Things happen, and yet somehow we always keep going.

  Sometimes all it takes is one small step to begin the day… Or, in Feralynn’s case, rolling off her bed and smacking face-first into the cold floor, which welcomed her like a rude good-morning kiss.

  It barely bothered her at all.

  Her soft snores continued rumbling across the room, surrounded by an army of empty soda cans and energy-drink bottles that remained loyally at her side, witnesses to her chronic refusal to clean.

  Fer stayed there, limp on the ground like a discarded rag doll. No nightmares last night. Thank the gods. The nullwine worked! Though it left her with a hangover worthy of a night out worse than the Halloween party.

  A sleepy groan escaped her. Then her nostrils twitched. Yeah… there it was: that divine, holy, life-altering scent able to recover one’s soul completely.

  Tomato sauce. Meatballs. Simmering warmth drifting in from the kitchen. That only could mean one thing better than any other thing in the entire world. That was the essence of–

  “Spaghetti…” she murmured, smiling into the dusty floor. “Fuck yeah…”

  Her face was half covered by an action manga she had been using as a makeshift blindfold against the grey morning light filtering through her curtains. Her hand found the book and flung it somewhere unknown. It soared like a bird shot out of a cannon and smacked into her wall.

  With an unnecessarily loud yawn, the girl pushed herself off the floor and stretched like a spoiled cat who had done absolutely nothing productive for ten hours straight.

  Through slow blinks, she reached toward her alarm clock. Her hand first knocked over her zippo—her eternal companion—along with a pile of crumpled papers. Eventually she found the clock, rubbed her eyes, and dragged it closer.

  Fer froze. Hard.

  “Wait, wait a second—”

  Her blood ran cold. No. No way. Midday.

  MIDDAY.

  Midday meant her mother was home, cooking spaghetti… But what about school—

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  The curse slipped out under her breath, heart racing, already imagining herself marked absent on the attendance sheet. She fumbled for her backpack, rummaging until her fingers finally brushed against her mirrorphone—Miria’s gift—and texted her with frantic speed.

  Her fingers hammered the screen like a thunderstorm. Spelling accuracy was a luxury meant for calmer mornings.

  She bit her nails, staring at her direct chat with Miria—full of middle-finger emojis and passive-aggressive comments. When no reply came, Fer sent five more messages.

  “Come on, come on! Just answer me! Frosty!”

  Finally:

  “Not now. Busy.”

  “Classes got canceled today, you moron.”

  Relief washed over her like a warm tide. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. No absence today. No disaster. No scolding from Astera.

  Her gaze drifted to the desk: that guilty hook tugging behind her ribs. Papers. Homework. Tasks she swore to complete and never finished. She could practically hear the school whispering about her grades.

  Forcing herself back to her feet, Fer marched to the wall, pulling free the daggers—and the machete—that held her papers pinned. She taped them back over the little holes to hide the damage. Mama could NOT see that. Gotta buy some wall-filler later…

  Her stomach growled loudly at the smell of tomato and meat. Strange that her mother was home and not at the flower shop. Maybe business was slow today.

  In the bathroom, she washed her face, splashing lots of cold water to wake herself up. When the faucet finally went silent, her reflection stared back at her: wet, tired.

  She wasn’t smiling. Not at all. A smile was forced into place, but it easily came undone.

  “Everything’s fine…” she whispered, gripping the sink. “So why do I still sometimes feel so…”

  Empty?

  That was the word she wouldn’t say. But it lingered in her chest. Empty… like something’s missing. As if she was still an intruder. Like someone scooped out her insides and forgot to replace anything but bones and spite.

  Why feel like this? Why now? She had a roof, three meals per day, a school, friends, her mother safe and close. Just schoolwork to worry about. Just the contingent seal on her abdomen to remove someday, sooner or later.

  Nothing complicated… right? Probably this was just a nullwine side effect.

  Or maybe it was the oldest war of all: learning how to live in peace after surviving hell. The promise to get better to not hurt anyone again made her keep going each day.

  Silence pressed in around her. She hated it. It left her alone with thoughts that filled her head like the smoke her flames make. Lots of unspoken self-doubts. She would’ve given anything to hear Annya ramble about celebrity scandals or her tedious miracle-book-translation-quest.

  She shuffled into the kitchen where her mother smiled at her.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” Darina greeted warmly, lifting a spoonful of bubbling sauce. “I added lots of meatballs, just how you like it.”

  Feralynn smiled back, tenderness and something sad twisting inside her. It felt like a Saturday. And weekends meant eating lunch with mom. School lunches were fun, sure, but nothing compared to the calm of home.

  Darina stroked her daughter’s cheek as she set down a giant plate of spaghetti, its steam rising like incense.

  Fer smiled again. Words failed her. But that small curve of her lips told her mother everything.

  Everyone was doing okay. That’s what life makes you think before it throws disasters at you.

  “They sent a message this morning,” Darina said while watching her detective show on TV. “She left a recorded message saying they’re doing renovations. I was going to wake you, but you were snoring like an ogre.”

  Fer huffed a laugh, twirling pasta around her fork.

  “Renovations?” she repeated, chewing thoughtfully. “Must be for the tournament.”

  But then she paused. No—the tournament wasn’t until spring. And winter was just beginning. Besides, why decide to do them now in the middle of active classes?

  “Mama, who sent the message again?”

  Darina squinted slightly.

  “Well, the Headmistress, of course. She sounded very serious. Maybe even a little sad.”

  Feralynn stabbed a meatball. Astera? Sad? The woman forged of pure disciplined steel? She could reduce entire battalions into crying children with a single sentence.

  Fer narrowed her eyes. Those two—serious elf and smiling puppet—were the biggest liars she ever knew. And always for the same reasons: protecting the academy’s reputation, preventing panic, keeping secrets (like her own) closed behind polite excuses.

  “Something’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asked, although her eyes were still glued to the handsome Police men from the show. “You seem a bit quiet.”

  Fer blinked twice to come back from the brief space out.

  “I’m good. Just… thinking about stuff.”

  Especially the sabotage plans she and Miria thought to get the best grades on duel practices.

  After lunch—and after almost three full plates stuffed with cheese and bread—she spent an hour wrestling with Algebra, Basic Magic Theory, and her endless mountain of pending homework.

  “Soul Arrow,” she muttered, scribbling. “Soul Bolt. Heavy Soul Arrow… Heavy… Heavy Soul Arrow Bolt? What?”

  Her brain stalled. She stared blankly at the notebook, then looked back to the book just to find five more spells with nearly identical names.

  “Why the hell did old mages give their stupid spells such similar names?!”

  The complaint came out as a low grumble, imagining ancient scholars laughing at her from beyond the grave.

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  Between math formulas, potion notes, and curse theory that sounded suspiciously like her favorite rock songs, she wondered if she’d ever learn something that wasn’t fire.

  Exploding, burning, scorching—her whole spell arsenal was just synonyms for “make it die hotter and quicker.”

  In the end, Feralynn completed maybe half her homework. A victory. A small, pathetic victory—but a victory nonetheless.

  Coat on, hair tied, she stepped outside to the backyard. No need to see Annya right now; the girl was probably with her own family. Maybe later.

  “Need a smoke…”

  But mama being at home made it difficult. So, the best way right now to clear her mind was to punch the hell out of something. Her beat-up garage-sale punching bag hung from the strongest branch of the lone tree in the yard, swinging in the cold breeze.

  Black, fingerless fireproof gloves: perfect. She’d cut the fingers on purpose to make them more practical.

  She stretched, staring at the grey autumn sky. Winter winds reminded her of the south. Amazingly, this country had the whole four seasons. Real ones.

  What would spring feel like? Or summer? Movies and shows illustrated cute butterflies, ice-creams melting, people on the beach on holidays. Maybe even a field full of flowers like in the shop.

  They sold mostly fake ones, but pretty anyway. She imagined Annya sneezing uncontrollably from something so silly like pollen allergies and snorted quietly.

  Fer stepped toward the bag. Three light punches into her own palm to wake her hands. Wake the nerves. Wake the fire.

  If this bag were a person, it would be begging for mercy already.

  BAM!

  A clean right hook slammed into the punching bag, spinning it on its axis.

  THWACK!

  A sharp left cross followed. The old tree had to be sturdier than every oak in the world combined to withstand the explosive force behind her constant blows.

  Between uppercuts, knee strikes, and even elbow shots, her thoughts wouldn’t shut up. Her body kept attacking on autopilot while her mind spiraled elsewhere.

  Get good grades. Approve those damn exams. Remove this disgusting Cain’s seal. Make it to the tournament.

  BAM!

  And after the tournament and the seal?

  “Guess I’ll keep getting good grades!”

  SMACK!

  Is that all you want to do for now? Nothing else? And after the good grades?

  THUD!

  The blows, like the questions, didn’t want to stop.

  “Haah! And then… graduate from the academy!”

  THWACK!

  And after graduation? What are you gonna do? Hm?

  The next blow never landed. Her right palm steadied the wild swing of the bag.

  “Haaah… haaah. I… I got no clue.”

  A future where she could choose whatever she wanted to be. It tasted strange. Holding your own destiny felt completely alien.

  Duel instructor? Nah… she would have to master nearly every magic category, and she couldn’t even maintain a fire serpent without it exploding. It would take years, and she was painfully aware she lacked the patience to learn, let alone teach someone else.

  Something with adventure, where she would not be stuck sitting behind a desk or in a classroom all day. Hmmm… firefighter? Absolutely not. She caused fires; she did not put them out. Besides, she didn’t see herself saving lives. Can you be a hero after killing so many people?

  Soldier? NO. Her mother would forbid it with a rabid face, and the ghost of her father would scold her for the rest of her life for choosing again the very life she barely escaped.

  What about… police?

  “Hm, doesn’t seem that bad.”

  There would be action. She would wear a cool uniform, have a patrol car with her CDs blasting through the speakers. Even a service weapon.

  She hated admitting it, but she missed firing a pistol now and then. Just a little bit. Reloading real guns was still satisfying in her head. However, most of the police force in Larion, if not all, were blanks…

  A spark lit above her head.

  BAAM!!!

  “That’s it!”

  Her fist smashed the bag with a euphoric grin, her doubts cracking and falling away in the wake of the idea: the Spellborn Unit.

  The academy was the perfect bridge to join the organization in her fourth or fifth year. A group dedicated to national and even global support missions, stepping in whenever authorities required battle-ready, fully trained mages.

  It checked every box: thrilling missions, not a traditional military structure, no need to kill people (unless they really deserved it), and the chance to see countless places.

  But her fierce smile faded the moment she remembered Romina’s revelation during their first session: her father had been part of the Spellborn Unit… and ended up killing many innocent people.

  “…”

  Fer froze again. The knot in her throat sharpened like a blade as she swallowed.

  Of course… of course choosing that path would mean more scrutiny from Astera and Smiley. More locks. More restrictions. Even more closed-door evaluations.

  Her fists tightened hard enough to ignite. Flames crawled across her knuckles as anger pooled inside her: her father’s sins always staining her name, always overshadowing every step she tried to take.

  Always the fear of history repeating.

  What if I am never considered safe? I don’t wanna still be a burden to mom… What if I am always just a loaded weapon that needs to be monitored with endless psychotherapy?!

  “Am I just a damn freak on a leash?! Is that all I’m gonna be?!”

  Fire punches rained down at the speed of light. A much-needed catharsis.

  BOOM!

  She unleashed one last blazing right hook so powerful that her flaming fist tore straight through the punching bag’s torso, ripping it open and making the tree’s branches groan under the shock.

  “Fer, sweetie?” Mom asked from the living room, worried by the sudden sound. “Are you alright? That was really loud…”

  Fer tried to snatch back her arm in futile attempts.

  “Y-Yeah!” she shouted nervously, still trying to unstuck from the bag. “All good! Just… just checking some new spells! It’s okay!”

  A deadpan stare met the sight of her arm completely buried through the punching bag. Then her head lowered in silent defeat, acknowledging her catastrophic lack of self-control.

  “Mom is going to kill me…”

  It was a used bag, sure. But they had bought it cheap, and it hadn’t even survived a full week hanging in the yard. She sighed, then noticed her hand was still engulfed in flames.

  “If Jax were here, he’d definitely try to come up with a stupid name for this,” she muttered, staring at her burning fist. “Something dumb like Phoenix Strike, pfft.”

  Her teeth found the inside of her cheek as she followed the imaginary game of naming her own spells instead of relying on the generic list from the pyromancy chapter of her textbook. A mischievous smile tugged at her mouth — that grin of someone who enjoyed breaking rules and making her own instead.

  “Actually… I kinda like how that sounds. Gotta show it the next class.” She smirked, proud despite the destruction she just made. “That’d make Frosty jealous, heh.”

  After a bit of struggling, Fer yanked her arm out of the bag. Sparks rained onto the dead leaves below, igniting them in an instant. She stomped on them like someone crushing a cigarette into an old carpet, trying to stop the flames from spreading, but every strike of her boot only fed more air, more fire.

  The ruined bag was thrown aside. More frantic stomps, more dirt kicked over the embers. It took her too long to realize the base of the tree was starting to smoke as well.

  Her eyes widened. A quick glance over her shoulder followed, panicked, just to make sure mom hadn’t seen.

  “Okay, don’t panic. It’s okay…!”

  It’s fine, really! Just a tiny little fire! Who hasn't accidentally set their backyard on fire from time to time, right?!

  All she needed to do now was grab one of the fire extinguishers under her bed and pretend nothing happened before mama found out. Yet she had underestimated how much negative raw energy she poured into that devastating final attack, because the flames surged up with even more force.

  “Fuck—!”

  SPLASH!

  A sphere of water crashed down onto the smoldering leaves, erasing every trace in a hiss of steam. Feralynn stepped back, stunned by the sudden hydromancy. The kind only one person in the whole neighborhood could perform, and the only person who could control her.

  Her gaze followed the trajectory upward to where the evaporating orb had come from.

  “It’s way too early to be burning your backyard!”

  Annya stood at her second-floor window, waving with a gloved hand. Her smile shone under the gray sky like a patch of sunlight breaking through clouds.

  Fer couldn’t help returning the smile, embarrassed at being rescued like that, but grateful all the same.

  “It’s also too early for you to bother me!” she shouted up playfully, wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel. “What are you doing spying on me?”

  Annya let out a small laugh, her cheeks flushing pink.

  “I’m not spying! I heard an explosion and figured you must have broken something, again!” she lied, having actually spent several minutes watching her train. “Do you want to do something today?”

  The red-eyed girl stepped closer, pressing herself against the wooden fence to speak more clearly.

  “I’ve got homework,” she said, the towel resting on her shoulders. “Lots of it. Guess it’ll take me the whole weekend.”

  “Hmmm, well I already did almost all of mine. You know, I could help you.”

  Fer rolled her eyes with a knowing smile, fully aware of the trap hidden behind such generosity.

  “In exchange for…?”

  Caught red-handed in her academic bribery, Annya grinned.

  “In exchange for being my test subject for my new cupcakes,” she declared with faux firmness. “With what you helped me translate from that miracle book, I could finally practice on my own, and I decided to bless some milk to bake cupcakes!”

  A heavy, awkward silence followed. Fer stared at her with a deadpan look so strong she could swear she heard distant crows laughing from nearby branches.

  “...Did you just seriously bless milk to bake miracle cupcakes?”

  The idea itself was absurd — surreal to the point of comedy.

  “Mhm, mhm! They turned a kind of golden color. I tried one, but it didn’t taste very good. I’ll help you with your homework, and then you’ll try my experiments! Just until they are edible enough.”

  Anything for decent grades…

  “Whatever, you and your bribes.”

  An hour earlier she had wanted to spend the day alone. But somehow, by inertia or fate, it was always difficult to resist the both sweet and chaotic ideas her best friend conjured out of nowhere.

  “Just don’t expect me to eat the whole thing. I’m not putting something in my mouth if it glows like glitter and tastes like crap.”

  Annya closed her eyes with a gentle smile. She nodded several times, then disappeared from the window to grab her backpack.

  Maybe Feralynn still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up after graduating.

  Just thinking about finishing school and never seeing Annya again made something in her chest twist. But she was sure of at least one thing: as long as the school years kept coming, she would enjoy every single moment they got to share together.

  There is still time.

  She didn’t know what she was gonna be in the future, she just knew being no one important wasn’t on the list.

  There is always time when you let yourself live in the present with the people who care about you.

  Maybe things could be better. Maybe. If she didn’t break everything in the process.

  ?