Tim was watching me with an intensity that made me want to look away. I didn't.
"One by one, she found them all. The ferals everyone had given up on. The ones too broken to save. She didn't save them either—she just existed near them, radiating this ridiculous, impossible joy. And they began to follow her. Not as pets or servants, but as themselves. A pack of honest monsters and one laughing woman who belonged nowhere but with them."
"What happened to her?" Ivy asked softly.
"The villages and tribes united against her. Called her an abomination. Said she was creating an army. They hunted her to the highest mountain, surrounded her and her feral pack." I paused, my voice dropping the way Darian's had. "But when they attacked, something unexpected happened. The ferals didn't defend her—she defended them. Stood between the hunters and her broken pack, laughing at them all. 'You call them monsters,' she said, 'but they've never lied to me. Never pretended to be anything but what they are. Can you say the same?'"
Silence.
"Did she die?" James asked. His voice was rough.
"The story has different endings depending on who tells it. Some say she died laughing. Some say she became somethingelse—not village, not tribe, but pure wild joy. Others say she's still out there, finding the ones too broken for normal life, showing them that broken doesn't mean worthless."
I looked at my hands, suddenly unable to meet anyone's eyes.
"They say her descendants walk among us still. People who don't fit anywhere but make everywhere home. Who find joy in chaos and truth in the wild things others fear."
The words hung in the air. I'd said too much. Told it too well. Let too much of myself slip through.
"It's just a myth," I said, echoing Darian. "That's what he always said after. Just a myth."
Silence.
Then Ivy said, softly, "That's beautiful."
"It's sad," Ellen countered. "She dies in most versions."
"Maybe that's the point." Tim was studying his rings, turning them slowly. "Heroes don't always win. Sometimes the story is about trying anyway."
I didn't say anything. My chest felt tight, too full, like the words had taken up space I couldn't spare.
Across the room, Vince had stopped pretending to circulate. He was watching me openly now, his expression unreadable. When I met his eyes, he gave a small nod—acknowledgment, recognition, something I couldn't quite name.
He knew. I wasn't sure how much, but he knew this story wasn't random. Wasn't just something I'd heard once and remembered. It was something I carried.
And then there was James.
He was looking at me like I'd handed him a key to a door he didn't know existed. Not confused—that would've been easier. Curious in a way that felt dangerous, like he was seeing past the surface to something underneath.
"Lumi," he said quietly. "That story—"
"It's just a myth." The words came out sharper than I intended. "That's the whole point, right? Stories. Social technology. It's notreal."
The lie tasted like ash.
Vince chose that moment to call time, redirecting us to discuss patterns across our myths. I let the others talk, contributing just enough to avoid notice, but I could feel James's gaze returning to me again and again.
Seen. That was the word. I felt seen, and I hated it.
Class ended eventually. I gathered my things slowly, hoping to lose myself in the shuffle of students, but James materialized beside me before I reached the door.
"Hey."
"Hey." I kept walking.
He fell into step beside me, long legs matching my pace without effort. "That was a hell of a story."
"It's just a story."
