You won't be."
Mira wanted to believe her.
The next morning, Mira stood in the training grounds, still feeling the weight of yesterday's exhaustion.
The sky was overcast, the air crisp with morning dew. Celvia and Rhyshe waited for her, both watching with their own brand of encouragement—Celvia, calm and poised, and Rhyshe, practically bouncing on her feet.
"Alright, today we focus on one thing," Rhyshe announced. "Flying."
Mira nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Celvia stepped forward, her voice smooth as water. "You've cast Placium Tha Urnowill before, but barely controlled it. Today, we'll focus on balance."
Rhyshe grinned. "And not crashing into fountains."
Mira groaned. "Are you never going to let that go?"
"Nope."
Celvia cleared her throat. "Focus, both of you."
Mira took a deep breath, centering herself. She could do this. She had to.
She lifted her hand. "Placium Tha Urnowill."
The wind stirred beneath her feet, lifting her gently off the ground. This time, she didn't panic. She controlled her breathing, feeling the magic settle around her. The sensation was exhilarating—like floating on air—but the moment she tried to adjust her angle, her body wobbled.
"Steady your core!" Celvia called.
Mira tried to correct herself, but the shift was too sudden—she spiraled sideways.
Rhyshe leapt into the air, catching Mira's arm before she could crash. They hovered together, Rhyshe holding her steady.
"Better," Rhyshe said, grinning. "But you panic too much."
Mira clenched her jaw. She wasn't used to losing control. "Again."
Celvia nodded in approval. "Good."
And so, they continued.
Again and again, Mira lifted into the air, corrected her balance, failed, and tried once more. Hours passed, the sky shifting from pale morning hues to the golden warmth of midday.
By the time she could finally hover without crashing, Mira was drenched in sweat, her muscles aching, but she had done it.
Rhyshe nudged her shoulder. "Told you you'd get it."
Mira let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over her. "Yeah."
One step closer.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the White House, Ren stood before the Grandmaster, his expression unreadable.
The air in the chamber was thick, ancient magic lingering like mist.
"She collapsed again," Ren said, his voice controlled but sharp.
The Grandmaster regarded him carefully. "And you're concerned?"
Ren's eyes darkened. "I've fought alongside her. She's trying to force something out that won't come."
The Grandmaster nodded slowly, as if he already knew. "She is sealed."
Ren stiffened. "…Sealed?"
The old man exhaled, his eyes heavy with something Ren couldn't name. "If she does not awaken it soon, we will not be able to control what follows."
Ren clenched his fists. "What exactly follows?"
The Grandmaster turned toward the ancient runes etched into the walls. Symbols of fire, war, destruction.
"History," he murmured. "History is coming for her."
A cold weight settled in Ren's chest.
Mira sat outside her room that night, staring at the sky. The wind brushed through her damp hair, carrying the lingering scent of magic from the training grounds.
She raised her hand, summoning a small flame. It burned weakly, flickering against the night air.
But then—for just a brief second—the blue-white glow returned.
The same fire she had felt in her fight against Ren.
Her breath caught.
But before she could grasp it, the flame vanished, leaving behind only a strange warmth in her chest.
Something was changing.
And Mira wasn't sure if she was ready.