"Do you really… ?"

  "I already told you yes, dummy!" said Annya with a tender little laugh, leaning just slightly toward her as if distance itself were an offense. "It wasn’t that big of a deal. We were just tense. Come on, let’s go home! Wanna stop by a café first?"

  "...Sure."

  That memory was still warm. As if it were one of her freshly baked cookies that had only cooled enough to melt in her mouth with affection. The scene returned like a soft echo while Feralynn was in her room.

  It was ten at night, maybe a little later. Who the fuck cared about the exact time anyways?

  The neighborhood slept in calm. No engines, no voices, just the distant murmur of wind brushing the branches, even some hooting from the far-off woods.

  Mom made soup. It had been delicious, she could still feel the exquisite taste in her mouth, that simple warmth sliding down her throat and settling there. Not only her stomach was warm, but also her heart, as if something had shifted inside without her asking.

  A piece placed with trembling hands. Fitting perfectly into the puzzle: Being forgiven, being hugged by your friends. Even when you scared the hell out of them.

  Hugged by Annya when they left classes. It was… wonderful. There was no other word. When they got home, Annya invited her to see her new miracles she had learned with Romina that afternoon. Especially that spear of light that crackled with pride in her hands, though in the end Feralynn had to help her hold it when it started to destabilize.

  She had sat on the edge of the backyard entrance, smiling while Annya showed her new miracles, explaining with enthusiasm every detail, every correction the professor had made. Even though Fer didn’t pay attention to a single word she said. Not because she wasn’t interested, but because Annya’s smiling face had her mesmerized, trapped in the movement of her lips, in the brightness that was born in her eyes when she spoke about something she was passionate about.

  On her bed, Feralynn crossed her arms behind her head. It was dark. The ceiling barely stood out in the dimness. She bit the inside of her cheek, replaying everything that had happened during the day, as if reviewing an impossible case file.

  "Let’s see… today Annya wore makeup. I fainted, I think I was actually dead for a few minutes, some crazy woman with an eyepatch saw me, I fought with Annya, I helped Miria with her punishment, I danced with Miria, I made up with Annya…" She was left open-mouthed, going over the absurd sequence. "Holy shit…" she muttered at the end, hugging her orca plush tightly. "I have to buy the damn dress."

  Yeah, right. Because you, out of all the girls in the universe, are going to wear one.

  "Just shoot me in the head already."

  Thinking about it pulled a bitter grimace from her.

  She had completely avoided the subject with Mom because she knew she would drag her to the stores, force her to try on every fabric, every cut, every color until one of them made her cry in frustration. No. She wasn’t ready for that. That was war for another day. Damn it, even for another century.

  "I don’t even like dancing." she muttered against the orca’s head, as if the decision were a silent rebellion. "It’s stupid and boring."

  Liar. Your smile was trembling when you held her waist.

  She rolled over on the mattress and let one arm fall lazily over the side of the bed. She kept her hand hanging in resignation. She lifted and lowered her legs, bored of the silence, until the tips of her fingers brushed the box.

  Slightly scraped wood. She recognized that texture like it was her zippo. She hesitated for barely a second before opening it. She did it anyway out of impulsiveness.

  Yep, there they were: bottles of nullwine.

  Dark glass. Opaque liquid. The promise of inner silence when she couldn’t sleep, which was every night since she arrived (and before). Drops. Take a little, sleep. You know you hate thinking too much. Come on, numb everything once more.

  She held them in her hand, feeling the small weight. Her drowsy droppers she had used other nights when the noise in her head became unbearable.

  She stared at them in the dark.

  "Could drink a little."

  Yeah, just a little. Just enough for everything to shut off faster. To not think about the woman with the eyepatch. The fall. The dance. The nerves of asking Annya. How close she had been to the void again.

  Her thumb brushed the edge of the dropper.

  "Come on… just a little." her head whispered, without real conviction.

  But then she remembered the hug from her friends when she left the headmaster’s office. She remembered Annya wiping her cheeks with divine relief, laughing with Miria in the library.

  Thank you for accompanying me today, Feralynn.

  "..."

  Miria. Her mocking laugh, her arrogant smile, her nervous face when she couldn’t counter Fer’s remarks. Her hug, crying on her shoulder in sobs in the middle of the silence surrounded by books. Just remembering the small dance practice made her feel strange inside, and she quickly shook her head.

  "It was just a small practice."

  Annya’s hug after class. The real weight of her arms around her. The warmth. The breathing against her neck. It wasn’t a chemical illusion. It wasn’t a shortcut. It was what it feels like to be cared for, what it feels like to care for someone who collapses in your arms asking not that you fight, but that you hold her.

  She exhaled hard, as if expelling something toxic that was finally leaving her soul.

  She got out of bed. Carried the entire box with the bottles, careful not to break them. Crossed the room barefoot and went into the bathroom. The cold tile climbed up the soles of her feet. She uncapped the bottles. The faint, bitter smell.

  "Not anymore." she whispered.

  And she threw them into the toilet. One by one she uncapped them, pouring out the harmful drugs. The liquid swirled and disappeared with a hollow sound. Drop by drop, dropper by dropper, she got rid of everything. Even so, the bathroom remained scented with rusted metal as a trace.

  Fuck you.

  Fuck the lab they cooked you in.

  Fuck your toxic-ass smell.

  Fuck that throw-up-looking color you got.

  Fuck the pharmacy that I've bought you in.

  And fuck the doc’s fat mama that thought you were a good idea.

  She stayed watching the swirl until the water was clean again, as if she had just erased a version of herself.

  "Done…Finally." she exhaled strongly. She lifted her gaze to the bathroom mirror, seeing herself with dark circles. She smiled, or tried to.

  Feeling proud of herself was still something she had to start practicing.

  "Something's better than nothing, right?" she asked herself. "Gotta stay clean. Stay Sharp, soldier."

  Sigh.

  She returned to her room with a strange lightness, though the exhaustion was still there. She opened a pocket in her backpack thrown on the floor with dirty clothes, and took out the jar with ground purple flowers that Smiley had given her in his office. Dried flowers, delicate, of impossible tones under the dim light.

  "According to the clown, this helps." she muttered. "It better, or I swear I’ll turn him into a fucking ashtray."

  She had to make tea first.

  She left her room with practiced stealth. Checked if Mom was still asleep, more out of overprotective habit than caution. Feralynn smiled when she found Darina asleep with the television in her room on, muted, showing some random movie.

  Softly she closed the door. Went downstairs carefully so as not to wake her.

  She went to the kitchen, heated water in silence, watching as the bubbles began to form. Poured the water over the flowers inside a cup. Steam rose with a soft aroma, hard to describe, something between sweet and metallic.

  She took the cup to her room and sipped cautiously. Under the lamp light she stayed reading a manga where probably guys were being disemboweled by monsters, or monsters were being disemboweled by guys. It didn’t matter. Any distraction was necessary until she finished the tea.

  When she finished the last sip… nothing. She waited on her back in bed like a mummy. Moved her feet from side to side, murmuring while she waited. Nothing.

  "Huh, weird. That old goblin fell right away…"

  Ten more minutes passed where she remained with her eyes closed. Still nothing.

  "Great." she muttered with irony. "The stupid puppet scammed me."

  She turned off the light and lay down, hugging her orca plush to her chest.

  She wrapped in the black blankets like a caterpillar waiting to transform into a butterfly. At first she didn’t feel anything different. Just the slow heartbeat. The silence. The darkness. She breathed deeply, letting her imagination wander. She tried on dresses in her head, and each one disgusted her more than the last. Then she smiled, imagining burning the stores with her hands.

  And then, slowly, the world began to loosen its edges.

  It wasn’t a blow, nor a sudden fall. It was as if someone had placed a warm blanket over her thoughts. Her muscles relaxed one by one. Her eyelids grew heavy.

  She hugged the orca plush tighter. She thought of Annya. Of the way she had taken her hand that morning. Of the makeup. Of her laugh when she called her silly. She thought of Miria. Of the dance. Of that electric closeness that had completely thrown her off balance. Of how their hands had lingered a second longer than necessary.

  She remembered each hug. Different. Distinct. But real.

  One of apology, one of gratitude. How good it feels to be hugged.

  The thought pierced her with unexpected clarity. It wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t combat. It was skin against skin. It was not being alone. Not feeling alone for once in your life. A small, honest smile formed on her lips without her ordering it.

  “Idiots…” she murmured softly, fondly. “I’m surrounded by crybabies.” Ironically, her eyes watered when she finished the sentence.

  Knocked out. Deeply asleep. She fell smiling.

  …

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  …

  …

  She woke without a jolt.

  There were no gunshots. No fire. No orders ripping the air from her lungs.

  Feralynn opened her eyes with a strange slowness, as if she didn’t quite trust the silence. The room was bathed in a soft gray light filtering through the curtains. The ceiling was still there. The walls too. Her orca was still crushed against her chest.

  She blinked once. Then again.

  Peace.

  No sticky memory trying to drag her back to war. No scream drilling into her ears. Just the faint song of a bird outside and the subtle scent of dried tea left in the cup.

  “Did I... sleep?” she murmured in disbelief.

  She sat up slowly. Her body wasn’t rigid. She wasn’t on alert. She didn’t have that pressure in her chest that forced her to scan the room before breathing. She had slept. For real. Without the foul mood in her head, nor the anxiety brought on by the side effects of the medication. She brought a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes. A small, almost shy smile appeared on her lips.

  “Thanks, weird clown…"

  As usual in her routine, she stretched fully, watered the freesia that special person had given her, and went to the bathroom.

  Gripping the edges of the sink, Feralynn realized: no dark circles, barely. Almost imperceptible.

  "Damn..."

  The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen like a domestic promise. She got up and left her room with light steps.

  Darina was in the kitchen, moving between the stove and the table with that calm energy that seemed to wrap around everything. She wore the same blue floral apron, her hair tied up messily, and hummed an old melody while stirring sugar into her coffee.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” she said without even turning around, as if she knew exactly when her daughter crossed the threshold.

  “Morning…” Fer replied, leaning against the doorframe.

  Darina turned then, and her brows lifted slightly.

  “Sweetie, you look… rested.”

  Fer shrugged, but she couldn’t hide the slight new shine in her eyes.

  “Slept well. I guess.”

  “Without…?” Darina didn’t finish the sentence, but the gesture was enough. “Without that?”

  “Without anything.” Fer confirmed, sitting at the table. “For real.”

  Darina served her scrambled eggs with bits of ham and melted cheese, crispy toast, and a steaming cup of coffee. She caressed her daughter’s cheek, then ruffled her black hair, drawing a short giggle from her.

  “You need to cut your hair.”

  “Mhm.” Fer murmured in agreement with her mouth full of toast.

  “And not with the garden scissors.” Mom added with fake firmness. “Or knives. Or machetes. Or fire.”

  “Heh…”

  Steam rose in soft spirals. The morning in the warm kitchen felt… normal. Fer picked up the cup. Held it for a second.

  Darina looked at the table. Then the refrigerator. Then back at her daughter.

  “…Aren’t you going to open one of those horrible cans?” she asked cautiously.

  Fer frowned.

  “Huh, what cans?”

  “The energy ones.” Darina pointed, frowning briefly. “The ones that look like rocket fuel.”

  Fer looked at the table. There were none on the surface. Just healthy food.

  “Oh.” She took a long sip from the cup. “Nah.”

  Darina blinked, genuinely surprised.

  “No?”

  “Don’t need 'em.” Fer replied naturally, taking another sip of coffee. “I slept well. Why would I drink that if I’m not sleepy?”

  Darina stayed silent for a few seconds. Then she smiled with a mix of relief and tenderness.

  “That’s how I like it better.”

  Fer lowered her gaze to the plate. She ate in silence, but it wasn’t the tense silence of other mornings when she could feel Mom’s worry hanging in the air. It was a comfortable, shared silence. The sound of utensils against the plate. Coffee being poured again. Light entering through the window.

  A familiar moment. Simple. Without worries.

  “Today’s Saturday.” Darina commented, sitting in front of her. “Plans?”

  Fer finished the last bite and leaned back in her chair.

  “Just going out for a run.”

  Darina raised a brow.

  “So early? The sun isn’t even up yet, honey.”

  “Why not?” Fer asked, shrugging. “No homework and I don’t wanna stay locked inside. Besides, Annya’s probably still snoring.”

  Darina nodded, pleased.

  “Sounds perfect. Fresh air always helps. Just dress warmly.”

  She paused. Smiled with a hint of mischief.

  “We could also take advantage later and look at the dress! I found a shop that sells a black one with skull and spider details that might—”

  Selective hearing. Fer froze with the cup halfway to her lips. She made a disgusted face she tried to mask with all her strength. Wrinkled her nose. Pressed her lips together. Her eyes narrowed like she had tasted something bitter that wasn’t her unsweetened coffee.

  “Can we… not?” she said with an exaggeratedly dramatic grimace. “Not in the mood to think about that right now.”

  Darina let out a soft laugh.

  “It’s for the dance, honey. It’s soon.”

  “Ugh, Mom. I know.” Fer rested her forehead against the table for a second. “But not today, please…”

  “Does it scare you that much?” Darina asked, amused.

  Fer lifted her head with a frown.

  “It doesn’t scare me.” she muttered. “I just… don’t wanna turn into a stupid catalog mannequin yet.”

  Before Mom could take a sip, she dropped a bomb.

  “Tell me, do you already have a partner?” she asked, raising her brows quickly with implied mischief. “Some boy… or girl in particular~?”

  “Mooom!” Fer protested, slamming both palms on the table, rattling the utensils and plates. “Don’t ask it like that!”

  Darina laughed again, louder this time, leaning in to ruffle her hair.

  “Alright, alright! We won’t talk about the dress today. Or the partner.”

  Fer stood up quickly, as if afraid the topic would resurrect itself.

  “Thanks…”

  She went to her room to change. Put on simple sports clothes, comfortable sneakers. Before leaving, she passed through the kitchen.

  “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “Be careful.” Darina replied, leaning against the counter. “And don’t get into trouble.”

  Fer gave a half-smile.

  “I’ll try not to start any wars before noon.”

  Darina shook her head, amused. She stayed seated sipping from her cup until, at full speed, Fer came back and hugged her.

  “I Love you, Mom.” she murmured low and fast, hiding her face in Darina’s shoulder. “Love you lots.”

  A knot tightened in Darina’s throat. She smiled, blinking quickly to hide the tears.

  “I love you more, honey.” she replied, her voice softly breaking as she stroked her black hair. "I'm proud of you."

  "I'm sorry for causing troubles..."

  "My sweetheart, it's okay...! You haven't done anything wrong."

  After that eternal second, Feralynn pulled away, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie without looking back. Darina stood there, waving goodbye, even if she didn't see her.

  Feralynn opened the door. The cool morning air hit her face. She inhaled deeply. Exhaled gratefully.

  She felt light.

  No nightmares. No racing heartbeat. Just her, the road, and the steady rhythm of her own steps. And for the first time in a long time… running didn’t feel like escaping, but like preparing.

  …

  …

  …

  A fresh winter morning air. Little snow, thankfully. Enough not to bother, enough to paint. She stretched her legs using the doorframe for support, eyes fixed on the sky. Dark. No sun through the clouds or the season.

  Hands in her pockets, she started walking first. The same route she had taken dozens of times already. The Oak residence appeared on the left, quiet, curtains still closed. When you’re a baker, you go to work early, even on days off.

  Feralynn slowed down without realizing it. Looked around. No one on the street. Zero witnesses.

  “Just a second.” she muttered to herself.

  She approached the fence, placed her foot on the side post, and climbed with total ease. It wasn’t the first time she had scaled something worse than that. Silently, she jumped into the yard and moved toward the side wall of the house.

  All she was missing was a ski mask and she’d look like a full-blown thief. Maybe she already was one, a thief of hearts.

  Her hands found grips in the uneven brick. She climbed effortlessly, her body remembering old infiltration habits. She carefully peeked over the edge of the second-floor window. She knew the curtain would be slightly open. She likes the gray winter sun.

  There she was. Annya was sleeping, and she better stay that way, because if she woke up she’d scream at the sight of Feralynn perched on her window frame with high security-camera eyes. She hugged her teddy bear against her chest, orange hair spilled over the pillow like an autumn leaf. Slow breathing. A relaxed face, without that sparkling energy that defined her when awake.

  Feralynn stared at her a moment longer than she would ever admit. No makeup. No baked desserts. No light or miracles. Just a girl resting.

  "You still sleep with the light on, huh?" she murmured softly, though the smile that formed on her face betrayed her. “Look at you, ridiculous."

  Mittens slept at her side. One eye opened, and the feline stretched lazily.

  “Uh oh.”

  Bad news, bad news!

  He meowed in greeting. The sound muffled by the window. She saw Annya stir in her sleep and turn over. Mittens meowed again, earning another movement.

  “Shhh, shh! Shut up!” she hissed in whispers, but he jumped to the edge to look at her directly. “Shut up, you fat cat!”

  “Mmrreeooww~!”

  “Ngh… Mittens… not now.” Annya complained, sitting up while rubbing her eyes. "Hmmm...?"

  SHIT!

  Feralynn suddenly released her grip, dropping until she caught an uneven brick with one hand. She descended with the same agility she climbed. Landed on the grass without a sound and returned to the street whistling in a pathetic attempt to camouflage her burning cheeks.

  “What was… that?” Annya asked sleepily, but collapsed back onto the bed, this time face down. “Mmnngh…”

  Alone again, Feralynn started jogging.

  The neighborhood felt different on a weekend morning. Blinds down. Streets almost empty. A neighbor sweeping snow, another brushing it off his car. A dog barking lazily behind a gate. No traffic. No urgency.

  No one was running from anything. The world wasn’t burning. Not yet.

  Feralynn breathed deeply, letting the cold air fill her lungs. She had lived years where every dawn was a fragile blessing. Where silence meant something worse than noise. Where smoke and scorched metal were part of the scenery. Now… the only danger was choosing the wrong dress for a dance. And the worst of all was choosing the wrong words to ask Annya.

  Part of her still didn’t know how to process that. But another part… was deeply grateful.

  Without saying it out loud, without turning it into a solemn promise, she thanked this new life. Her mother alive. A neighbor who gets annoyed when she smokes. A silver-haired rival who spoke about discipline like it was a religion.

  For being here.

  She turned toward the path that led into the forest. Asphalt gave way to damp soil and crunching snow. The trees formed a green and brown tunnel above her head. The air grew fresher, wilder.

  She let herself fall into the rhythm. Her thoughts began to scatter. She kept jogging. And kept going. And kept going further. Feralynn didn’t notice how far she had gone until the trees grew denser and the path less clear. But she didn’t care. Her body wasn’t tired yet. Her breathing was steady. She continued. She wanted to clear her head without drugs or fights.

  Finally, the soft sound of water called to her. A small frozen lake appeared between the trees, its surface nearly still, reflecting the sky like a pale mirror.

  Feralynn slowed down until she stopped at the shore. She broke some of its surface with her knife on flames, bent to drink some water, cold and clean. Washed her face. Then she stretched, flexing her legs, rotating her shoulders, letting her muscles release the accumulated tension.

  She sat on a flat rock. The forest was calm.

  “One single branch, to an extreme degree.” she remembered Miria’s voice.

  The words floated in her mind with unexpected clarity.

  Feralynn raised her hand. A ball of fire appeared in her palm with instinctive ease. Orange flames, vibrant, dancing with a life of their own. She held it in front of her face, observing it closely.

  “One single branch, huh?”

  She brushed the flames with her other hand. They didn’t burn her. It was her fire. She knew it. She understood it.

  Fer took a deep breath. Tried to visualize it differently. Not fire. Pure mana. Blue. Sorcery. She closed her eyes. Reached inside herself for that burning core that had always been chaos and hunger. Tried to wrap it. Tried to cool it. Tried to shape it without letting it explode.

  She focused. More. Deeper. Her breathing slowed. Her brows furrowed slightly. She searched in the deepest part of her soul to control her arcane power without turning it into an inferno. The flames trembled. One second. Two. The ball flickered, and completely evaporated. It was useless.

  No explosion. No spark. Nothing. Absolute silence. Feralynn opened her eyes. Looked at her empty hand that still smoked faintly. She snorted, not dramatic, just a puff of contained frustration. Stood up, shoving her hands into her pockets.

  “Great.” she muttered. “Thanks for never telling me before, Dad.”

  She kicked a small stone that rolled a few meters before falling into the water with a dull plop. She stared at the ripples spreading under the lake’s ice surface.

  If she didn’t have that vow tying her to a single element, how many things could she do? Annya and Miria controlled an element, sorceries, and miracles.

  “Is there no way to reverse it?” she asked herself. “I didn’t ask for that stupid contract.”

  As the years passed, they would learn new spells. More advanced ones. But she would only remain with flames as eternal companions.

  “Pfft, okay. Just fire? Fine. More than enough to beat the shit out of anyone.”

  Feralynn stepped closer to the lake, smiling with that arrogance she needed to lift her spirits.

  “Alright… let’s see if I pull up that spell I read from Frosty's book…” Then she remembered the dream with Dad, during shooting practice in the dessert. “No, wait. I’ve got a better idea...”

  "Try giving it a caliber. All weapons have one."

  “Caliber… caliber…” Fer thought, recalling all the weapons she knew better than anyone. “A .50 is impossible, it’d blow my whole arm off. The .380 ACP is good, but at short distance…”

  A lightbulb flickered on in her head, blinking the answer.

  “Got it!” she said, grinning with malice. "Heh."

  She took a deep breath. "You got this..." Fer extended her hand in a finger-gun gesture toward the water, as deep as she could aim.

  “Fire Style.”

  Flames were summoned. The tip of her finger ignited.

  “Caliber."

  Focus...focus!

  The devil’s bullet took shape, she focused on giving it the adjusted requirement.

  "Seven-Point-Six-Two.”

  AK's use this. Balanced, sharp, strong.

  It slowly had a different form, sharper. Less concentrated ball and more sharpened fang.

  “GUN!”

  Click— BOOOOOMMM!!!!!

  A cloud of steam rose when the thunderous explosion struck the ice. It looked like the lake threatened to send back a cold tsunami wave for being disturbed.

  Feralynn staggered back, and for not measuring the impact she fell onto her back over the stones with a groan. Her ears rang for a second with the familiar sound of artillery. She breathed heavily. Then she rolled to her side and stood up immediately, ignoring the mild pain in her back. Her eyes searched for the impact point.

  "Fuck-"

  "GAH!"

  Above the spot where the bullet had hit, the water remained ignited for a few more seconds, a blue-orange flame burning on the surface as if the lake had absorbed invisible fuel.

  Feralynn stared at the result in shock. First stunned, then joyful, until her lips curved open and she raised both fists.

  “FUCK YEAH!”

  Ting!

  Cain's Seal flickered for a second, releasing a stab of pain.

  “Uughhhh…!”

  She held her abdomen, but that didn’t erase the euphoric smile from her face. Even if she could never cast sorceries like the others, no one could modify their own spell on the first try. She fell back onto the ground, voluntarily this time, and laughed at the cloudy sky.

  “Haha...! Haahh... haah. I’m... I'm the best.” she exhaled, sweating a little from the spasms in her lower abdomen. “The best pyromancer in the whole fucking school...”

  Where fire prodigy was abundant, humility was scarce. She would discover that soon, but for now? She needed to savor that small victory.

  ...

  ...

  ...

  ?