“It’s not. All unicorns can heal themselves; our magic gives us that ability. I’ve never heard of one having an illness that prevents them from doing so. The only way you would die from an injury is if you were given a magical inhibitor, then you wouldn’t be able to heal.”
“You’re telling me, I was never sick?”
He nodded, confirming what she already knew in her gut.
Everything she’d ever known about herself was a lie; she’d been living in a false reality.
She could physically feel her mind breaking, heart shattering. She had never been sick. The words repeated themselves in her head, over and over, like her mind was an empty cavern, echoing endlessly. How could her identity be kept from her for so long? Who had orchestrated her so-calledsickness? And how did they do it? Whoever it was, they had gone to great lengths to not only lie to her, but everyone else as well. She shook her head. It didn’t matter at the moment. Right now, she needed to focus on turning back into a human and returning home. “Tell me how to transform,” she demanded. “Maybe I’ll be the exception to the norm and be able to right away!” Then she could forget she was ever a unicorn, and everything would be okay again. She’d go home and continue to keep her true identity a secret. Pretend she was really sick—an easy task considering she had done so her whole life without knowing. Yes. That’s what she needed to focus on.
He scoffed at her, as if she was being ridiculous.
“Well, I have to at least try,” she shot back.
He cranked his shadowy head in her direction and his eyes searched hers. Then he mumbled, “Very well.” With a lick of his velvety lips, he explained, “Let’s start with summoning your magic—one of the easiest things to do. Do you feel the sensation of your power under your skin?”
She drew in a deep breath, silencing her mind. Closing her eyes, she searched for it. Searched for the light that she had seen when she was bleeding after falling off the wall. She had never noticed her magic before, but now that she was looking for it, there was an undeniable sense of power brewing under her skin.
“Just point like so,” Damien continued, moving his head so his horn was aimed towards the ground, “and let your magic go.” Black tendrils of shadow formed on the tip of his horn, wrapping themselves around each other until they were a ball of black magic that throbbed with power. He released it, and the shadows shot towards the ground, extinguishing all of the glowing star-like flowers. They crumpled into small pebbles on the grass.
It took Luna a moment to realize her mouth was hanging open and to close it. She shifted her body to tuck her legs underneath her, allowing her to lay in a more upright position, and with a deep breath, she tried to summon her power to the surface.
Nothing happened.
She cocked her head off to the side. He had made it seem so easy. Remembering she was a unicorn and had a horn, she tossed her head, swirling her horn much like a wizard would with a wand.
Again, nothing.
She groaned and tried again. This time, she pictured the light beneath her skin travelling to her horn. She imagined the warmth of her power and sent that sensation to her horn. Her horn heated, a small glow shining from its tip. With her head pointed towards the ground, she did as Damien had instructed and let the magic go. It was similar to the sensation of unclenching one’s fist. Even though it was difficult to summon her magic, using it was as natural as breathing. It felt good to do what her body had been designed for.
She opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them. A beautiful flower grew in the spot where she had pointed her horn. The flower slowly uncurled its petals, revealing a small star twinkling inside. It glowed just as bright as the sun and she was temporarily blinded by it. It looked just like the other flowers that Damien had made rocks of.
“Well . . . that’s kind of cool,” she admitted. She found herself wanting to make more of these starry flowers, but then immediately, she felt ashamed for wanting to do so. What would her family think of her if they saw her now? If they found out what she could do, and what she was, would they disown her? She wasn’t about to find out. She had to stay focused. She was going to transform back into a human and forget all about this horrible nightmare—about magic, about being a unicorn.
Feeling weak, she laid her head down on the soft grass.
Damien reached over and gently grabbed the flower between his teeth, tearing it from its stem. Ever so gently, he placed it on her mane and smiled. “Solar radiantias are used to illuminate dark areas, but it has some other purposes as well. Works much better than a torch, since only magic can extinguish it.”
As impressive as making flowers was, it didn’t seem very powerful—nothing like the destructive magic she had been told unicorns possessed. “I thought unicorns were these mighty beasts . . .” She scoffed, exhaling a breath of air, “And here I am, with the ability to make glow-in-the-dark flowers.”
“We are, but you won’t be for quite some time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re about as threatening as a mouse.” Damien chuckled. “As you develop your magic, you’ll become stronger and be able to do more.” He paused, and then added, “If you want to transform, you have to push your magic to engulf your body, which means releasing your magic at the same time as holding it. Picture your human form, imagine what it feels like, and then you kind of just walk into it. If you are successful, you’ll release the same white flash you did when you initially transformed; over time, you’ll be able to control that as well.”
It had taken a good amount of energy to make one solar radiantia. She couldn’t imagine the amount of power she would need to transform; it almost seemed pointless to try, but she had to. She owed it to herself.
She remembered—right before she had passed—that there had been a white-hot searing light exploding out of her. Now, she searched inside of herself for that power and tried to draw it to the surface. She envisioned the magic wrapping around her like a blanket, and then she tried to direct it to her horn. Nothing happened. She didn’t feel the warmth, and the tip of her horn didn’t glow. Disappointed, she tried again.
And again.
Then again.
Nothing.
Why was controlling her magic so difficult compared to releasing it? She tried picturing her light, imagining the warmth of her power and how it would feel. After dozens of attempts, her horn finally throbbed slightly.
She focused on that sensation, trying to pull her magic from her core and send it to her horn, then pushing it outward through the rest of her body. Her muscles quivered, shaking from the effort of holding and releasing her magic simultaneously. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and dripped down her nose.
