My ears kept drumming as if a thousand tiny hammers kept thwacking against little anvils inside. A blurry silhouette wavered at the edge of my sight, someone approaching, perhaps.

  “[Calm mind.]” The spell didn’t reach me as words but as physical force, a deep, resonant vibration that rattled my molars like the bass note of some cosmic instrument.

  A peculiar sensation crawled over me, starting at my crown and oozing downward like cold honey. My thoughts grew thick and viscous, each one struggling to form before fading into a haze of indifference. It felt like being put under anesthesia, yet I was still awake. I slowly raised my hand to my face, my movements uncoordinated and sluggish. I watched, detached, as my fingers moved through the air as if submerged, trailing ghostly afterimages in my vision. I flexed them experimentally, but control seemed distant, as if I were puppeteering someone else’s hand.

  Through the fog of my mind, I heard the professor’s voice, more coherent now, but as if filtered through layers of thick wool. “Especially pale one, take him out for some fresh air, return when he is back to his senses.”

  Cool, slender fingers wrapped around my wrist and tugged with surprising strength, pulling me upright from my chair. The classroom’s dim interior gave way to blinding midday light that stabbed at my eyes like needles. A firm but gentle pressure on my shoulder guided me down onto a stone bench outside. I blinked in confusion as the surface pressed coolly against my thighs even through my uniform trousers. My vision, previously narrowed to a pinhole, gradually widened like a camera aperture slowly opening.

  I raised my head. The vise-grip on my chest finally eased, my ears popping with a quiet, fragile release. That same pale girl sat beside me, her ashen hair so delicate it seemed to melt in sunlight, and her violet-tinged eyes fixed on me with a deep, aching sorrow that pierced beyond my fear, as if she carried lifetimes of unspoken loss.

  “Did… did you lose someone to the occult, too?” she asked me, her violet eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned forward.

  “The occult?”

  “Yeah… I…” Her fingers twisted together in her lap as she glanced over both shoulders. The academy’s stone walls loomed around us. “I came to Morne Isles with my grandmother from the East,” she whispered. Her accent grew more pronounced as her caution deepened. “From the Empire. The faculty knows, but I try not to discuss it with students. Lots of people here hate the Empire. What they don’t realize is that many people there hate it too. We just couldn’t speak up without disappearing soon after.”

  “And the Empire practices that occult magic?” I asked, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.

  Her voice shrank to a whisper, brittle as glass. "Nobody knows for sure, but... people just vanish. Over the last twenty years, thousands gone without a trace. I had four siblings once…” Pale fingers clenched the fabric over her heart. "We shared everything, dreams, thoughts, feelings. When Misha died during one especially cold blizzard, I still felt connected to him somehow. Still do.” She trembled slightly. “But my sister Anya… she merely brushed against an officer’s polished boot in a crowded market. They dragged her away…” Her voice cracked. “A week later, that bond I’d always felt just… evaporated. Not broken, erased. As if she never even existed."

  “That is… beyond horrible,” I managed, my throat tight.

  “I have no evidence but this emptiness.” She splayed her pale fingers against her chest. “Perhaps the theologians could explain it, but the divine never graced me.” Her gaze fixed on mine, searching. “When you panicked during the miasma explanation, I recognized that look, the same terror that grips me when I think of souls being… unmade.”

  “No… I mean, my parents vanished right after the Ashen War ended,” I said, my voice catching on the words. “I’ve heard stories of people disappearing during the Imperial withdrawal. Bodies were never recovered. Entire villages gone, families left wondering. But something about my parents’ case feels different. That’s not it.” I stared at my hands, watching sunlight catch on my knuckles and create tiny shadows in the valleys between them. “It’s the thought that haunts me most, that someone’s soul could just be wiped out. Not passed on, not transformed, but utterly gone from existence. It is scary to think about.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she whispered, her violet eyes reflecting the dappled shadows of the oak branches above us. We sat in a heavy quiet. Only distant classroom chatter and the occasional flutter of parchment caught by the wind interrupted us. The stone bench had grown warm beneath us, almost comfortable despite everything. After five minutes that felt like hours, I finally pressed my palms against the rough stone and pushed myself upright. My legs trembled mildly as I gathered what little willpower remained to return to class.

  The next couple of weeks felt like a daze. My mind became a torture chamber where the same horrific vision played on an endless loop. My consciousness snuffed out like a candle, leaving only a void. Every night, I lie paralyzed in bed, that unbearable heaviness in my chest keeping me awake. Each morning, I woke up tired, with no energy to participate in classes. I sat quietly, just muddling through.

  When the stewardship course began, Prince Thomin was ranting about catastrophic labor shortages threatening his kingdom. Others joined in. I didn’t care. Luciana’s eyes burned into me with concern. I snapped at her to mind her own damn business. The words felt like acid on my tongue. I immediately regretted it. But what difference did it make? The danger of oblivion was breathing down my neck again. Even one of my classmates experienced it, so it wasn’t unwarranted.

  A sense of dread kept ambushing me like a predator in tall grass, its teeth sinking into my consciousness whenever my mind wandered from the safety of distraction. In my past life, when the darkness in my core grew especially thick, I’d find myself staring at bottles of pills on bathroom counters, or standing too close to balcony edges, the ground below seeming to whisper promises of release from the constant suffering of my own creation. I chickened out every damn time, trembling before the unknown abyss. Clinging to the hope of some technological advancement that will arrive just in time to save me.

  This time, though… If I killed myself now, perhaps with nightshade extract stirred into evening tea, I’d wake in the In-Between with its endless white expanse stretching in all directions. Maybe I’d kneel before Jerome’s shimmering form, his face both ancient and ageless, and beg for another chance in a world where magic was just a child’s fairy tale or even in a world without magic whatsoever. It could be better… or worse. What if he sends me somewhere even more dangerous, with threats I couldn’t even imagine?

  “What is wrong with you?” Luciana's voice cut through the mist in my mind like a lighthouse beam. I startled, turning to find her silhouetted in my doorway, her golden hair catching the last amber rays of sunset streaming through my window. I hadn’t even heard her footsteps on the parqueted floor. “You are normally so alive, but these past two weeks…” She stepped closer, the scent of rosewater following her. “You have not been like yourself.”

  “Not like myself, huh? Oh, the irony.” A sardonic smile twisted my lips as I traced the grain of the wooden desk with my fingertip.

  She crossed her arms, the embroidered sleeve of her academy uniform catching on a loose thread. “Where is the irony? Talk to me, I want to help.” Her voice grew softer, but her eyes remained fierce, determined.

  I studied her face, the tiny furrow between her brows, the way she leaned forward slightly as if physically trying to bridge the gap between us. Something warm unfurled in my chest. Her genuine concern for me was moving. In two lifetimes, across worlds and realities, I couldn't remember anyone looking at me with such unguarded worry. My parents and lovers in my past life had checked on me when I spiraled, certainly, but always with that trace of impatience behind their eyes, that subtle fear of how my brokenness might reflect on them in the eyes of our neighbors or mutual friends.

  Their concern came from the wrong place, an obligation rather than genuine warmth. Uncle Flo and Aunt Estrah do genuinely love me, yes, but that love was rooted in ancient promises made to my biological parents. To tell them now… the very thought makes my stomach twist into knots. They might even think I am not the child they swore to protect, but something foreign, something that had stolen their godson’s face.

  Luciana, though, is different. There was never any need for her to befriend me. In fact, the whispers that follow us through the Academy halls prove that being seen with me only damages her standing among the nobility. Yet she persists, her chin lifted in that stubborn way of hers.

  “Luciana,” I said, my voice fainting, “I will accept your blood oath if you are still offering.”

  Her dark eyes widened slightly, her face transforming into a mask of stone. “Hmm, I am, but why now?”

  “Because I want to tell you a secret.” I swallowed hard, feeling the words stick in my throat like thorns. “Something I have never told Uncle Flo or Aunt Estrah or anyone else, but…” My voice faltered as I traced the worn edge of my desk. “It’s been gnawing at me from the inside out. I need to talk about it with someone. I have nobody else.”

  “Ok, let’s go do it.” She straightened her posture, her eyes gleaming with determination in the fading light, showing she was prepared to accompany me.

  “Huuh, what, now?” I stammered, my heart skipping a beat. I hadn't expected Luciana to be ready so quickly and felt unprepared for her immediacy.

  “Yes, now. What, you want to wait another month stewing in your misery?” She grabbed my wrist, her fingers warm against my fur, and practically dragged me down the creaking wooden stairs to the kitchen. The room smelled of herbs hanging from the rafters and lingering traces of tonight’s dinner. She proceeded to grab a half-finished bottle of wine, a deep burgundy Chogueux vintage, and poured it into a crystal glass that caught the candlelight in fractured amber patterns.

  Without hesitation, she picked up a silver kitchen knife with an ivory handle, its edge glinting menacingly, and pierced her index finger. Three perfect droplets of blood, dark as garnets, fell into the wine and dispersed like smoke.

  Luciana extended the knife toward me, handle first, her eyes never leaving mine. “Your turn.”

  “Wow, you are really prepared for this,” I said, taking the cold ivory handle. The blade bit into my padded finger with surprising ease, drawing forth three crimson droplets that fell into the wine.

  “Life was saved, life is owed,” she whispered, her voice falling to a reverent hush that seemed to make the hanging herbs above us go still.

  “Life is cherished, life is owned,” I recounted, feeling the ancient words vibrate in my chest.

  "Forever we are bound by blood," we both stated in unison, our voices melding into something greater than either of us alone.

  Luciana raised the crystal glass to her lips first, her throat working as she swallowed. When she passed it to me, the rim was still warm from her mouth. I drained the rest, tasting copper beneath the wine’s rich sweetness as the oath settled into my bones.

  Luciana leaned back against the wrought-iron garden chair, her fingers curled around the steaming porcelain teacup I’d pressed into her hands moments before. “It is a lot to process, but it all makes so much sense now.” The night air bore the scent of a blooming jasmine and fresh-cut grass. Spring was surrendering to summer’s advance. The air was mild enough that she’d draped the thick woolen blanket I’d offered across her lap rather than her shoulders.

  “In what way?” I asked, watching a firefly hover between us, its intermittent glow reflecting in her dark eyes.

  “You don’t even see what impression you make on others,” she said, leaning forward. “People know there is something off about you, not in a bad way. People your age don’t act as you do, they don’t speak as you do, don’t carry themselves with such...” she paused, searching for the word, “gravitas. It will probably get better once your appearance catches up to your soul inside, when your face shows the proper age lines. You will still impress, but not shock.”

  “Yeah, that tracks,” I replied, absently tracing the rim of my cup with one furred finger.

  Luciana tilted her head and set her own teacup aside. “So what is the problem now? Why are you so upset? Your fur is standing on end.”

  “I am panicking,” I whispered. “In the world I came from, the sky was just empty space, no divine beings watching from above. There is no magic there, no shimmering auras revealed by divine instruments, no proof that gods even exist.”

  “No proof?” Her brow puckered.

  “Not like here, where people are graced and favored by the heavenly family, where they involve themselves in mortal affairs, albeit rarely…” My claws unconsciously dug into the wrought-iron armrest. “Where I grew up, you had to…” I swallowed hard, my voice cracked a little, “delude yourself to think there was anything beyond flesh and bone. I honestly believed that when I died, my consciousness would simply… extinguish. Like blowing out a candle. No afterlife, no reincarnation, just eternal darkness.”

  Luciana’s lips parted slightly as she exhaled a shaky breath. “That is… scary to think about.”

  “And according to Jerome…”

  “Who is Jerome?”

  “He is a celestial being who helped me reincarnate into this world,“ I whispered, claws clicking nervously against porcelain. “Jerome preserved my memories when normally they are washed clean. He showed me glimpses of my past incarnations, dozens of them. He told me each one ended with me paralyzed by the same existential terror that’s choking me now. I’m trapped in a viscous loop of my own making.”

  “And because this… heaviness… weighs you down, your days slip through your claws unused, and life passes you by like shadows at dusk?”

  I nodded, ears flattening against my skull. “Pretty much.”

  Luciana’s fingers brushed mine, warm against my trembling paw. “First, it is very understandable to be afraid,” she said, her tone soft as velvet. “We… I mean, people in this world never question that our souls will live on forever, just like the eternal sun that crosses our sky.”

  My ears twitched involuntarily. “Aaah… Actually, the sun isn’t going to last forever,” I said, watching her face fall. “It’s basically just a giant fireball of hydrogen and helium that will burn until its fuel is depleted, then collapse or explode, depending on its mass.”

  Luciana stared at me, her mouth slightly open, eyes staring wide with something between horror and disbelief. The quietness stretched between us like a physical thing.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the iron creaking beneath my weight. “It’s science, from my world.”

  “Your world stinks,” she whispered, pulling the woolen blanket tighter around herself as though suddenly chilled to the bone.

  “Yeah.” I sighed, watching another firefly blink into existence between us, then fade away.

  “Putting that aside for now,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, “you come from another world, which proves souls can travel across worlds. They’re eternal. Nobody questions that at least. You’ve experienced it firsthand. So why are you suddenly gripped by this fear?”

  I stared into the darkness beyond our little circle of lantern light, where the garden dissolved into shadow. “Because of something Professor Irleophiss revealed during our special magic class,” I whispered, my throat constricting around each word. “There exists magic, forbidden magic, that can utterly destroy souls. Not just bodies, not just memories, but the very essence of what we are.”

  Her face drained of color, the blood draining so quickly I could almost hear it rush away. “Such magic exists?” she breathed, her fingers unconsciously forming the sign for God of Order’s protective shield.

  I nodded, “Yeah. It is very rare, but not rare enough. One of the fellow students even told stories about it being used in the Empire, where condemned souls of dissidents were just… unmade." My voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “I can’t stop imagining what I would do if I ever encounter someone wielding that power?”

  “You…” Luciana’s fingers twisted nervously in the woolen blanket, “run away?”

  A bitter snicker escaped my throat as I gazed up at the star-strewn sky. “What if I can’t run? What if it’s one of those massive area-effect spells that covers leagues in an instant? What if…”

  “You learn magic to protect your soul?” Luciana interrupted, learning forward until our noses nearly touched.

  My ears perked up, eyes widening. “Huuh?”

  Luciana’s eyes gleamed with sudden inspiration. “I mean, with every spell, be it fire, ice, or whatever… There is always a counter-spell, a charm, a magic shield, right? So don’t put it to chance.” Her finger now stabbed my shoulder, an attempt to drive her point forward. “Take control of it instead. Learn magic that can protect your soul in this situation.”

  I sat frozen, my fur tingling from ears to tail-tip. I was dumbfounded. Why had this never occurred to me? The tight knot in my chest began to unravel. My whiskers twitched as a genuine smile spread across my muzzle, the first one in weeks that hadn’t felt like a grimace.

  Luciana’s answering smile softened the sharp angles of her face. “Feeling better now?” She reached across to smooth the ruffled fur between my ears. “See, talking things through does help.”

  My eyes watered, turning the lantern light into a kaleidoscope of gold. I leaned across the wrought iron table and wrapped my paws around her slender shoulders, careful not to scratch her with my claws. “Thank you, yes, it does. I promise I will learn that magic and make you a protective charm too. Something pretty enough to wear even in the royal court. So you don’t have to worry about it either.”

  She patted my back, her palm warm against my fur. “I wasn’t worried,” she said softly, “but I will take the charm either way.”