I took Naial's hand—small, warm, and always a little too still—and we walked toward the wooden steps. She didn't resist. She never really did. Just followed with those quiet, ghost-like steps of hers, trailing behind me like a shadow stitched to my heels.
Mother had sent us away, and if she needed us gone to talk with Uncle Ren, then fine. But that creeping feeling along my spine? Yeah… I wasn't just gonna forget it. Not yet.
We reached our room. The door creaked slightly as I turned the knob, and Naial darted past me like a wind-up doll losing balance, flopping onto the already-ruined bedspread. Of course. She'd shredded it earlier in one of her blanket-dramas.
I sat beside her, my fingers absentmindedly plucking at the threads at the edge of the mattress. My shoulders sagged. My brain was soup. Magic-drenched soup.
"Big sis," Naial said out of nowhere—soft, flat, like she was reading from a page that only existed in her head.
I turned my head to her. She'd sat up, staring at me with that unreadable look. You'd think she was carved from calm if you didn't know her like I did.
"What is it, Nai?" I asked.
She leaned in slowly, real slow, and whispered like she was planning a heist, "Can you do that thing again? The light ball… the one from your chest?"
I blinked. "No."
Her face stayed flat, as expected. "Why not? It'll only be for a moment."
She scooted closer.
I scooted farther.
"Didn't Mother literally forbid us from doing soul magic?" I asked, trying to sound stern—but my voice cracked with tired laughter anyway.
The breeze from the window fluttered across my face again. This time, it was just a breeze. No weirdness. No phantom fear. Just night wind being night wind.
Naial turned away with a pout that was so tiny it could've passed as a hiccup in her face muscles.
"She did," she mumbled. "But I'm bored. And being bored is not fun."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying forbidden soul magic is your cure for boredom now?"
She didn't respond. Just stared at the wall like it owed her something.
"Naial," I sighed. "Just because you're bored doesn't mean we start ignoring Mother's rules. She said our souls are fragile. If something happens to it—gods forbid—it's not like we can glue it back together."
Still, I was tired. So tired. My bones felt like pudding, and even the idea of reading made my head ache. Boredom wasn't just knocking—it had kicked down the door and set up camp in both our brains.
Naial stared at me with those expressionless eyes. "You're bored too. I can see it. So why don't you just..."
"Just because I understand your gremlin urges," I cut in, pointing at her, "doesn't mean I'm going to show you my soul."
She blinked. "I'm not a gremlin."
I pointed harder. "Gremlin."
She groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed, curling up like a loaf of bread with feelings. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "I knew it. You don't love me. You only do things I ask if it makes you feel good…"
Ugh.
My heart immediately pinched. "Naial," I muttered. "You know that trick doesn't work on me anymore."
But then I heard it.
Tiny, soft sobs.
She wasn't wailing. She wasn't throwing a tantrum. She was quietly crying, and somehow… that hurt worse.
I sighed, already regretting everything. "Really, Naial? I thought the stone grump didn't cry."
She didn't move. I tried to nudge her, tilt her face up—nothing. She folded in tighter, smaller. My chest twisted.
If you had just done what she asked, she wouldn't be crying.
The voice in my head chimed in loud and smug. Ugh. That inner critic only ever showed up at the worst times.
It's not my fault. I'm just following Mother's rule…
She should've known better…
That goes for you too, Kaya.
I groaned and stared down at her shaking frame. I hated seeing her like this. It wasn't just about the magic anymore.
My hand curled instinctively over my chest.
Do it. Don't do it. Do it. Don't—
"Ugh, FINE."
I grabbed Naial and yanked her into a hug.
She squirmed a little—typical—but couldn't break free. "Aren't you the one who vowed to be better than me?" I said, squeezing her like a desperate pillow.
She sniffled and gave a small nod.
"And didn't you say we'd never be angry at each other?"
Another nod.
I pressed my forehead to hers, our hair mingling. "Sorry, Nai," I whispered. "Didn't mean to make you cry. Don't grow up remembering me as the boring big sis, okay?"
She gave a tiny chuckle. Still blank, still flat—but I felt it.
"You're the only big sis I'll get, Kay."
Gods. That hit harder than it should've.
I held her tighter. I even sniffed the top of her head for the heck of it.
"…Big sis," she mumbled, muffled in my chest.
"Hmm?"
"I can't breathe."
I gasped and let go like I'd touched fire. She sucked in air like she'd just resurfaced from drowning.
"Sorry," I laughed, rubbing her back. "My bad."
Then I paused, looked her in the eyes.
Just this once. Just this once, Mother won't know. Even if she's not here.
I placed my hand over my chest again. "This never happened. Understand, grumpy?"
Naial stared, confused. Her eyes narrowed slightly—and stars, she looked so damn adorable.
The wind slipped in again, and the candles wavered. That chill from earlier? It returned—barely. Lingering. Watching.
I shut my eyes, took a slow breath, and whispered, "Reveal what is sealed… reveal all that is hidden… give sight to those unable to see my essence… obey my will."
The chant flowed through my bones.
Sweat dripped down my cheek as the air grew thick with magic. My heart pounded, and my soul—my actual soul—responded.
"Soul Flare: Reveal."
Magic raced through me, all gathering at my core. Then it moved—up, out. Into my palm.
A white orb bloomed into the room like a tiny star.
Naial's eyes went huge. She inched forward, practically glowing herself.
"Can I?" she asked.
"Can you what?" I exhaled, trying to steady my breath.
"Touch it. Please?"
She was so calm. So innocent. So Naial.
I didn't even speak. Just placed the orb into her hands.
The moment she touched it, I felt it. That impossible duality—warm and freezing all at once. Her fingers wrapped around it gently like it was the last snowflake in summer.
And I... was dizzy.
Magic swirled thick around us. I knew I had tons of it left inside me, but my body felt drained. Like a candle melting from the inside out.
Not doing this again, I told myself.
You will if she asks again.
Yeah… I would.
I glanced at her, the way her fingers delicately traced the soul's glow. Each graze felt like she was hugging me again. Or poking me through a memory. It wasn't just touching the orb. It was touching me.
And maybe I liked it.
Most kids in the village didn't have cool soul forms until they were fifteen summers old. We all started with the same boring white ball. So magically speaking, I was still a child.
And gods, saying that felt like chewing gravel.
I looked toward the door.
Wondered if Mother and Uncle Ren were done talking. Wondered if she was okay.
I chuckled weakly.
What are you even worrying about, Kaya? It's Mother. The Huntress of the Western Isle. No one's beating her. No one even dares.
Right?
I shuddered—again. Naial's breath danced across my soul like a ghosty little whisper.
"Okay," I mumbled. "That's enough soul touching."