Ch. 45

“Calling”

The white void stretches endlessly behind me, a stark, empty canvas broken only by the storm looming behind me and the ethereal glow of the Grand Library framing Oana. I meet her eyes, letting her belief ground me as I breathe out the last of my fears.

“I just… hope that spirit will be enough. Because seriously, Oana.” My voice cracks, barely holding steady as the weight of everything bears down on me. “There is so much I didn’t know, so much I still don’t know… so I don’t understand. I’m piecing fragments together, memories that float in from nowhere as if they’ve been hiding all along.”

My fingers brush my lips, and my teeth sink into the inside of my cheek — a nervous habit that brings little comfort. The storm rumbles faintly behind me, a distant echo of the turmoil.

“It is strange,” I continue, my voice quieter now, as though speaking the words might shatter them. “I thought I was meeting this vampire for the first time in the forest… but I was so wrong.” My voice trails off, my gaze drifting past Oana as if I could peer beyond this moment, back into those hidden fragments of my memories. The storm flickers with faint purple light, and my chest tightens as the truth rises to the surface. “I remember now,” I mumble, the words tasting foreign on my tongue, “or at least at least some of it. But I do remember him, which means we met before, over… a hundred years ago.”

Oana’s face pales, her eyes widening as the weight of my words strikes her like a blow. “Mi, hundred years?” she whispers, her voice breathless. “You’re saying… you’ve met him before? Hundreds of years?” Her hand rises to her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. “I always wondered if there was more to your past than anyone let on,” she admits, her voice quickening as the pieces align in her mind. “But I never imagined… this.”

I look away, fighting the raw vulnerability, trying to claw its way through me. “It’s been fragments,” I admit with a slight tremble. “So things began drifting back to me in waves — things I had no right to forget. At first, I thought it was just my powers or even the beast playing tricks on me. But then they felt so real. How could I have forgotten my own life? But the further I was away from the castle, it was like… pieces of me began to come alive.” I swallow hard as I force the rest out. “That’s when it hit me. Literally, I am far older than I thought. Much, much older... like an older person.” I try to inject humor into my tone, but the words sound hollow, even into my ears.

Oana stares at me, her hand over her mouth. I watch her face go from shock to something heavier — a deep, aching sorrow. “Mihaela,” she whispers, “that means… they keep all of this from you.” Her hand falls to her side, clenching into a fist. Her eyes meet mine, a quiet fury simmering there. “Your mother,” she says, heat behind her words. “she kept this from you. She took your life, your memories, and hid them away.”

I glance at her, unsure how to put my next thought into words. “It wasn’t just Zanir I remembered,” I mumble, my throat tightening. “There were others… glimpses of faces I can barely recall. One of them…” I trail off, struggling to steady my breathing. “I think I saw my father.”

Oana freezes, as the words cut through her. “Your father,” she repeats softly, her tone stunned.

“He was… blurry.” I continue, my hands fidgeting in my lap. “In flashes of a distant memory, he’s there — but never fully. Like a fog, I can’t touch. But there’s one memory… I was younger, and I jumped from the only window in my wing of the castle. My arm snapped. He carried me. His voice was soft. I remember the way he made me feel — safe, like nothing in the world could touch me as I was in his arms. And then there’s was another memory he told me never to stop asking questions, no matter who didn’t like the answers.” My voice cracks, and my hands stop and squeeze my knees. “I thought I was just imagining it all, and after meeting Zanir again, I know these flashbacks, these memories — they were real. The man, my father, he’s real… or he was. Those feelings, that sense of belonging and being seen — they were ripped away from me like they never mattered. I want them back, but there is just this emptiness where they should be. How could someone take that away from me?” I feel my eyes start to water as I fight back the tears like I have been trained to do.

Oana’s face hardens as she processes my words. I didn’t even know her face could do that. “Mihaela,” she says carefully, “this isn’t just suppression. This… this feels deliberate. Your father, your past, even Zanir — it’s like someone took everything from you, piece by piece, and buried it so deep that you couldn’t reach it, or even question it. This isn’t normal magic, not from a shifter, witch, or even a wizard.” Her voice lowers, filled with a quiet conviction. “No, this kind of spellwork — is timeworn. Powerful. Only capable by someone with either powerful connections to some mighty gods, or someone from a deep and pure fae bloodline. Your Mother. I just know it’s her.” She clenches her fists, her anger simmering. She also knows what it feels like to have powers held above your head. “She didn’t just take your memories, Mi. She tore your life from you and locked it away.”

Oana’s face hardens as she processes my words, a fierceness I have rarely seen take hold of her. “Mihaela,” she says carefully, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “This isn’t just suppression. This… this feels deliberate. Your father, your past, even Zanir — it’s like someone stripped you bare of everything you had, piece by piece, and buried it so deep that you couldn’t even think to question it. You had nothing to compare it to, no truths to cling to — how could you? You’ve been left with scraps of memories, nothing to anchor yourself to. And that, Mihaela, is cruel.” Her eyes glisten, and her voice softens, a raw pain for me bleeding through. “I can’t imagine what it feels like to have your whole life — your sense of self — taken from you like it was nothing. You're my best friend, a sister from another mister, and I am so angry that someone dared to do this to you.” Her hands ball into tight fists as her voice sharpens again, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “But this isn’t normal magic — not from just a shifter, witch, or even a wizard. This is something far older, far more dangerous. It’s timeworn magic — old and calculated. This level of control? It doesn’t just happen. It requires a bloodline that is pure, deep, and powerful. Fae magic. And there’s no doubt in my mind that your mother… she’s Fae. And so are you.” Oana’s eyes lock with mine, her conviction searing into me. “Her bloodline is too strong, Mi. Strong enough to steal memories, strong enough to twist reality. She didn’t just hide your past, she ripped it away and locked it behind walls and doors you were never meant to break. And for what? To control you? To keep you in her grasp? I know what it is like to have someone hold power over you, to make you doubt yourself, but this? This is monstrous.” She takes a deep breath, her anger barely contained. “You deserve so much more than this, Mi. You deserve the truth. And if your mother did this to you, then we will find a way to get all back for you.”

A bitter laugh escapes, jagged and hollow, as silent tears streak down my cheek. “Fae. Great,” I mutter, shaking my head. “That isn’t anything new from her — not really. Her treatment of me has always been like that, hasn’t it? Nothing I did was ever enough. I was never enough. And every time I thought I understood something — my power, myself — she found a way to use it against me. She thrives on control.” I force a shrug, the gesture flimsy and unconvincing, as if trying to brush off the weight of it all. “So, no, Oana. That part? It is not surprising.”

I chance a glance at Oana, expecting her to nod or let the moment pass, but instead her eyes burn with an intensity that pins me in place. Her lips press together, not in judgment but in a fury that is fiercely protective. “Mi,” she says, but her tone is sharp enough to cut through my dismissal. She doesn’t need to say more. The look she is giving me is enough. The tears I was holding back spill freely, and I quickly avert my gaze, unwilling to meet the depth of her sympathy.

A storm brews inside me, frustration and sorrow crashing in waves that threaten to knock me over. Behind me, the distance storm begins to mirror my unraveling. Thunder growls low and deep, rumbling through the ground as the white void around us starts to darken. Lightning streaks across the horizon, splitting the growing shadows in violent flashes. The mountains tremble under the weight of my emotions, and I feel the ground pulse as if this world, my mind, is teetering on the edge of my control.

“I know there is so much of my past than she lets me see,” I whisper in gasps, trembling with the storm raging behind me. “More stolen from me. But I feel like, sadly, it doesn’t end there. There is… something about this connection with Zanir. It is like a thread I can’t untangle, no matter how hard I try.”

I wipe the stray tears from my cheeks and pull my knee close, resting my chin against them as I try to steady myself against the chaos swirling around me. The storm claps again, and lightning flares, cutting jagged lines through its growing shadows that creep into the once-white void. The thunder rolls again, echoing like the roar of a monster circling closer.

“At the Inn in Faymore…” My voice stops, the memory rushing back with sharp, unwelcomed clarity. “It was overwhelming. The way the people looked at me — every stare felt like it was cutting into me, pulling at the fragile layers I had left. I felt raw, exposed. It was suffocating, and I couldn’t shake it.”

Oana’s expression watches me, her understanding unwavering. There’s no pity in her eyes, just a solid foundation for me to lean on. “And then?” she prompts gently.

“There was a barmaid. She looked at me with a hatred I couldn’t explain at first.” I pause, the memory surfacing sharper. “Then I remembered… I had been there before. I made it to Faymore, once. I was afraid, vulnerable, and they could sense it. So, this time, when the panic started rising again — when it felt like the air itself was turning against me — I reached for Zanir’s hand.”

I swallow hard, the weight of it settling over me like a salve and a wound all at once again. The thunder seems to falter for a moment.

“The second I touched him,” I continue, my voice soft. “Everything stilled. The noise, the stares… it was like he quieted the storm that had been threatening to drown me somehow.” My hand curls into my pants around my knees, as if I could hold on to that feeling. “His hand… his skin, it was warm, and it felt like it pushed back the cold that was consuming me.”

The storm behind me shifts. The trembling mountains seem to hold their breath, the thunder fading to a distant murmur. But the lightning flashes on, a reminder of the storm’s presence, just as my emotions refuse to fully settle. As if I knew what that meant.

A silence falls between us, heavy yet not oppressive. The storm in the distance grows restless now, its thunder rolling with a slower, deeper cadence as if echoing the ache in my chest. I feel Oana’s eyes on me, her gaze piercing the fragile armor I try to maintain. She watches me with that rare blend of compassion and understanding that only she can give.

“Mi,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of all she knows and the suspicions she dare not voice… yet. “This connection… this recognition… there is so much more here. I think some secrets may run deeper than either of us imagined. And whatever force binds you to Zanir… I have a feeling it is archaic and extremely powerful. And it is coming back to life.”

Another self-soothing bitter-tasting laugh escapes me, the sound almost drowned out by the growl of thunder behind me. “Oh, Oana, there’s more. And I wish that was the last of it.” I pause, I squeeze my knees as I search for the words, for the courage to share what feels impossible to explain. “That night at the inn…” My voice catches, speaking the memory aloud makes it too real, too raw. “My powers — they are wild, chaotic, feeding off my emotions, feeding my beast. Devouring through my panic and fear. It was like my own thoughts were ripping through me, threatening to tear me, flesh from bone. I was spiraling, Oana, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” I draw in a shaky breath as lightning flashes, illuminating the darkness slowly taking over the void. “I guess… I called out to… him without even realizing it. I was panicking, afraid so alone. And then — suddenly — one of his shadows was there.” My hand brushes my arm instinctively, trying to capture the sensation again. “It wrapped around me,” I continue, “not cold or smothering, but warm, like a whisper in the dark. It wasn’t just his shadow. It was him. They called me ‘light one.'“ The words spill from my lips, and a tear escapes down my cheek. “It was as if I had summoned it… summoned him, and in that moment, I wasn’t alone anymore.”

The storm’s energy hums behind me. The trembling mountains seem to sway under its force. Lightning cracks closer now, sharp and electric, illuminating Oana’s face, her expression both fierce and protective. I meet her eyes as my own emotions are reflected in the raging storm behind me.

I pause, swallowing hard as the memory surges through me, vivid and unrelenting. For a moment, I am back there, wrapped in the shadow’s embrace, comforted and unnerved in equal measure. The storm rages behind me, its thunder rolling like the beat of a restless heart, lighting painting cracks of silver across the darkening void. The mountains shifting, their distant peaks shrouded in swirling mist as my emotions turn.

“It wasn’t just that night, Oana,” I say, my voice low, because saying the words too loud might unravel me. My throat tightens as the memories flood back in sharp fragments. The warmth of his touch, his shadow, the pull I can’t explain, and the echo of something far older than my conscious mind. “It was like… I have met him before. I have met them before.” My next words rush out, unbidden but undeniable. “For Nyx’s sake… we’ve kissed before.”

The words hang in the air, crackling with unspoken weight, as a bolt of lightning splits the sky behind me, momentarily blinding. Oana’s eyes widen impossibly wide, her mouth falling open in stunned silence. For half a heartbeat, the world feels suspended — no thunder, no tremors, only her icy eyes piercing through me.

And then it breaks, “KISSED?” she exclaims, her voice alive with shock and a teasing delight that borders on wicked. “You’re telling me you kissed someone as cloaked in shadows and secrets as Zanir? A man who sounds like he stepped out of an enchanted ballad, and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning before now?” She leans closer to me, her hair falling in a cascade of black and blue, framing her face like a storm of its own. “Mihaela, you’re never as much glanced at anyone for more than a fleeting moment of distraction. And now you’re out here kissing men who sound like they’ve been spun from shadowed moonlight and old magic?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, though I try to brush it off with a small shrug. “I have filled my time with more than fleeting glances, Oana,” I say, my voice tinged with defensiveness. “Not that this kiss matters. It was over a hundred years ago, anyway.”

Oana gives me a long, piercing look, one brow arching so high it threatens to disappear into her hairline. Her expression screams disbelief, her silence heavy with knowledge before she finally bursts out. “HUNDRED—” She stops herself, blinking rapidly as if to process the sheer magnitude of what I have just said. “Wait, so only have you kissed him before, but you kissed him over a century ago? And now he is back? And you’re just telling me this now, like it’s some minor footnote?”

I roll my shoulders uncomfortably, hugging my knees tighter. “It is not like it matters. It was so long ago, and I didn’t even remember it until recently. So, really, it’s —”

“Not important?” Oana interrupts, raising a perfectly skeptical eyebrow. “Mihaela, there is a man who quiets your storms, wraps you in shadows, probably kisses like he’s been blessed by the Fates themselves, and has been around for centuries… and you’re acting like that’s not a big deal?

I groan, burying my face in my knees. “Oana—”

“Nope,” she cuts me off with a sly, wicked grin. “You know what? Maybe you need a refresher. Maybe another kiss would jog your memory. I hear there is a kind of magic in reunions like that — powerful magic. Who knows? Maybe it’s not just your mind that needs reminding. Her smirk deepens, her tone thick with playful mischief, but there is a glimmer of truth beneath her words, a thread of understanding that only she could weave. “If the Fates truly wove him into your past, Mihaela, you might want to see where that thread leads, even if it is a little tangled. You don’t just get to ignore something like this — not when it has a history and power of its own.”

The storm behind me cracks louder, a flash of lightning. My pulse races, and I can’t help but let out a strained laugh, even as the storm seems to press closer.

“You’re impossible,” I mumble, shaking my head.

“Not as impossible as you, Mi,” Oana replies, her voice soft but no less pointed. “But if anyone deserves to feel something real — after everything you’ve been through — it’s you. Don’t dismiss this because I won’t let you.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and I groan, pushing my knees into my face to hide my embarrassment. “Oana, focus,” I say through the fabric of my pants. I raise my face, letting out a shaky breath as I push past my flustered state. “The binding runes, my powers changing, my fragmented memories… and even Zanir — they’re all connected. I can feel it.” My voice drops, carrying the weight of my swirling thoughts. The storm in the distance moves again, lightning tearing through the darkened void as thunder rumbles like a heartbeat. “But it’s like the closer I get to finding answers, the more tangled everything becomes. The questions never stop coming.”

Oana’s teasing smile fades, replaced by an intensity that cuts through the chaos in my mind. Her blue-streaked hair seems to glimmer in the shifting storm light battling the torch-lit library behind her. She leans closer, her expression serious. “Mi, you’re not wrong. You’re starting to uncover something. Something that’s been buried for a long time.” She stops, searching for my face, weighing how much to say. Then softly, with an unbreakable certainty, she says, “I think it’s all somehow tied to you. Not just your powers or your past — but to who are you.”

Her words hang heavy. The storm behind me surges behind me in response. A crack of thunder roars, mirroring the storm inside me. I am unsure if it’s the storm’s rage or my own emotions making the void grow smaller.

Oana doesn’t flinch, her presence as steady as the earth. “I had a feeling.” She whispers, her eyes locking on to mine. “That there’s more to this than what we’ve been told. I feel like that is why you never stopped questioning, even when you were controlled and demanded. The questions still moved through your mind, even if you couldn’t remember them.” Her voice tightens, “Your mother never broke the parts of you that wondered.”

I lift my eyes to meet hers. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice fragile, afraid of what she might say, but know she is leading into something I may not be fully ready to hear.

Oana takes a deep, steadying breath, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. The sound of thunder rolling low like a warning behind me. “Your mother sent me to Vulpar…” she begins, her tone wavering before she steadies herself.

And she calls me strong.

“You left while I was gone… That was messed up.” Her lips twitch into a brief grin, but it fades as quickly as it came, her seriousness returning like the gathering storm behind me. “Your mother wanted me to study the Fae. At first, I thought it was about their connection to magic. But what I found… it’s more than that.” She stops, her finger tracing an absent pattern on the marble floor beneath her. The motion feels like casting, as if the act of grounding herself will help her untangle the words. “The High Fae, especially — they’re not like the rest. They’re rare, almost mythical, and their bond to their gods, to magic, and to nature… is unshakable. Their power runs through their bloodlines, ancient and unbroken, like a river carving through stone. It’s a force of creation, or destruction.”

Lightning fractures the sky beyond, casting sharp-edged shadows across the shrinking void.

Oana’s gaze holds mine as she continues, her voice low but unflinching. “Some of them are tied to light, others to darkness. That connection isn’t just a trait — it defines them. It shapes how their magic works, how they channel it, and how it consumes them if they’re not careful.”

Her words send chills down my spine, the storm shuddering with me. A fissure of doubt and recognition cracks through my thoughts, and for a moment, I wonder which path is mine. Light or darkness — or something in between?

“I don’t think your mother sent me there just to uncover old stories, Mi. I think she is preparing for something. Something that involves you.”

I feel the void tilt slightly, as if Oana’s words have shifted the very foundation beneath me. “High Fae…” I whisper, the word foreign and awkward on my tongue. My stomach twists with an unsettling mix of apprehension and realization. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything, Mi.” Her voice filled with urgency. “You felt something, haven’t you? The way your power shifts, alive and wild, like it has its own force? Maybe the way the forest responded to you, as if it knew you?” Her eyes search mine, the storm lights behind me reflecting in their depths. “Even Zanir — his shadows — they’re drawn to you. It’s not random. It’s because you’re tied to this magic, to them.” She hesitates for a heartbeat, the air thick with tension, then adds softly, “I think your bloodline isn’t just powerful, Mi. It’s old. It’s High Fae.”

The void behind me seems to ripple with her words, the distant storm grows, its darkness curling into the edges of the white expanse, engulfing it whole. My mind reels, spinning with thoughts I have never dared to question until now. The forest moving with me, the whispers of my name carried on the wind, the storm, the beast, of power within me I have fought to contain. And Mother — her control, her lies, her secrets.

It all crashes into me like a typhoon, drowning me in its truth. My chest tightens, my voice trembling as I speak. “If that’s true…” The words falter, catching in my throat. I feel a weight pushing into me, like a suffocating blanket. High Fae blood? In me? The storm bellows, thunder rolling through the void, matching all the chaos. “You think I am Fae?” I manage, my voice trembling.

Oana shakes her head. “No, Mihaela, not just any Fae. High Fae. The kind whose power doesn’t just flow — it shapes. It commands. That would explain so much. Your connection to the forest, Zanir, and even your memories. They weren’t just locked away from ordinary magic, they were buried under something old, something only someone with an equally power lineage could manage.”

I blink at her, my mind spinning. “But… Mother isn’t Fae. She’s a shifter.” My eyes search Oana’s face. “Why would she let me stumble through this, blind and vulnerable?”

“Mi, I don’t know… yet.” Oana’s expression changes to a mix of realization and caution. “Think about it, Mi. You’re not some superhuman, and you’re definitely not the witchy type of eternal youth.” She leans back, crossing her arms as her words gain momentum. “All shifters have some Fae blood — every single one of them. The more Fae blood, the stronger their magic and power. But you? You’re different. I think your bloodline has more Fae in it than any shifter I have ever heard of. And that not-a-vampire of yours?” She raises a brow, glancing at me pointedly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding some Fae heritage, too.”

I stiffen. “Zanir?” I ask, the name barely audible. It feels strange, vulnerable, to say it aloud in this context, as if doing so pulls him back in here… if he isn’t already. “What are you saying?”

Oana looks away, hesitating, her fingers playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. When she finally speaks, her voice is careful, almost reluctant. “It makes sense now. High Fae… they have something called twin flames. Fated pairs.” She meets my eyes again, and I can see the hesitation in her eyes, as if she is bracing herself for my reaction. “Two beings who are opposites in many ways, but perfectly balanced. Together, they’re whole — stronger, more complete. But it’s not just power that binds them, Mihaela. It’s something stronger. The gods, the deities of fate, tying them together.”

My stomach twists at her words. “Twin flames?” I repeat the phrase unfamiliar and clumsy on my tongue. It feels too much like something out of a storybook, too fantastical, even for the world I have found myself in. “And you think… Zanir and I are—?”

Oana nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It is possible. From what you’ve described, the connection between you two goes beyond coincidence. High Fae can bond with one another in a way that’s… sacred. That bond ties them directly to their magic, their very essence.”

I narrow my eyes, the skepticism creeping into my voice. “Twin flames? Do you even hear how mystic that sounds?” I can feel the flush creeping up my neck, and it’s not entirely from my own embarrassment. There’s a flicker of something else, something not entirely mine, brushing against my thoughts — a faint hum of warmth that feels suspiciously like him.

Oana smirks, her grin widening mischievously. “Oh, it is a little dramatic, I’ll admit. But if you and Zanir are truly connected, it’s not just about magic. It’s history, too. Something ancient that might go back farther than either of you realize.” She pauses, her grin turning sly. “Don’t worry, I’ll dig into it for you. I know you’re a hard sell. But from what you’ve told me — he sounds as hot as a lump of coal in a blacksmith’s shop, mysterious, and already kissed you once — I would say the signs are already there.”

I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Oana, focus.”

She laughs softly, but her tone grows serious as she continues. “Here is the thing, Mihaela. Fae magic is all connected through their bloodlines. When one member of a bloodline dies, their power doesn’t disappear — it gets transferred to the remaining members. That’s part of the cycle of their magic. But when a bloodline shrinks too much, the magic becomes unstable, and chaotic. It starts to tear through the one left behind.”

Her words send a shiver down my spine. “So, my powers changing — the chaos I feel — it’s because of something in my bloodline?”

Oana hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip as if weighing how much to say. “That’s the part I’m still trying to figure out. But yes, I think it’s tied to your bloodline. If someone in your family has died — or is dying — it could explain why their powers are transferring to you now. The instability, the wildness of it — it all points to that.”

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp, aching sound I can’t quite suppress. My thoughts spiral, crashing against each other in a storm of memories and realizations. “Mother knew,” I whisper, “she had to know. All this time… she knew.”

“I think she did. And I think she’s been trying to control it all along. Control you.” Her voice is soft, but her words cut deep. “But whatever she is hiding, Mihaela, it’s coming apart. Your power isn’t something she can keep a lid on it forever. And neither are your questions. But I can’t say she is involved for sure… yet,” Oana says, her voice carrying a thread of uncertainty, though her words hold weight. “But, like you, I feel your mother has always known more than she lets on. Maybe she even wanted you to uncover this in your own way.”

Her words feel like a hook sinking into my chest, showing me thoughts I don’t want to entertain, but I can’t ignore. “Is this why my memories are so fragmented, maybe?” I say, a slight tremble of vulnerability that makes my fists clenched. “Why they feel so out of reach — like they’ve been locked away?”

“You’re not imagining it. There is something about your memories, Mi, somethings intentionally hidden. And you mother…” She pauses, her voice gentle, but not out of kindness. “I can feel her hand in this. She’s kept you from knowing too much, too fast. It’s deliberate — like she’s trying to control the pace of what you learn.”

My fists tighten, my nails digging into my palms. “Or manipulating me, again,” I finish, my words in a low, bitter whisper. “Using me, like she always does.”

“Maybe. But this isn’t about control. There’s more at play here, Mi. It’s not just about what she wants — it is about what is coming. I think you returning to the castle, your role in all of this, is tied to something we haven’t uncovered yet. But whatever it is, it will come to light — eventually.”

My throat squeezes tighter, dry and aching, as I force myself to ask the questions that have been circling in my mind like a vulture. “And Zanir… any thoughts on his role in all of this?”

Oana’s icy blue eyes narrow, her lips curling into a faint, almost playful smile. “That, I don’t know. Not yet. But he’s as much a part of this as you are, Mi. The more you uncover about yourself, the clearer his place in your story will become.” She leans in closer, her words a teasing whisper. “And who knows? A kiss from him might jog your memory a little more.” My cheeks hear instantly, and I glare at her, but she just winks and barrels on before I can protest. “Seriously though,” she continues, her tone sobering. “You need to be careful about who you trust. There are others in the castle — in the council, the clan — who might not have your best interests at heart. Even Devlyn…”

“Devlyn?” I repeat, my brows furrowing, wondering about her sudden change.

Oana nods, her expression grim. “Her loyalties lie with your mother, Mi. She’s bound to her queen, no matter how much she looks out of you. That’s not to say she doesn’t care, but…” Her voice trails off as she searches for the right words. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t trust her completely. Not yet. Not until we understand what she stands to gain — or lose — in all of this.”

Her warning settles heavily in my chest, joining the tangled knot of questions and fears already here. The weight of it all threatens to crush me.

“You and that big brain of yours. You’ll help me, though, right?” I ask, meaning it as a joke, but my voice is quiet and gives me away.

“Always,” she replies with a warm smile. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she adds, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that kiss. We’re coming back to that once we’ve unraveled this whole Fae bloodline thing.”

Despite everything, I can’t help but laugh, the sound light and unburdened for the first time in what feels like forever. “Fine,” I say, shaking my head. “But only after we figure out who I really am.”

Her words are a lifeline, one I cling to tightly as I shake my head.

My thoughts swirl, each revelation sinking into my mind like a heavy stone in water. “So, all of this… it is not just about magic, power, control, or even survival. There is a deeper reason behind everything. And I am just caught in the middle of it.” I run my fingers through my hair. “So much for a stroll in the forest to ease my thoughts.”

Oana’s voice is gentle as she speaks. “You’re not alone Mihaela. But you must be ready. Because the truth — about your mother, about your bloodline, about your connection to Zanir — will change everything.”