Ch. 42  

“Collection” 

I glance down, catching a glimpse of the charred remains of my gray shirt clinging to my skin, the once-durable fabric now brittle and frayed. The smell of burnt leather fills the air, sharp and acrid, sticking to the back of my throat. My skin prickles as I breathe in. The exposed burn on my ribs stings as the cool air hits it, and when I move, the edges of the raw skin catch against the fabric, sending sharp jolts of pain lancing through me.

Instinctively, I ball my hands into fists, feeling my nails dig deep into my palms. The sting is grounding, but my palms are likely a mess of small crescent imprints by now. Maybe worse.

I look around, forcing my gaze away from the injury. This place — it presses down on me, the sterile white stretching into oblivion with no sense of beginning or end. The silence here is thicker than air, muffling any sound until it feels like I am drowning in the quiet. I take a breath, the sound faint against the vast emptiness. How long have I been in here? It is impossible to tell. Seconds stretch into minutes, and I feel the edges of myself fraying, as if this space wants to peel me apart, layer by layer, until there is nothing left.

A familiar flash of black hair streaked with blue slips across my vision, enough to pull out of the pain on my ribs. Can she be here? It’s like seeing a ghost, but instead of fear, there is a warmth coiling in my chest — a feeling I haven’t felt truly since the last time I saw her. 

I catch my breath, letting the memory of her settle over me, the echo of her voice and the distinct, grounding presence she always brings. The silence here feels less absolute, a hint of her laughter breaking through. If she were truly here, she would scold me for letting my palms bleed like, for being reckless without a cause, for leaving without telling her, or for throwing myself so deep into my own mind and powers that I forgot to come up for air.

The faint scent of sage and something sweet, almost floral, stirs in the air — her signature blends of herb she carries around like a shield. I don’t know if I am really sensing it or if it is just memory, but either way, it hold me firm. She was always the one who would reach out, forcing a hug, never hesitating, even when I hate it and was a tangled mess of power and frustration on top of that.

Bookshelves and bookcases begin to unfurl around me, rising from nothing into orderly, endless rows. They stretch from the cold marble floor beneath my feet, polished and reflecting, to the shadowed towering dome ceiling above, curving into the infinite like ribs protecting a heart. I feel the marble chill seeping through my boots, grounding me in this shifting, surreal place. Each bookshelf settles into place as if it always belonged here, ancient wood groaning quietly under the weight of countless volumes. Dust motes drift lazily through the air, catching in the dim lights, adding a layer of age and mystery to the scene. 

Sliding ladders snap into position, each one spanning the rows with a swift, seamless motion, as if guided by an unseen hand. Archways curve around the shelves like protective arms, framing the knowledge held within. Some lead into shadowed corridors, while others branch off into more floors of stories and hidden worlds. The whole room hums with an energy I can feel under my skin, a pulse in time with my heartbeat.

The familiar, earthy scent of old pages fills my lungs, musty and comforting, like sinking into something both known and deeply mysterious. Each dim light above casts a glow onto the leather-bound spines, highlighting their gilded titles and faded words, marking a path through a forest of memory and knowledge.

I run my fingers along the back of a few books, feeling the raised patterns on their spines, worn but solid. Then, catching sight of a sliding ladder, I seize it, swinging a leg onto a rung. A surge of momentum propels me forward, gliding along the rail as the shelves blur past. I pass a section, and a glint of black and blue — a flash that could only belong to her… to Oana — catching my eye between books.

I leap from the ladder just before it reaches the end of the track, landing hard as it thuds against the rail. My heart beats faster. I am racing around the shelves, the thrill of her presence pulling me forward. I grip the edge of the nearest shelf and swing myself around, drawn deeper into this labyrinth of pages and memories, Oana’s elusive presence just ahead. 

I see her before she sees me. She looks slightly unreal, as if caught between here and somewhere else, her outline blurred and shimmering faintly, like a mirage just beyond reach. The rest of the room sharpens in comparison, but she seems to move through, suspended in a separate, untouchable reality. Her long black hair flows down nearly to her waist, the blue streaks woven through the flashes of lightning in a midnight sky. Each streak catches the dim light, a mesmerizing contrast against the darkness.

Her high cheekbones are as striking as I remember, giving her face a refined, almost regal look, and her nose is a delicate button that belies the strength behind her gaze. Those piercing, ice-blue eyes — like polished shards of glacial ice — could slice through anyone in an instant. I remember the way they could make anyone think twice before crossing her, though they also held warmth and loyalty that could make you feel shielded from anything. Right now, her gaze is fixed on a book in her hands, absorbing the words with that fierce intensity of hers, as if unraveling secrets only she could understand.

There is an air about her, a quiet power that demands respect. She has always been a powerful witch with a gentle heart, but you would be a fool to underestimate her. Every moment of her hand as she turns a page seems deliberate, controlled. The faintest twitch of her nose break he concentration, and her eyes lift slowly. Her eyes narrow slightly as they lock onto mine, and even in her spectral form, I feel that familiar, undeniable strength radiating from her. It is as if the world fades around us, leaving only her presence — striking, unyielding, and exactly the friend I need.

A delighted squeal escapes her lips, and a bright smile stretches across her high cheekbones, lighting up her features like a sunrise breaking over dark waters. For a moment, the familiar warmth of her happiness fills the space, and I feel a strange pang of relief, like a first deep breath after surfacing from underwater. But her joy is quickly replaced by a fierce scowl as she narrows her icy blue eyes, her brows knitting in frustration, and her entire body changes with purpose as she stomps toward me. 

“You.” Her voice snaps out, sharp as a whip, and she thrusts a finger in my direction. The tip is faintly translucent, ghostly, almost like the Samca’s eerie, phantom-like appearance. She jabs her finger toward me as if to poke some sense into me — and, thankfully, I feel nothing.

Thank, Nyx.

“You left without telling me! I was worried sick about your grumpy butt,” she exclaims, the frustration in her tone cracking just enough to reveal the raw worry underneath. I have seen her like this before, fiercely protective, her anger tempered by an almost maternal concern.

Something is off, it is different. I can see her, blurred but entirely present, staring straight at me, and I know she is more than just an apparition.

I open my mouth, searching for words to explain, but the truth is I am a tangled mess inside, and I have no answers. Did I bring her here? I didn’t mean for any of this to happen — I didn’t even know I was reaching out to be… reaching for her. I didn’t mean to bring her into this.

Her gaze softens slightly, but her mind seems to click through new thoughts. Her eyes flicker, taking in the strange void behind me, her expression turning from anger to confusion. 

“Where… where are you, Mihaela?” Her voice drops as she glances around, trying to process the strange space, to understand the sudden connection between us. I watch as she takes in the eerie, featureless expanse behind me, a grim contrast to the familiar warmth of the Grand Library behind her.

“We are in my… mind.” I clench my fists, fighting the rush of guilt that coils in my stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t even know how I managed to reach her, let alone pull her into this strange place. I am supposed to be able to control myself, control my powers, to handle everything by myself — but it keeps slipping, like sand through my fingers, flaring to life without my command… and it is getting more reckless.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do this,” I mumble, the words tasting bitter as I force them out. My powers feel like they have a mind of their own, pulling at the edges of my seams, tearing me apart. And now, I have dragged her into it, too.

Oana’s gaze darts around the space, her face pinches with concerns and confusion. “What are you talking about, Mihaela?” Her voice softens, some of her initial anger fading as she studies me with those ice-blue eyes that always seem to see too much. 

I take a shay breath, searching for the right words. “My powers are… they’re changing again. Like when I was younger, but this time… I don’t know. It is worse.” The memories twist inside me, fragments half-forgotten but now surfacing with each breath. “I can slip into other people’s head, but not it is happening when I don’t mean it to. And sometimes… I pull them into mine. They don’t even know it’s happening.” My voice falters as I try to continue. “I can make them… do things.”

Oana’s eyebrow draw together, a flash of alarm in her eyes. “Before?… Mihaela, that’s… that is a powerful compulsion. That is more than just entering someone’s mind.”

I nod, shame pooling in my stomach. “I know. And it’s making the beast inside me rage. I can’t control him. I know I should be able to, but it’s… breaking. I am breaking. He slips out through me when I don’t want him to, like now my powers, and him, now have a mind of their own. It terrifies me, Oana. I keep thinking I should be able to handle this, to keep it all under control. But it feels like I am just… like failing.”

She stays silent, her gaze intense as she absorbs every word. “So, you left to try and figure it out? To get away from all the… expectations?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Even then, I couldn’t control it. I left before.” My mind races. “Taeral… he came after me.” The name feels heavy on my tongue, a piece of my past I hadn’t remembered until recently. “I didn’t know, I forgot until… Oana, I almost made him… I made him turn his dagger on himself… on his throat.”

Oana looks at me in shock, her lips parted as if to say something, but she hesitates. Her eyes flicker with understanding and a deep sadness. “You couldn’t remember?”

I nod. “I didn’t remember a lot of things until recently. Something I still don’t. It is like these memories are surfacing now that I am away from the castle. Like I’m seeing things more clearly. But this… this is different. I don’t know if I brought you here with because I didn’t want to feel alone… or if my powers just reached out and pulled you in.” My voice cracks, and I meet her gaze, bracing myself for her judgment.

Oana’s expression shifts as she processes everything, piecing it together like a puzzle. “So, you’re saying all of this — your beast, your powers drawing people in and commanding them — is out of your control?” She studies me with that sharp, penetrating gaze of hers. Remind me of someone else. “And this is why you left, isn’t it? To try to understand yourself away from… everything. From her.”

I nod, feeling the weight of everything I am confessing… and Nyx, there is so much more. There is a silence as she seems to work through her thoughts, her face flickering between understanding and worry. She is quiet for a few heartbeats before her voice returns, gentle yet probing. 

“And how… how do I look to you right now, Mi?” She reaches for my shoulders, and her fingers press into me but pass through, fading like smoke. Her eye move with curiosity, her expression shifting from concern to fascination. 

“Interesting…” She pulls her hand back, resting her fingertips against her chin, that familiar pensive look crossing her face. Her eyes glaze over, as though she is already piecing everything together. “If you can see me, then you must be somewhere close to the castle. But… you’re fuzzy. Am I fuzzy to you?” She searches my face, as though trying to gauge what I am seeing. 

“Yes,” I breathe, the word catching in my throat. “You’re blurry, like you’re here, but… not.”

Her eyebrows life, a look of realization dawning in her gaze. “Are you asleep? Knocked out?”

I hesitate, thinking back to the last thing I remember — the white void, the cold, Zanir… my shifting. “Yes… I am asleep, Oana,” I admit, feeling a faint tug of guilt. “Or more accurately… under a sleeping potion and a sedative. Although that can’t turn off this mind.” I motion behind me.

Oana’s eyes narrow, her usual sharpness softened by concern. “Why are you asleep, Mi? What happened?”

I swallow, the memory still raw. “I… lost control.” My voice is barely a whisper, but I force myself to continue. “It got so cold. I got so cold. It started to snow, Oana. I couldn’t stop it — it was just everywhere. Like the winter days we used to spend together… when would throw snowballs at Iamys and fall into it watching the world turn white.”

A flicker of memory warms her gaze, softening her expression. The hint of a smile plays at her lips, the way it always did when we’d talk about snow, as if even a single flack could carry us back to those days. But she quickly catches herself, the fondness fading into worry. “And then?”

I take a breath, reluctant to say his name, but knowing I have to… eventually. “Zanir… he was there right when I started to spiral,” I whisper, the memories surfacing more clearly now. “It is like he saw it coming. I was about to lose control, Oana — fully and completely. The storm, the snow, my powers, everything inside was building up, and I was about to break.” I pause, feeling the weight of that moment linger. “But then he… caught me. Not just physically — though he did that, too — but he caught me in this… this strange calm. He stood there, watching, almost like he could see all of it, even the storm in my mind. I could feel his presence holding me steady, like he was a tether keeping me grounded.”

Oana’s brows knit together, absorbing my words. “So, he just… stood there? Watching you like that?” she asks, her voice a mix of skepticism and fascination. 

“Not just watching,” I say, meeting her eyes. “He knew exactly what was happening. He saw me losing control, but instead of stopping it or restraining me… he let it happen. He was calm, almost like he wanted me to understand my own strength, like he believed I could bring myself back.” I shake my head, still grappling with all that happened. “I didn’t realize how close I was to breaking… even though I feel like some of that is his fault, but I was breaking and he was there. It was like he knew how to reach a part of me I still don’t understand.”

Oana tilts her head, her lips curving in that thoughtful way, her fingers drumming lightly against her chin. “You know, Mihaela,” she says slowly, “not everyone can catch someone right on the edge like that. Either he knows something you don’t, or he has a dangerous amount of patience.” She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But he sounds intriguing. Mysterious, powerful… and patient?”

I laugh, the sound faint but real. “Dangerously patient, yes. He doesn’t tell me much — he keeps me on the edge of my own mind, like he’s waiting for me to figure things out. And somehow it… works.” I shake my head again, marveling at everything that has happened. “It is strange. I feel like he is holding answers, but he won’t give them to me… not until I am ready.”

Oana’s eyes sharpen, the gleam of fierce protectiveness igniting within them. “Zanir, huh?” she repeats, as if tasting the weight of the name herself. Her smile returns, softer but mischievous, and she reaches out to silence me with a finger pointing at me.

“This…” Oana looks past me. “That is not something that needs to be controlled, Mi, not if you’re just discovering missing pieces of it. Minds and powers like ours, they sometimes… find their own way.” She pauses, tilting her head, a trace of thoughtfulness in her gaze. Her eyes soften, gaze steady and unwavering, anchoring me to this moment. “But we’ll figure it out, together. For now, tell me everything.” Her smile turns wicked, a glint of intrigue brightening her face. “Every detail about this man. You know you can’t leave me with half the story, not after that. Start talking.”