Lira was physically doing well. Mentally however, she was not. She sat knees against her chest leaning against a fallen, askew bookcase. in her room on the estate that she had used to study her magic in privacy as the practice of witchcraft was frowned upon by everyone. Lira once a proud, curious, and possibly a prodigy in her own right. She did not know everything for her rank within the coven but finding ways to use her rituals or other longer to enact magic skills to be adaptable for combative situations even though she was not in the warrior path of the coven that the nightblades originate from.

  She had an emotional outburst making the inside look like a storm had plowed through it. Pages from books and tombs were scattered across the floor as well as dried herbs and other plants from glass jars now broken. The desk and table she had used in the past to help push her studies or basics in some alchemy related to witchcraft was now flipped aside and thrown as if it was made of paper.

  Lira had tried to keep it together as her magic was slowly being taken away. However, the more and more her magic was taken the more it was harder to hide. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She was hungry as she had stopped eating as often to protect her fa?ade.

  Picked up her head just enough to look at a jagged piece of glass from a broken jar with dark thoughts prowling in her mind, as she was the first witch that she knew that was a witch that could not preform magic.

  She knew why her magic had left her. She had denied her patron. Her patron wanted Katherine, Lira didn’t hand her over opting to protect the ‘deathwalker’ who had become a friend.

  Katherine had been so scared back then, not knowing whether she should fight or not.

  Lira lead forward grabbing the piece of glass of jar twirling in her hand. Before placing it against her wrist, ready to make a cut that ran parallel to her arm. As at one time Katherine had made a dark joke of getting attention versus results when cutting her arms in attempt at suicide. She closed her eyes, not sure if she was going to ever open them again. She had felt a hand on her pulling Lira’s hand and shard of glass away from her wrist. Lira opened her eyes to see Katherine’s looking back at her. Lira doubted that it was actually Katherine as she was going through the Adventurer’s guild assessment believing it was a creation of Katherine’s familiar, Luna.

  “Don’t do this,” Katherine said sympathetically, wrapping the arm that wasn’t holding her hand to pull her in and consol her kissing the side of Lira’s head as Lira cried again this time without tears as her body had spent all of her tears already.

  Out of sight Luna watched as her illusion comforted Lira in real Katherine’s absence. Luna did send a telepathic message to Shade that Katherine may need to check on her friend when she had the time.

  …

  Katherine wasn’t on watch; she sat staring into the fire, absently cleaning her knife while her team slept around her. Only Edwin was awake, taking his turn on watch. Shade nudged her knee to get her attention. She’d already sent Luna, her Mirage Dire Panther, home, sensing the big cat’s restlessness and unusual soreness, but Shade’s agitation lingered and felt contagious.

  “Shade, not now. We need to stay together tonight,” she said, glancing at him with mild concern as she kept her eyes on her knife. She tried to keep her tone gentle, worried that any harshness would only make him more unsettled.

  He tapped her knee again—this time more forceful, his claws catching on her pants and leaving a couple of stinging scratches on her leg.

  “Ow, what the hell?” Katherine started to scold, but the words caught. She hesitated, noticing Shade’s posture—ears flat, eyes lacking their usual mischievous spark, tail tucked out of sight. Her irritation melted into worry. Shade was rarely this serious.

  His body language was unmistakable—something was truly wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, the edge gone from her voice as she studied him.

  My mate is worried about your mate-not-mate. She is not well. I asked her to get the winged one to possibly help in case. He told her telepathically. Katherine paused, uncertainty prickling at her. She’d grown used to her familiars referring to people by their own odd descriptors, but this time, “mate-not-mate” threw her off. Katherine frowned, trying to recall if Lira had ever mentioned a partner—Shade’s words made little sense to her, especially as she considered her and Lira’s complicated friendship. Who? Show me, she replied after a moment’s hesitation, trying to push her confusion aside. The urgency in Shade’s tone made her chest tighten.

  Shade closed his eyes, sharing an image with her: Lira’s outbuilding, once meticulously neat—Katherine had even joked about her obsessive tidiness—now destroyed. Plants, dried herbs, and shattered jars littered the floor, bookcases and papers in complete disarray, pages torn and tossed about as if a storm had raged inside.

  Katherine’s gaze fixed on one detail—the jagged piece of glass in Lira’s trembling hand, and the illusion of Katherine, conjured by Luna, gently holding Lira’s arm in comfort.

  “Edwin, I’m stepping out,” Katherine said, her voice quiet but steady with concern. She moved deliberately toward the edge of the firelight, then slipped into the deep shadow cast by the campfire—vanishing from sight as if she’d dropped through a concealed manhole beneath her feet. She lingered for a heartbeat, her face flickering back into the warm glow as she leaned partway out of the darkness, eyes meeting Shade’s. “Stay and watch the camp,” she added gently, her tone both reassuring and quietly urgent, before turning away into the night.

  …

  Lira’s shoulders tensed as gentle, phantom arms—comforting but not quite real—slipped away, fading like mist. Before the cold could settle in, a second, unmistakably solid pair of arms wrapped securely around her from behind. Katherine’s scent—smoke and pine—grounded her in the chaos of the ruined outbuilding. Moonlight spilled through the gaping window, illuminating toppled books and glinting off shattered glass scattered across the floor. The space, once her sanctuary, now pressed in on her, every shadow a reminder of how much she’d lost. Katherine’s real arms drew her close, her hand resting with careful pressure on Lira’s trembling forearm, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to do this,” Katherine murmured, voice rough yet steady, her breath warm against Lira’s ear. The words anchored Lira, but only barely. As the weight of reality returned, sorrow surged up—sharp, overwhelming. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could dissolve into the darkness.

  “I can’t take it anymore, Kat,” Lira choked out, her voice thick with grief. “Not being able to use magic—” She swallowed, shaking her head, hair falling in tangled waves. “It’s like I’m losing myself. Magic was how I knew who I was, what I was meant to do. Without it, I don’t even recognize myself.” A jagged ache twisted in her chest, the thought echoing: What am I, if not this?

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Katherine held her a little tighter, chin resting lightly on Lira’s head. She didn’t rush to answer, letting the silence settle like a blanket over broken glass. Her thumb brushed away a stray tear from Lira’s cheek with careful tenderness. “I won’t pretend I understand everything you’re feeling,” she said softly, her tone stripped of any judgement—just there, honest and present. “But I do know that voice. The one that whispers you’re not enough, that nothing you do will ever bring it back.” She hesitated—then, quieter, “If you want, let me show you what I see when I look at you.”

  Lira didn’t respond, but the tension in her body eased just enough for her to let her head fall against Katherine’s shoulder. She stared blankly ahead, breath shuddering, her mind too spent for words. And still, Katherine stayed—her presence a silent promise that, for this moment, Lira wasn’t alone.

  Katherine extended her arm, resolute, preparing to reveal her truth to Lira whether she was ready or not. “Just so you know, some of these may feel like the world is looking at you—but remember, this is how I see you,” she cautioned, her voice gentle. She let her magic unfurl, ready to share the visions shaped by her own perspective.

  A musty, earthy scent drifted through the room as part of it shimmered and transformed, becoming the crypt where they’d first met almost a year ago. In the vision, Lira appeared in her adventuring gear—the armor and robes she always wore, each intricately woven with runes and sigils. Katherine had no idea what the runes were meant to do, but she instantly noticed their absence in this magical rendering. Lira’s eyes glowed with vibrant violet as she stood ready, helping Katherine and her teammates. Though her coven had a reputation for darkness—known for guiding souls to their final rest rather than raising them—the illusion revealed a gentle luminescence about Lira. Beneath the shadowed reputation of her coven, she radiated a quiet light that set her apart. A mix of curiosity and unease flickered across Lira’s face as she watched these scenes unfold, realizing how differently Katherine saw her—how the magic revealed aspects of herself she hadn’t recognized before.

  The vision shifted to Tavrin’s tailor shop, where Lira had once brought Katherine. Katherine tried on the first outfit, simple and practical, with extra padding so Shade could be himself without causing too much damage. It was an ordinary garment—nothing special, worn and replaced every other day thanks to Shade’s claws—but the scene glowed with memory. Lira still emitted the subtle radiance from the crypt, but this time, she noticed something different: her laugh. It rang out, familiar yet changed, tempered by the way Katherine perceived her. Lira could sense the difference, a gentle distortion that made her heart ache with bittersweet wonder. Through Katherine’s eyes, she saw not only herself, but the traces of magic and memory woven into every moment they’d shared.

  Lira’s gaze flicked from the shimmering illusions to Katherine, suspicion tightening her brow. Her voice came out rough, colored by exhaustion and the hint of something raw. “Why do I look like I’m glowing to you?” Her eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, searched Katherine’s face for an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

  Katherine hesitated, the firelight casting gentle shadows across her features. She offered a small, vulnerable smile, voice soft with conviction. “I wanted you to see what I see,” she said, her words gentle but carrying weight. She reached out, fingertips brushing Lira’s sleeve—a quiet, grounding touch. “Honestly? Of the two of us, you’re closer to a saint.” The sincerity in her tone hung in the air, unvarnished and real.

  Lira shook her head, lips trembling with a half-swallowed protest. “I don’t feel like a saint.” The admission left her quiet for a heartbeat, chest tight with realization. Her voice grew urgent, a flicker of panic surfacing as she shifted away from Katherine’s steady presence. “Wait—shouldn’t you be at your adventurer’s guild exam? Why are you here?” The question spilled out, brittle with disbelief and concern, her hands fisting in her lap as if bracing herself for the answer.

  Katherine’s jaw tensed, shoulders stiffening with the weight of her choice. She let the magical illusions fade into the gloom, pulling Lira gently into a tighter embrace. The cool shadows offered a small shield, half-concealing her own uncertainty. “I am supposed to be there,” she admitted quietly, voice trembling just a little. “But you matter more to me right now.” Katherine swallowed, her heart pounding—a mix of guilt and fierce protectiveness. She squeezed Lira’s hand, hoping the gesture would say what words couldn’t. “Some things can wait. You can’t.”

  Lira jerked in her arms, breath hitching with frustration and fear. “No—Katherine, you have to go back!” The plea came out louder than she meant, edged with desperation. Her body went rigid, anger and worry warring on her features. “How can you just pass up something so important?” The words echoed in the quiet, every syllable heavy with the fear of being a burden.

  Katherine met Lira’s gaze, her own eyes fierce beneath the mask of composure. She answered in a tone that matched Lira’s urgency, her grip around Lira’s shoulders unyielding. “That may be true, but I’m not leaving you like this. I’ve stood at too many graves already.” Katherine’s voice cracked, old grief surfacing. “I’m not going to another funeral—not if I can help it. You’re my friend. I won’t let you do what you were thinking.” With those words, she tightened her hold on Lira, anchoring them both in the moment.

  Lira shuddered, a sob escaping as the intensity of Katherine’s words sank in. For a second, she let herself lean into the embrace, her resistance melting into vulnerability. Tears welled up again, hot and blinding, as she squeezed her eyes shut and clung to Katherine’s sleeve, desperate for something solid. The echo of Katherine’s promise throbbed in her chest. It hurt—yet it steadied her, too, as if Katherine’s presence was the only thing holding her together.

  Katherine’s next words were soft but unshakeable—a vow pressed close to Lira’s ear. “I will—not—lose—you.” With each word, her arms tightened, pulling Lira in until there was no space for shadows between them. The room felt smaller, yet safer, as if grief and fear might finally be kept at bay, if only for this moment.

  …

  Orin was having a rough night as a test proctor, and his patience wore thin. He couldn’t help but think that Katherine—the one Lira, that witch, had grown attached to—was nothing but trouble. From the start, she’d appeared out of a cult ritual no one wanted to remember, somehow taming a beast she had no business controlling and naming it ‘Shade.’ It was more than unsettling; it was reckless. Orin remembered the chaos she’d stirred with her unchecked magic, kidnapping two people and leaving one so battered by electricity that their body still twitched involuntarily. The city itself had nearly paid the price for her power.

  Now, to make matters worse, she’d abandoned her team in the dead of night. Sure, she’d left two familiars behind, but one was fast asleep—useless in the darkness—and the other, an expert in shadows, seemed to vanish into thin air, impossible to spot when it mattered.

  Orin was stewing in his frustration when a voice startled him, its owner’s head suddenly uncomfortably close. “Having fun?” the person asked. Orin jerked back, heart pounding, and let out a string of curses as he tried to steady his breathing. He turned, and found Katherine standing just behind him, her expression unreadable in the dim light.

  Orin’s nerves were frayed, and even as he regained his composure, wariness lingered in his voice. “Where did you go?” he asked, not expecting a real answer. She always seemed to slip through his grasp—never quite where she was supposed to be.

  Katherine’s reply was flat, offering nothing. “Personal business,” she said, her tone giving no hint of explanation. Orin clenched his jaw, frustration mounting. He hated when she dodged him like this.

  He tried to keep his voice even, but the edge of authority crept in. “You know I could fail you for leaving like you did?” he pressed, hoping to get a reaction—any sign that she took this seriously.

  Katherine met his gaze, unflinching. “I do,” she said, her words measured. “But considering my history, I could contest your decision and probably win. Let’s be honest, you’re only here to ensure the real proctors keep things fair, even if you’re biased against me.” Her voice was calm, but there was a spark of challenge in her eyes that unsettled Orin further.

  Orin’s suspicions were confirmed—she recognized him, and she didn’t hesitate to call out his attempts at subtlety. Katherine gave him a once-over, lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You do clean up nicely for this job, but you might want to ease up on the beard oil. It has a hard time hiding your position in daylight. The dark beads are a clever touch, though.” With a casual ‘goodnight,’ she turned away, tapping Edwin on the shoulder as she passed to signal her return. Orin watched her go, annoyance simmering beneath his skin.

  He muttered under his breath, “Damn. She’s worse than her familiars.” The words echoed quietly, a mix of grudging respect and lingering exasperation. Katherine was always one step ahead, and Orin was left wondering how much control he’d ever have over her.