Nier:Saryu
Saryu
Character Story
Story 1
After years in school, all of my hard work has finally paid off. I’m now researching magical pharmacology with my best friend—the slightly scatterbrained girl in glasses.
Everyone in our class approaches their research carefully. That’s because each month, the teachers look over our work and evaluate its merits. Knowing this, I dive into my studies with gusto.
I’m good at focusing on the tiny kinds of details others tend to miss. After a while, the others take notice of this talent, and I’m eventually chosen to be our class representative.
But while I usually try to do everything myself, my best friend is always reminding me to try and work with the others. So I decide to give it a shot—for her.
Story 2
At first, everyone in class seems to be enjoying themselves. But as the days go by, the others start to get more and more worn down.
I find this terrifically disappointing, because it’s not a lack of talent that holds them back—it’s a lack of effort. But they soon begin to drop out of class. One…after the other…after the other.
Eventually, the only students left are me and my best friend. I can tell this stresses her out, but the harder she works, the more nervous she gets—and her work soon begins to suffer.
One day, I turn to her and put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” I say. “You’re going to be all right. We’re almost through this, so just stay focused.”
Story 3
I can tell the lack of other students disturbs my friend, but it doesn’t bother me at all. I’ve never needed outside sources for motivation, and I won’t ever give up on a task before seeing it through to the bitter end.
That’s not to say this is easy, because it’s not. It’s hard. A task of this size split between two people is
hard. But my friend and I put our heads down and keep going, and somehow we come to the moment of the final experiment.
It all comes down to this: The two of us have to pour separate compounds into our beaker at the same time. And if we’re off by so much as a drop, all of our work will have been for nothing.
The moment of truth. My hands are slick with sweat. Slowly,
slowly, we begin pouring our compounds. But then my friend makes a sound—a tiny, almost imperceptible gasp—and our potion immediately turns from a bright blue to a dark, muddy brown.
Story 4
Later that night, I knock on my best friend’s door. And while I know she’s in there, she refuses to answer. “Hey,” I say finally. “Come on. We have to try again.”
“Why?” she responds in a trembling voice. “You’re so good and I just… I don’t understand any of this. You’d be better off without me.”
“You’re right,” I say bluntly. “But me being so good means that no matter how many times you blow it, I’ll be there to pick you up. Now let’s go.”
The door creaks open and my friend’s face appears. She wipes absently at tears with one hand and puts her glasses back on. Then, grasping her other hand, I drag her back to the lab.
Dark Memories
Story 1
The Day I was Born Part 1
[
]
A while after the girl was enrolled in the school of magick
She was brought here as a child so long ago. Days. Months. Years. Who can even say anymore? The reliefs carved on the outer walls seem to deny all who would dare seek entry to this place.
The wooden door creaks ominously whenever it opens. Each time, she sees a corridor shimmering with sunlit beauty as all the colors of the rainbow filter in through stained glass.
This is the school of magick. It has always been thus, and thus will it always be.
With everyone at rest this holiday morning, the school lies quiet as a grave.
But one student is up and about. It is the wavy-haired girl, who has abandoned the possibility of sleep in order to sneak into the school kitchens. Once there, she sets her bag on a table and reaches up for a nearby shelf.
One by one, she begins pulling down utensils. She takes each item and carefully sets it next to a pile of ingredients and a recipe book. When this task is complete, she wipes a bit of sweat from her eyes and dons an apron. By their own kind of magick, the girl’s assembled ingredients eventually become a thin, flat disc of dough. She takes a heart-shaped cutter and begins to stamp out smaller pieces from it. Once ready, her cookies slide into a warm oven.
After a minute of waiting, a sweet, gentle scent drifts across the empty kitchen.
The girl kneels down and peers through the glass oven door, watching as her treats slowly turn a golden brown. “I hope you taste good,” she whispers.
The children at the school of magick all live together. With a sizeable roster of students, there are always a couple dozen sharing birth months in any given term. Next month is the wavy-haired girl’s turn, along with one of her friends from class. The wavy-haired girl is practicing making the gift she intends to give her, because she wants it to be perfect. She pulls a cookie from the oven and bites into an edge. Flavors dance on her tongue, as well as an almost indescribably subtle sweetness.
Her mouth bends into a smile.
These will work,
she thinks.
These are good.
Now she just needs to practice her wrapping skills. Still smiling, she tidies up the kitchen, picks up her cookies, and returns to the dorm. She places her bag on her desk and waits for the special gift-wrapping fabric she had ordered to arrive. She would use some of it to wrap her practice batch of cookies and give the entire thing to her best friend, the bespectacled girl who lives next door.
Suddenly, the soft sound of a bell echoes through the room.
My fabric!
Delighted, she flings the door wide…only to find her teacher standing there.
She looks her teacher in the eye and smiles calmly, hoping her expression does not betray the butterflies that suddenly race inside her stomach. “Yes?” she asks. “What is it?”
Excuses for her recent kitchen excursion race through her mind. With an indecipherable look, the teacher slowly reaches out and hands her an envelope.
She pauses, unable to process what is happening. Finally, she manages to speak.
“Is that…a letter?” There is a slight tinge in her voice. Relief, perhaps?
Regardless, her teacher does not notice. “Yes. A letter. Come find me once you’ve read it.”
As she takes it with a puzzled look, her teacher turns around and departs.
She closes the door and stares at her new prize. The crisp white envelope has been closed with a wax seal.
It’s so formal,
she wonders.
What could it be?
She withdraws an opener from a drawer and slips it under the wax seal.
When she pulls the letter free, she sees that it is from the hospital in her hometown.
…The hospital? But why?
She begins to read the words on the page, her eyes darting back and forth like moths before a flame. The writing is clinical. The message brief.
Her mother has been admitted. As she ruminates over this new information, she feels the tips of her fingers grow cold. What should her response be?
What would it be if she came from a normal family? The moment the thought enters her mind, she knows her reaction is wrong. Her mother is ill. Perhaps dying. Yet she does not lose composure.
She feels no sadness. No worry. She simply stands in place, reading the same scant words over and over and over again.
Story 2
The Day I was Born Part 2
[
]
After passing through the stonework city, the girl’s vision fills with green.
The air on her skin feels different somehow. Brisker. She is making her way back to her hometown.
A few days earlier, she went to her teacher and revealed the contents of the letter.
She told how her mother had taken ill.
And she explained that the hospital had asked her to come out so they could go over the issue in person.
After hearing this, her teacher granted permission for the journey.
As the scenery continues to change, the girl begins to recognize more and more of her old home.
A sense of nostalgia weighs heavy on her heart.
She had been nervous in the days leading up to her departure.
So much so that her teacher had given her some kind words as she departed: “Try not to worry. I’m certain everything will be all right. And I know your mother will be thrilled to see you.”
But her mother is the very thing casting the shadow on the girl’s heart. Not because she is sick.
Oh no. That is not it at all. It is because of what she did.
The girl does not think of the woman who birthed her as her mother. To tell the truth, she barely thinks of her at all. Because she also remembers something else her mother once told her:
“I wish you had never been born.”
For these reasons, the thought of returning home fills the girl with a quiet, gnawing dread.
The closer she gets to her destination, the heavier her legs grow.
The image of her mother—so successfully pushed down for so long—begins to take unwelcome root in her mind. And awful memories start roiling in the deepest crevices of her heart.
Despite the sunlight beaming down on her, the girl’s sweat is cold.
The straps of her damp leather bag are stained a dusky brown.
The hospital looms before her like a challenge. And her mother awaits inside.
Trees rustle in the breeze outside the hospital doors.
Bright orange fruit hangs heavy from thin branches.
The girl stares at it and recalls a time, long ago, when she came here with her mother.
This fruit was ripe then, too.
It caught my eye, so I reached out to grab one that had fallen to the ground.
But when my mother noticed, she smacked me in the hand with her cane.
I cried. No, I didn’t cry. I
sobbed
. And all my mother could do was glare at me.
A ghostly pain from that long-ago day flashes through the back of her hand, and she quickly shakes it off. She wraps her fingers around the doorknob and pulls it open.
An empty reception desk sits sadly in the lobby. Not knowing what else to do, she begins wandering the halls in search of her mother’s room.
But the rest of the building is as empty as the lobby.
The entire hospital stands cold and forgotten, almost as if it is ready to dry up and blow away in the breeze.
She walks from one hallway to the next, opening doors and peering around corners, but finds only solitude. All that moves in this place are the thin white curtains on the windows.
The girl begins to feel as though she has been left behind, and unease wells up inside her.
The afternoon is warm. Languid. Tranquil. If the breeze were to stop, there would be no way to tell that time was still passing.
She makes her way down a long corridor, counting numbers as she goes.
103, 104, 105, 106…107.
Her mother’s room—or at least the room where she is supposed to be.
The girl gently pushes a door that swings on silent hinges and peers into the room.
A lone woman sits upright in bed, facing away from her as she gazes out the window.
Her mother. Despite the grim news contained in the letter, her posture seems firm.
Though her figure seems to have diminished a bit since the girl had seen her last.
Or perhaps it is simply that she herself has grown.
Her imagination begins to whirl. She pictures what her mother will look like when she finally turns around. How she will sound. What she might say.
With her head hanging low, she braces herself for whatever is to come.
It’s all right,
she thinks.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s nothing to be afraid of. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
But the girl knows she cannot stand in place forever. She slowly moves forward, sliding her feet across the floor in an attempt to hide their sound.
One step…….
And another…….
After another step, her mother starts to rotate her head.
Another step later and now she is facing her. It is nothing at all like the girl imagined.
Her mother’s face is calm. After a moment, a childlike expression of glee moves across her features and she begins to speak. “Oh, Grandma! I’m so happy you’re here!”
Story 3
The Day I was Born Part 3
[
]
Gentle sunlight fills the white room. Thin curtains dance on the wind. Alone, the girl and her mother face each other. The older woman’s expression is the pure joy of a child.
It is so,
so
different from the image the girl has carried heavy in her memory for all this time.
She wonders briefly if this is even her real mother, and the thought makes ice run in her veins.
The mother of her memory is stern. Cold. Unfeeling. The thought of a smile from such a woman is folly.
Even when the girl truly needed help, her mother would turn away and walk off without a word.
Never had she reached down to help her up. Not once. But now…
“I’m sorry,” says a sudden voice from behind the girl. She whirls around to find an elderly man clad in a crisp doctor’s coat. “I’m sorry I could not be here to meet you in person,” he continues.
“We’ve just been so very understaffed lately.”
“Oh, um, that’s all right,” manages the girl. Before she can say more, the doctor takes a breath and begins to explain her mother’s condition. Something had gone terribly wrong with the cognitive functions in her brain, causing her to collapse. She had been discovered in her home a few days prior. But by the time they found her, she was too far gone.
Despite the best treatment they could muster, her brain function had not recovered.
Her state of mind had reverted to that of her own childhood. The more the doctor tells her, the more the girl’s mind reels. He seems to sense her discomfort, but his profession demands a certain clinical nature, so he soldiers on. “It is perhaps a bit cruel to say this to a child, but I feel you have the right to know.” He takes a breath, then another.
“We do not know how much time your mother has left. And if it is possible…We would like you to stay with her until the end.”
He stops talking then and waits. After a pause the length of an age, the girl tells him she will need some time to think. He nods and leaves her alone with her thoughts.
And alone with her mother.
Origami stars and animals are taped to the walls. Balloons hang brightly in one corner.
Her mother’s room has been decorated like the play area of a child.
The girl stares at one of the stars.
Did my mother make this? Did she make all of these?
Behind her, her mother opens a desk drawer. After a bit of rustling, she pulls out a few sheets of origami paper. “Let’s make something!” she cries happily.
“I’m so good at it! Come on, please?” She tugs on her daughter’s clothing as she speaks.
The girl can’t believe her eyes. Her mother—the same woman to whom a smile was a forbidden thing—was now pleading for attention. It’s too much. It’s all just too much.
With a sudden cry, the girl smacks her mother’s hand away. The reaction makes the older woman burst into tears.
THIS is who I was afraid of all these years? This pathetic creature?
The girl’s bewilderment finally gives way to rage.
Her mother had caused her so much grief. So much pain. And for what purpose? To what end?
As she stares at the sobbing thing before her, she wishes it would just hurry up and die.
Am I a terrible daughter? A terrible person?
The girl does not know the answers to these questions; she knows only that she cannot come up with even a single kind word for her mother. So instead she stands in place and listens to the sound of her weeping echo off the stale hospital walls.
Story 4
The Day I was Born Part 4
[
]
The girl sits in a rough wooden chair and stares out the window. Days have passed since the shocking meeting with her mother, and she has yet to fully grasp the reality of the situation.
But after speaking with the doctor, it was decided that she would stay at the hospital, at least for a little while.
A letter was drafted to explain the circumstances and sent to her school.
And against all odds, the doctor’s kind and continuous treatment begins to have an effect.
Her mother’s mind begins to age, moving from that of a child to that of an adult.
And though it is a strange and bewildering time for the girl, she sits by her mother’s side through it all.
At first, it seemed as though there was no hope. But after a week, her expression changes.
It becomes more mature, and she begins to speak of romance. Over the span of a few weeks, the girl watches her mother gradually grow up. She now has the mental age of a young adult.
Her mother loved origami as a child. Her mother hated bugs as a teenager.
Her mother still hates carrots as an adult. The woman before her is always soft. Always kind.
But it is not the sort of kindness a mother shows her daughter.
One day, her mother awakens in a terrible state.
Her voice is the picture of confusion and helplessness.
“Stay with me, Grandma! Please stay with me!” The girl meets her mother’s gaze calmly.
She summons her courage. “Of course,” she finally replies. “I’ll be right here.”
Her mother has never called her anything but “Grandma.”
Perhaps, in her mind, she is not even a mother yet.
Which means that, in her mind, the girl does not actually exist. All of this lies heavy on the girl’s mind.
I hated my mother. And I thought she hated me. Did I ever want to be close to her?
And did she ever want to be close to me?
But the answers remain always out of reach.
Another week goes by, and her mother’s condition takes a turn for the worse.
Her arms are as weak and thin as the branches of the fruit tree outside the hospital.
She slips in and out of consciousness.
The doctor pulls the girl aside and says he does not expect her to live through the night.
So the girl stays by her side through the long dark, holding her wrinkled hand all the while.
The only light is the dim glow of an indifferent moon.
It illuminates her mother’s pained expression as she moans in her sleep.
Suddenly, her eyelids twitch open.
“Do you want some water?” asks the girl. Her mother shakes her head.
She opens her mouth as if to speak. Something is clearly troubling her.
“I have to talk to you, Grandma,” she says finally. Though weak, her mature voice carries the air of a childhood secret.
The girl merely nods, waiting for her to continue.
She begins to speak of children, and how conflicted she is by the idea.
“I don’t want a baby,” she says.
There it is…There it is.
Her mother had never wanted her. Not ever.
If her mother notices the pained expression and lowered head of her daughter, she pays it no mind and continues to speak. She tells of how she began having problems when she was a young woman. After a while, she finally sought medical help.
And in time, she was diagnosed with a mental illness.
It was this diagnosis that caused her husband to abandon her.
The girl raises her head. She had no idea about this—about
any
of it.
She had spent but a short time with her mother, and had not been nearly old enough to understand the truth of complex adult affairs. Even now, the story is so complicated that it threatens to blow away from her at any moment.
She talks of how her illness will eat away at her.
How it will change her. How it will hurt her and everyone she cares for.
She worries abut this. She worries without ceasing or pause.
If she were to ever have a child, she would surely hurt them as well. Despite how much…
Despite how
very
much…
She loves the child that lies inside her now.
Wet heat drips down the girl’s cheeks. It falls to the floor like slow rain.
As she listens to her mother’s confession, the girl’s anger and hatred finally begin to escape her body in the form of small drops at the corners of her eyes.
Finally, her mother sighs and lays back. She closes her eyes.
Every worry of a life—every worry of a million lifetimes—seems to have contained itself in the dark circles beneath her eyes. The room grows silent as the girl squeezes her hand.
And for the first time since she came to the hospital…
For the first time in so long, she says… “Mom.”
Dawn breaks after an endless night. It is the girl’s birthday.
Bright, cheerful sunlight pours over her hometown.
The girl blocks it out with one unsteady hand as she stares out the window.
She has changed since she came here. Grown. Matured.
Today, the girl’s birthday will be celebrated in the form of a farewell.
She dons a pure white dress of mourning…and prepares to see her mom for the very last time.
Recollections of Dusk
Story 1
Ch. 1: Rumors
[
]
“Feeling good about the upcoming test?”
I turned to see my best friend running up behind me as I hurried to the arcane-experiments room. His hair was as unruly as ever, shooting out and away from his head as if it desired to enter orbit.
“Are you really asking me that question? As I recall, I scored much higher than you on the last one.”
“Yeah, yeah. But I’m going to make up for it this time!”
“You’d better, because this is just getting embarrassing.”
We had bantered like this since the first day we met in the hallowed halls of the magick academy. Each semester we challenged each other to see who could score higher on the endless series of tests we were given, and each semester he somehow manages to keep up with me.
I always found this fact supremely annoying, because I didn’t see how he could possibly pull off such high scores while also being a complete slacker.
This semester’s contest was currently deadlocked at five wins each, and I’d sworn to study even harder so I could pull away from him before things came to a close.
Fortunately, the next test was in my best subject, so I felt confident I would be able to seal the deal.
When I reached the experiments room, I found my classmates buzzing about in preparation for the practical exam. Our test today was all about transmutation: changing a thing of one substance into another. It was a tricky problem that required a number of delicate, subtle skills; students who simply attacked it with raw magickal strength would quickly find their efforts ending in failure.
As the other students pulled out their various ores and plants, I slowly reached into my bag and removed a sleepy frog. I know it was a risky move—frogs are notoriously hard to transmute—but if I could pull it off, I’d certainly have the final win I was looking for.
I set the frog on my desk and began casting my spell. Light flowed from my staff and swirled around the animal, who seemed merely bored by the proceedings. As I worked, I began to form an image of the transmuted shape I was aiming for, being careful not to add too much or too little magick. I felt good. Confident. Almost cocky.
But then everything went wrong.
The magick I thought I’d conquered suddenly yanked against the reins, and the slow trickle of power became a surging waterfall. A million different colors of light blazed across the walls as my staff began to shake in my hands.
“Let go!” Cried my professor as she ran toward my station. When I hesitated a fraction of a second, she slammed her hands on the desk and screamed again. “NOW!”
The moment I released my grip on the staff, the other classmates begin to scream. The staff floated higher into the air, whirling like a maddened dervish as it poured more and more magick into the now very-much-concerned frog. The poor creature began to grow, swelling into the size of a watermelon, then a small dog, then a human. Skin stretched. Eyes bulged. Screams rang out anew.
And then…it exploded.
That was three days ago, and needless to say, I did not win the grade contest with my best friend. But honestly, I have much bigger issues on my mind right now—like the fact I’ve suddenly lost the ability to control even the smallest magickal spell.
As I hurry toward my room with my head hanging low, I hear students whispering behind me in the stairwell.
“Hey, did you hear about the exploding frog thing?”
I know—it’s SO disgusting! Apparently they were cleaning gung off the walls for hours.”
“Yeah, but do you know who’s responsible?”
I hear a giggle, then a whisper that sounds suspiciously like my name, and I suddenly want nothing more than to find a nice, warm hole to crawl into and live in forever.
“So sad—she used to be pretty talented. Hey, do you think it’s that Omen thing? The one that makes you unable to use magic?”
“I dunno, but I heard one of the older kids say that same thing.”
I Knew exactly what they were talking about—we all did. Rumors of the Omen had been swirling around the school since the day we arrived:
A magic user’s power is never more unstable than in the days leading up to their tenth birthday.
And if they cannot gain control over it before the full moon rises in the sky, they will never be able to use their power again.
I laughed it off when I first heard about it—we all did. But right now, laughing was the furthest thing from my mind. Because I’d celebrated my tenth birthday just a few days ago, and now there was only a week left until the next full moon.
Story 2
Ch. 2: The Library’s Keeper
[
]
Five days until the full moon…
The thought of losing my magic terrifies me. But as I sit motionless in the classroom and try not to consider this possibility, my best friend wanders over and begins our usual banter.
“Aw, you look down. Did losing to me make you that sad?”
Usually, I’d let such snarky comments go. But this time, I get up and storm off without a word—because I know he’ll just laugh if I tell him what I’m thinking.
Eventually, I make my way to the library and take a moment to breathe in the atmosphere. Bookshelves scrape the ceiling, while haphazard shelf placement makes it less organized than an ancient maze. If I’m going to find a clue—if there’s some way to undo the curse that haunts me—I’m going to find it here.
Not this one. This is no good. Nope. Not this one either.
I’m concentrating so hard on finding my book, I don’t even realize that I’m lost. And when I finally recognize that fact, I’m so startled that I take an involuntary step backward and collide with a bookshelf—which immediately spins on its axis and sends me crashing through a revolving door.
I am floating.
Slowly, I force my eyes open and see that several of the tomes which had fallen from the shelf are drifting gently in front of me.
Somehow—some
way
—the books and I are slowly falling down, down, down an endless hallway lined as far as the eye can see with shelves.
I don’t know if there is a bottom. Or a top. Heck, maybe I’ll just float like this until thirst and starvation take me.
But then, someone speaks.
“TELL ME THY NAME.”
“Sorry, but where are you? And, um,
who
are you?” I try to put some force into my voice to hide my fear, but it all falls apart at the end.
“I AM THE KEEPER OF THE LIBRARY.”
“Oh. That’s, um…I’ve never heard of you.”
“THOU HAST INTRUDED UPON MY DOMAIN, AND NOW MUST ANSWER THREE QUESTIONS TRUE. IF THINE ANSWERS SATISFY ME, I SHALL GRANT THY MOST CHERISED DESIRE.”
I have to be careful here—
incredibly
careful. The first thing they teach you when you arrive at the academy is to be wary of powerful mages. There’s strength in their questions, you see…and penalties if you lie. But I also know this is my best—and maybe only—chance to find the answers I need.
“All right, then. Ask away.”
“WHAT STRIKES THE GREATEST FEAR IN THEY HEART?”
“My greatest fear? Um, well, I suppose I’m afraid of disappointing my teachers.”
Sort of a boring answer, but also very much true.
“IN WHAT DOST THOU PLACE THE MOST TRUST?”
“My own power.”
I mean, I came to a floating hallway to keep it, so I’d better trust it.
“THY FINAL QUESTION COMES.”
I try to swallow, but my throat might as well be made of sand.
“WHAT IS MOST PRECIOUS TO THEE?”
“Most precious? That’d be my…”
“Magick” is what I want to say. Magick. I mean, of
course
it’s my magick. But for some reason my mind decides this is a great time to go running off on its own, and hear myself say:
“My family.”
Oh god. Oh no. I’m in real trouble now. I feel my body come to a halt and reverse direction, meaning I’m now floating UP. Expecting some kind of horrible punishment, I squeeze myself into the smallest ball I can and shut my eyes tight. But then…
“THAT ANSWER HAS SAVED THY LIFE.”
The next thing I know, I’m standing in the library entrance. At my feet is a book I’d never seen, flipped open to a page for a potion that enhances a person’s magickal ability.
Was I dreaming?
Am
I dreaming?
A weird feeling settles over me as I look around at the library, I expect something strange—something higher—but all I see before me is the same, quiet space I have so come to love.
Story 3
Ch. 3: The Vile Butterflies
[
]
Two days until the full moon.
I’ve been busy collecting ingredients for my magick-enhancement elixir ever since I found that tome in the library. I feel myself losing strength by the day, and I’m panicking. I have to do whatever it takes to secure the ingredients by the night of the full moon.
Currently, I’m slogging my way through a dark forest ripe with magick, collecting the various items I need. When my satchel is finally filled to bursting with a supply of herbs, I turn to leave and notice a little butterfly hovering around me.
Have I seen this butterfly before?
The front side of its gray wings glow faintly. I count one butterfly, then another, then another. Soon the creatures blanket my entire vision, so I swipe my hand through them to clear a path.
“Ow!”
The sudden voice makes me jump, and I whirl around in an attempt to find the source.
“Pffft! This kid has no idea who’s talking.”
Yeah, she seems like a real dum-dum, all right!”
Laughter ripples out before me in waves, and I suddenly realize the source of the voices are the butterflies themselves. At that moment, I remember where I’d seen them: a textbook I was glancing at back at school. These are no normal insects, but instead beautiful, cruel creatures that feed on the darkest parts of the human heart. And if you inhale their scales, you are subjected to an increasingly horrible series of illusions.
“This isn’t a place for a loser like you.”
“Aww, did that make you feel bad? It’s true, though, you useless little witch.”
After a theatric series of insults, the butterflies gather in one spot, almost as if they are a single organism. They then take the shape of a human—one I know all too well.
“I’m disappointed in you. A witch without magick has no value to anyone.”
It’s my alchemy professor, and while I know it isn’t real, it looks and sounds exactly like the actual thing. As I stare in horror, the insects transform into classmates, villagers, and friends, each one pelting me with horrible statements.
And then…
“What’s got you looking so miserable?”
It’s the boy—my best friend.
“No…Not this…”
“You’ve always been ugly, you know that? Plus, you’re always arguing with me over one thing or another. Still, you’ve got good grades, which is why I keep pretending to be your friend.”
My eyes fill up with tears. He would never say something like this to me.
Never.
And yet, what if he’s been thinking such things all this time and never told me?
“But without magick? Useless. Just another dumb little witch. So…bye.”
I let out a strangled cry and reach for him, then stop myself. This isn’t real—these are just creatures taking his form in an attempt to eat my heart. And even if he
did
think such things…
“I won’t lose to you!”
I grip my staff and attempt to launch a fireball, but am rewarded with a tiny poof and a pathetic spark instead. Was this actually happening? Was my magick really so weak? My best friend cackles madly at my shocked expression, then slowly dissolves into a mass of swarming butterflies. But just before he fades completely, he gives one last twist of the knife:
“There’s no place for you here. There’s no place
anywhere.
“
Story 4
Ch. 4: The Stone Giant
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Tonight is the first night of the full moon since my 10th birthday—the last chance to get my magick back before I lose it forever.
Warm rays of sunset light beam through the window, guiding me as I walk through the dusty corridor. Suddenly, I hear the horrible sound of stone scraping on stone behind me, and realize I’ve found what I came for.
Got you.
The potion recipe in my book said I needed to secure the heart of a massive stone golem before nightfall, and I’d come to this crumbling manor to find one. Suppressing my overwhelming desire to run, I reach into one of the hidden pockets of my robe and withdraw a small arcane pearl I’d created for this very moment.
“I’ll see you in hell, buddy!” I scream as I hurl the object into the oncoming creature. There is a bright flash of light, followed by a deep rumble that echoes throughout the manor. But then…
“Oh. That’s not good at all.”
When the smoke clears, the golem is unharmed—my precious pearl didn’t even slow it down. As my legs begin to tremble, it presses me up against a wall with its massive bulk. Its eyes peer down at me from the ceiling, questioning, unblinking. Then it raises one enormous hand and prepares to bring it down, ending my life as a tiny little splat on the floor that no one will even recognize come the morning.
“This way!”
As a familiar voice cries out, a bolt of lightning knocks the golem’s killing blow aside. I turn in wonderment to see the boy standing there—my best friend. As I dash past the grumbling golem and to his side, he casts another powerful spell at my enemy.
“I’m barely slowing this damn thing down!”
I know that, just as I know there’s only one way out of this: I’ll tell him to run and save himself while I distract the creature. But before I can speak this plan aloud, he holds his staff out and blesses me with a familiar crooked smile.
“Here,” he says in a low voice. “Hold my staff. We’ll hit this jerk with a combined spell like we learned in class!”
“No! I can’t! I can’t use magick anymore!”
No sense in trying to hide it anymore; the cat is not only out of the bag, it’s running off down the road. I expect him to turn and leave in a cloud of disgust when I say this, but to my astonishment, his smile just grows wider.
“Wrong! You’re an
amazing
spellcaster! You just have to trust in yourself. Now get ready, because that ugly thing’s coming right for us!”
His voice sparks a mad sense of encouragement in me, and almost without realizing it, I reach out and grip the staff. Moments later, a whirlpool of light spills out of his weapon. A gust of wind whips up, threatening to blow me away. And as I stand in the swirling light, I feel my body being filled with magick.
Oh my god…This is incredible!
This is our magick; our powers intermingling to make a storm of unimaginable ferocity. The roof detaches and soars away. Walls crumble. Pillars explode. And at the end of it all, the once-mighty golem is nothing but a heap of rocks on the floor.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask as I dust myself off.
“You’d been acting weird lately, so I peeked at your notes and saw something about creating an elixir, as well as the location of this place.” He pauses for a moment to dislodge a small pebble from his shoulder, then looks at me again. “Say, do you remember what our professor said about mages and witches having really unstable magick at the age of ten?”
“What?”
“Yeah, that whole thing about us ‘losing our magick’ is just a superstition, but it’s based around the fact stuff tends to run amok at this age.”
As his words settle over me, I realize my magick worked perfectly fine when we cast the combined spell. “So, um… You knew I was upset about all of this?”
“Yeah, and I was worried.”
His voice is both gentle and warm, and I have to resist a sudden urge to burst into tears as I hear it. Shame rises in my heart as I realize how stupid it was to think this friend might have abandoned me if I lost my magick, when the whole time he was more concerned about me than I ever imagined.
“Um, thanks,” I manage as I pull my hat lower over my eyes. I don’t want him to see me like this, but he just bursts out laughing.
“Hey, of course! You’re family, after all.”
Family.
Though I’m happy to hear him use that word, I’m not exactly sure how to feel about it.
“Hey, so let’s get out of here, yeah?”
“Yes. Let’s.”
As we walk home beneath a shimmering full moon, I deliberately take slower steps than necessary, all so the moment might last just a little bit longer.