Read parts one through twenty-eight here.

My hand was still stretched upwards, but I wasn’t in the meadow by the pond. The amber glow from atop my staff cast enough light around me that I could make out my surroundings. Cyrus had gifted me with a small room in the back of his cottage. It was slightly larger than my old room at The Willow. It had a large bookcase overflowing with all manner of dusty books, stones, glass vials of dried herbs and flowers, and loose scrolls. Each emanated some kind of energy. A silent but powerful vibration called to me, and part of me longed to touch them.

I had pondered how Cyrus managed to amass such a collection. Maynard had ensured to destroy every Magical artifact, object, or tome he could get his hands on. Before every Purge, he’d gather all the Magical items in the center of whatever poor village had fallen victim to him and set them all ablaze. They became known as the Enchanted Bonfires. They were wonderous and terrible to behold. Each was different depending on what was being burned and the strength of the Magic within. Maynard also punished the village by killing their Sorcerer, Witch, Mage, Healer, or whoever their strongest Magical practitioner was in the fire.

Always target their strongest, he’d say. The weak place their hope where they see strength. Kill their strength, destroy their hope. Fear will always be stronger than Magic.

Those days were some of the few days I was allowed beyond the castle gates.

Come and feel the sun on your skin, the heat from the blaze. Revel in the sounds of hope dying.

I hated those days.

The memory of those days melted away as I fell asleep and had an unexpected visit in my dreams. But she was gone. Again. Losing her again was not something I anticipated. The emptiness gnawed at me, and I began feeling suffocated. The fluffy blankets Dasha had given me became stifling, and I struggled to shed them off.

Air. I need air.

I fumbled my way out of bed, using the glow from my staff to illuminate my way outside. Cyrus’s home slumbered in shadow. It hummed with soft Magic. Every corner beckoned me, promising adventure. Each item sang to me in a way I didn’t understand but longed to. My Magical education was one-sided. I yearned to succumb to their call, but the need to escape surpassed my curiosity. I had to get outside.

I exited the cottage and walked around towards the back of it. Cyrus’s home backed into a patch of woods. He’d said that many of the ingredients from his potions came from there. It would be a good place to try and clear my mind. As if it could ever be clear in here.

I stepped into the inky blackness of the forest; the silver moon hung high over my head. The scent of damp earth, flowers, and something…else permeated the air. Magic. It’s magic, the breeze whispered. I wandered further into the woods, my staff crunching the ground beneath me. I found a small clearing with a large boulder in the center and decided to perch upon it. I fell into the tranquil darkness as Night wrapped her arms around me.

In that stillness, I was able to focus my thoughts on what Linnea said to me.

“Loving someone happens in many different ways. Love can be complicated, like between your friends Cyrus and Dasha. Sometimes it’s as easy as remembering someone even though it hurts to.”

How can one thing be so varied?

“Love is not rational. It distorts logic and transcends reasoning. It is the strongest and oldest Magic there is.”

I sank deeper into the abyss and gave myself to oblivion.

“I love you, Linnea.”