The last of the laughter faded from the table as the bowls were cleared away. Lira’s head drooped against the back of her chair, her eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. Kael sat by the window, running a cloth along the edge of an arrowhead with mechanical focus. Ronan nursed the final swallow of his ale, gaze fixed on the shifting fire as though already weighing the miles ahead.

  Eis stood quietly, pushing her chair back with barely a whisper.

  Ronan lifted his head. “Eis,” he said, steady and matter-of-fact, “we leave for Lumaire at dawn. Just making sure you’re still traveling with us.”

  She gave a simple nod. “I’ll be ready.”

  Lira mustered a drowsy smile. “Goodnight, Eis. We’ll wake you before sunrise.”

  With a faint, polite nod in return, Eis slipped away toward the stairs.

  The room greeted her with warm lamplight and the faint smell of clean linen.

  A narrow bed stood against the far wall, sheets neatly turned down. A wash basin rested beneath the small window, and a single candle burned low on the desk, its flame steady. Beyond the shutters, rain tapped gently against the roof—soft, rhythmic, unhurried.

  Eis closed the door behind her and leaned back against it for a moment.

  Nothing pressed at her awareness.

  No threat. No tension.

  Just quiet.

  She crossed the room and set her weapons down with care, then sat on the edge of the bed. The sounds of the inn filtered through the walls—distant voices, a chair scraping, laughter fading as the night settled. The day loosened its grip on her muscles.

  Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the road.

  To Lira.

  Magic, used openly. Casually. A gesture, a word, light bending to will without fear or consequence. No one flinched. No one stared. It had been as ordinary as drawing breath.

  Eis had watched without comment.

  Not because she hadn’t noticed.

  Because she had.

  She rose and moved to the desk, drawing the chair back. The candlelight painted the wood in gold and shadow as she sat, folding her hands loosely in front of her.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  For a long moment, she did nothing.

  Then, slowly, she let herself reach inward.

  Not force.

  Not command.

  Just awareness.

  A familiar warmth answered beneath her breastbone—deep, contained, steady. It did not push. It did not urge. It waited.

  Eis exhaled.

  If magic could be used so freely here—

  If it drew no alarm, no pursuit—

  Then restraint no longer meant silence.

  She cleared a space on the desk and pictured something simple.

  Not a spell.

  A foundation.

  The warmth gathered, precise and controlled.

  Reality folded inward.

  When it eased, a stack of thin, blank cards rested beneath her fingertips.

  Twenty of them.

  Smooth. Compact. Each one identical—durable material, faintly warm, edges clean. No markings. No power yet. Just potential, held in reserve.

  Eis spread them carefully across the desk.

  One by one, she began to work.

  Not quickly.

  Never hastily.

  She took the first card and focused—not on the effect, but on the structure. The pattern beneath the spell. The way intent was compressed, bound, stabilized. When she finished, the card darkened slightly, a faint red trace settling into its surface.

  She set it aside.

  The second followed.

  Then a third.

  Simple attack spells. Nothing elaborate. Force directed outward. Heat shaped and released. Controlled bursts—reliable, predictable.

  She moved on only when each felt right.

  Next came defense.

  Blue-etched lines formed as she imbued cards meant to block, deflect, reinforce. Barriers that would hold long enough to matter. Shields meant to buy seconds—sometimes that was all survival required. Walls that could change the flow of battle.

  Finally, she slowed further.

  Healing.

  White threads of mana wove into a handful of cards, gentler than the rest. These took longer. Required more care. Restoration without excess. Support without strain.

  She stopped when the warmth beneath her chest warned—not sharply, but firmly.

  Enough.

  Eis leaned back, studying the spread.

  Not a full arsenal.

  But a beginning.

  She gathered the completed cards into a neat stack, leaving the unused blanks aside. The candle guttered softly as she slipped the cards into a simple pouch and tied it closed.

  Outside, the rain softened.

  The inn creaked as beams settled into the cool night.

  Eis extinguished the candle and lay back on the bed, hands folded loosely over her middle. Darkness claimed the room, broken only by thin lines of moonlight through the shutters.

  For the first time since waking in this new world, sleep came easily.

  And this time, it was undisturbed.