The clearing.
The only place where I feel like I belong.I imagine a shimmering veil lifting itself, serving as a barrier between my safe haven and chaos.
The King lights the thurible, walking with it, and smoke leaks out of it. The air around us becomes heavy with perfume. I yawn, the weight of it brushing against my thoughts. Coaxing me toward comfort, toward quiet, toward sleep.But I hold tight to my shield. Feeling the magic buzzing through the fabric, leaving sparks as the essence holds tighten slowly. Dad claps once, sharp and proud. His voice cuts through the haze as he extinguishes the embers.
“Good job!See? You’re learning. Knowledge is power, yes! But guarding that power? That’s wisdom, and that is a much rarer thing. If you hadn’t shielded, sleep would have taken hold of you, leaving you defenceless.” The King adds, bringing his arm behind his back.
Kai looks down and mutters, voice low and awkward, “Can these lessons stay in this room?”
Dad’s seriousness melts away as a grin appears, eyes glinting with amusement. “What lessons, my boy?”
Kai mutters something under his breath about how he’s only here because his father was mad at him for being behind in defence lessons, but I hear it.That flicker of respect in his voice, buried deep under all the eye-rolling and the grumbling.Maybe shielding my mind isn’t just another chore after all.And maybe…
Just maybe…
Kai will stop seeing me as nothing more than Alek’s annoying twin sister.Maybe next time, when he and the other boys play tag or pretend to be brave warriors defeating Nekros, Freya, and I won’t have to sit on the sidelines.
Maybe this time, we’ll get to play too.
The vision doesn’t hit as hardthis time, not like the others, but the nosebleed is still there. That part doesn’t change. It’s like my body’s way of saying,‘This is real’. Warmth pulses through me. I don’t know why I haven’t seen my father before now. Perhaps making peace with who I am means finally facing who I was. It’s strange how we build up walls, not to keep things out, but to hide.
I wipe the blood away and steady myself. This time, I don’t force the gate. I reach out with my senses, feel it, and let it reveal its soul.
‘If you’re feeling static... You’re on the right track.’
The gate snaps shut, and it’s like taking a sip of cold water on a sweltering day, sharp and refreshing.
The girls are too busy admiring the boutique’s window to notice anything. Through the glass, you can see beautiful chaos. Trinkets and textures everywhere, bursts of colour catching the light, trying to tell a story. Vintage charm hanging from the ceiling. Nothing feels planned, but somehow it works, as if the place dreamed itself into being while the owner slept.
“Welcome toSabrina’s Boutique,” Nalaka says, just as the bell above the door gives a soft ring.
The moment we step inside, the outside world disappears; the cold, the war, the weight, gone. The boutique wraps around us as a spell. A soft breeze, warm and fizzy. Inside, there are cushioned chairs, flickering lamps, and velvet drapes. Everything smells faintly of roses and something older, something enchanted. Half thrift-store whimsy, half high-fashion fever dream.
“I’ve travelled a lot,” Nalaka adds, voice actually sounding excited, it’s so rare that it pulls my attention, the only other time I saw her this passionate was during our study sessions. When she would boss me around to colour coordinate my notes. “But Sabrina’s gowns are still my favourite.” Nalaka is already moving, weaving through racks, knowing exactly where she’s going.
Every gown is different, as if it were designed for someone specific in mind, someone with a story yet to be told. Even Vanessa, stoic, unbothered, allergic toawe, lets out a soft breath. Her eyes scan the racks, trying to hide the fact that she’s impressed. She even stops at a few dresses that aren’t black, that’s practically a declaration.
Tiny pixies like the one who greeted me that day in the forest flit through the air, wings whispering as silk. Their voices, harp-string melodies, are only understandable when they want us to; until then, their chatter swirls around us, the background hum of a dream. We take advantage of the free beverages and sweets. Before I know it, we’re giggling like kids on a sugar high, drunk on fairy wine. Between swirls of silk and our laughter echoing through velvet curtains, we slip out of soldier mode into something softer, casual.
Sakura’s the first to step out, wearing a pastel blue gown that looks as if it were custom-designed by a team of sirens whosnorted glitter. It hugs her curves in all the right places and trails behind her as mist. Enchanting… But she looks like a flirtatious cotton candy, not exactly the look. I don’t even have time to say anything. Sakura catches her reflection, rolls her eyes, and mutters, ‘Absolutely not,’ before turning right back behind the curtain.
Then there’s Nalaka, nailing it on the first try. Why am I even surprised? She steps out in a sage-green gown with delicate straps that crisscross over her chest and sweep low around her back, the skirt flowing in soft, layered waves in the forest wind. Embroidered vines trace the fabric in silver thread, each leaf glinting with tiny emeralds. The colour makes her brown skin glow as if she’s been lit from within. We all go quiet.
Even the hostess freezes mid-pour.
“Stunning," she breathes. “Sweetie, this dress was made for you." She steps closer, eyes shining with something deeper than admiration. “I’ve seen this happen before. Sometimes I create a gown and hope it finds the right wearer. But other times, like now, Iknow. As clearly as dew catching light on a mountain peak. It’s not just fabric and thread, it'smagic.” She pauses, placing one hand over her heart. “I have a gift, you see. Not one that shapes empires, but in quiet moments like this, it creates something beautiful. And today… I believe you’re one of its finest outcomes.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, then claps her hands, delighted.
“Oh, thank you, Sabrina. That’s very kind of you. I just hope I do your creations justice,” Nalaka says, her voice soft with genuine gratitude.
We keep browsing for another thirty minutes, laughter echoing through velvet curtains and racks of shimmering gowns. By the end of it, I’m the last one standing without a dress. It’s a bitter thought, and it sours my mood before I can stop it. Sabrina, sharp-eyed as ever, catches the shift in my spirit. Shedoesn’t say anything at first, just approaches, two glowing pixies trailing her.
“Step up on the stool for me, sweetheart,” she says gently. I hesitate, but comply, wobbling slightly as I climb up; balance isn't my strong suit right now. Sitting off to the side, feeling invisible is one thing. Standing here, center stage, with everyone watching? Entirelydifferent.
Sabrina’s warm brown eyes sweep over me. Then pulls a pencil from her hair, letting loose a cascade of soft chestnut waves around her shoulders and begins sketching. Focus takes hold, and for a moment, her eyes shimmer gold, the flare of an idea made visible to us all. The pixies flit around her in perfect harmony, murmuring in that harp-string language of theirs, measuring and noting every detail like a miniature couture team. As Sabrina disappears into the back with her crew, something pulls tight in my chest. A familiar ache. That quiet, gnawing doubt that maybe I’m too much… or not enough. And I hate how fast that thought feels true.
“Sorry, you guys have to wait for me,” I mutter, doing my best to sound casual. Vanessa doesn’t even look up from adjusting the lilac straps of her dress. The soft fabric clings to her skin, a whisper of moonlight. Threaded with tiny stones that catch the light, shimmering.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lyna. You know better than that.” She says it so flatly, so matter-of-fact, it slices clean through my self-doubt, a spell-breaker. Before I can say anything back, Sakura twirls by in a new gown, her laughter ringing like wind chimes.
