No response.

The magic Nyra had drawn didn’t strike Mirael like before.

It brushed her.

Then pulled.

The room dulled. Sound stretched thin. The marble beneath her feet felt unreal, as if she were standing on glass.

Cold pressure

Then fog—cool and pale

Mirael drifted above a fractured landscape, her form faint, her translucent edges dissolving like breath in winter air.

Ruined stone rose from the fog.

The Broken Fringe.

“You’re back,” a voice said calmly.

“Nael…,” Mirael managed.

Naelle stood waiting.

Not surprised.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Mirael’s misted shape.

“You’re learning,” Naelle said. “Even when you don’t mean to.”

Mirael tried to speak—but the words trembled, thin as smoke.

Naelle stepped closer.

“Someone near you touched magic correctly this time,” she continued. “And it echoed.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“That echo carried you here.” Naelle finished.

“But…look…this?” Mirael tried to ask.

“I don’t know,” Naelle said quietly.

Mirael’s eyes caught the movement beneath Naelle’s cloak – a short tail, the tip dark and tufted like a lynx, until Naelle stilled it.

“I’m certain you’re human—unlike me. I’m part beast. I should be able to see you clearly.”

Her gaze lingered, unsettled.

“Whatever’s hiding you doesn’t want me seeing you yet.”

Mirael tried to speak again.

“Nae—”

The sound fractured, thinning into nothing before it reached Naelle.

Naelle’s ears twitched.

“Your speech is strained, too,” she said thoughtfully. “This will be difficult to work with.”

Mirael’s form flickered sharply, the mist tightening and snapping like an agitated flame. The effort sent a ripple through her body, warping her outline.

“…can’t,” she managed. The words barely held together.

Naelle watched the movement, then chuckled softly. “I can see what you’re feeling,” she said. “Your body reacts even when your voice doesn’t.”

Mirael’s edges thinned again, as if she were sighing.

Naelle raised a hand—not touching, but close enough that the mist stirred in response.

“Try this,” Naelle said. “Don’t push your words.”

Mirael rippled weakly. “If… I don’t… they go.”

“Exactly,” Naelle replied. “So stop trying to say everything.”

Mirael hesitated. Then, carefully, she tried again.

“…Naelle.”

The name came out clearer. Still soft. Still thin. But it reached.

Naelle’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There.”

Mirael’s form shifted, resolving into a human shape—still flickering, wreathed in mist, as if struggling to remain whole.

“Magic pulled,” Mirael said. “I’m here.”

Naelle nodded once. The approval was quiet, but unmistakable.

“You’re compressing meaning,” she said. “Short phrases. Direct intent. Less distortion.”

Mirael frowned. “Hard.”

Naelle gestured toward Mirael’s chest. “Every extra thought frays the sound. Strip it down. What matters most first.”

Mirael concentrated.

“…got it.”

The words landed cleanly.

“Magic hurts.”

 Naelle exhaled slowly. “Good. Now we can work.”

Mirael looked up sharply. “Work?”

Naelle stepped back, the fog between them settling.

“First,” she said, “you learn how to exist here without tearing yourself apart every time magic moves near you.”

Naelle turned slowly, pacing a short distance through the fog as she spoke.

“You feel magic before it touches you,” she said. “That's not a curse. It’s an early warning. The problem is you let it inside before you understand it.”

Mirael listened, her form holding steadier now—less flame, more shape. The mist no longer snapped, only drifted.

“Don’t brace,” Naelle continued. “And don’t recoil. Let it pass around you first.”

Mirael nodded faintly.

“Around me. Got…” Mirael said, testing her speech.

“Close enough.” Naelle smiled as she glanced back.

“If you try to block it, you’ll tear yourself apart. If you let it flood you, you’ll drown. Balance is—”

She stopped.

The space where Mirael stood was suddenly empty. It was as if she had never been there at all.

Naelle frowned. “Mira?”

No answer.

Naelle exhaled, slow and measured. “So that’s how it is.”

She turned her gaze toward the thinning fog, thoughtful rather than annoyed.

“You’re not ready to stay yet,” she said to the empty air. “But you’re closer than you were.”

***

“Mirael?” Eldric asked.

No response.

He took a step closer. “Mirael.”

The word barely finished leaving his mouth before she jerked.

Mirael sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing as if she’d been pulled backwards through herself. The world rushed back all at once—the height of the ceiling, the echo of the room, the scrape of claws on marble.

Her eyes refocused, wide and disoriented.

“I’m back.” She said cautiously.

“Yeah, welcome back to Virellion,” Eldric chuckled. “Now's not the time to stare into space.”

“My body wasn’t that shocking, was it?” Nyra asked, back in her human form and clothed in another red dress.

“No,” Mirael laughed awkwardly. “Just… lost in thought.”

She didn’t say what had really happened. Her friends had been through enough already. She wasn’t about to add to it.

Mirael pressed her fingers into her palm, grounding herself before straightening.

“Now that I’m human again, and Elena’s back, let's celebrate,” Nyra said brightly.

“We don’t have time to relax,” Valerie replied.

“We can relax for one day,” Nyra pouted, folding her arms. “Haven’t we been through enough already?”

By evening, the ballroom no longer felt like a place for practice or caution.

Music filled the space—strings and soft percussion echoing off the marble walls as chandeliers burned bright above. Nobles arrived in layered silks and polished boots, their laughter rising easily as servants wove between them with trays of wine and sweetened fruit. Townspeople were permitted to linger nearer the edges, wide-eyed but welcomed all the same.

It was a familiar sight.

King Eldric had always celebrated when a new animal joined the castle grounds. A harmless tradition, most believed, proof of his fondness for beasts and balance alike. Few questioned it now.

Nyra stood among them in her lioness form, a crimson bow placed above her ear, its fabric catching the light as she moved between the guests.

“She’s radiant,” someone murmured near the refreshment table.

“A blessing, surely,” another replied.

“To survive what she did,” said a guest staring at Nyra’s past scars.

Nyra pretended not to hear, though her ears burned all the same.

Eldric clapped a heavy hand on Valen’s shoulder as he passed, already mid-story with a pair of visiting nobles. Elena stood nearby, graceful as ever, accepting quiet congratulations with a nod and smile, though her eyes didn’t stray too far from Nyra.

Valerie lingered near the pillars, posture composed and expression polite, yet Mirael noticed how her gaze tracked movement, measured, alert, never fully at ease.

“You can relax,” Mirael said as she stepped closer to Valerie.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Valerie said quietly.

Rachelle hovered between groups, visibly overwhelmed but smiling, as she offered silver trays of champagne to guests.

Valerie left to join Elena, leaving Mirael to watch over the crowd alone. She leaned lightly against a pillar, arms folded, watching the faces blur together. Laughter came too sharply at times. Music swelled and dipped in ways that tugged at something beneath her skin, faint but persistent, like pressure before a storm.

She told herself it was nothing.

Just noise. Just exhaustion.

Nyra approached her at one point and sat at Mirael’s feet, offering a look of ‘Are you alright?’

Mirael smiled back, quick and practised. “Just tired.”

Nyra studied her for a moment longer and then nudged Mirael’s leg a little.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mirael said, patting Nyra’s head. “Eldric is summoning you; have fun with his exaggerated stories.”

Mirael let out a small chuckle, but as soon as Nyra left, her façade dropped.

Mirael stayed for a while, lightly sipping a glass of wine. Until a hand appeared in front of her.

“Care to dance?” they asked.

She looked up and saw Valen. Placing her hand in his, Valen guided her to the floor.

As they spun around the floor, it was full of familiar faces. Eldric was dancing with Elena, Valerie with Rachelle, who had changed into a flowing yellow dress, with Nyra on the side, back in her human form in a beautiful red dress with no ears or tail in sight.

For a short while, she relaxed, showing a true smile as she and Valen danced the night away.

Later, when the music softened and the wine thinned, the guests began to disperse one by one. By the time the last guests departed, and the servants began clearing the hall, Mirael’s limbs felt heavy, her thoughts slow and blurred.

She slipped out of the ballroom and returned to her own room, slumping onto the bed without changing out of her dress.

Sleep came easily that night.

Too easily.

***

The ashen landscape returned—not the glassy void, not the endless dark, but broken stone and drifting cinders beneath a dull, colourless sky.

“Again!” Mirael said, her voice clear.

Naelle turned from the edge of a fractured pillar, surprise flashing briefly across her eyes before settling into something steadier. Assessing.

“Welcome back,” Naelle said.

Mirael looked down at herself. No flickering. No thinning mist. Her form held, still pale at the edges, still non-human, but stable.

“I can talk?” Mirael said, then blinked. “I can talk!”

Naelle’s mouth curved faintly. “You stopped fighting the space between words.”

“I guess sleep is one way to stay relaxed,” Mirael joked.

“Exactly.” Naelle gestured for her to walk. “Come. If you’re going to linger this long, you may as well learn why this place attracts your spirit.”

They moved through the ruins. As they walked, the air reacted—subtle shifts, like invisible currents brushing against Mirael’s skin.

She flinched.

“There,” Naelle said immediately. “Did you feel that?”

“Yes,” Mirael answered, then hesitated. “It doesn’t hurt like before, but it's uncomfortable.”

“It’s just magic passing nearby,” Naelle said. “Not hostile, but elemental power always sends an unsure feeling.”

Mirael frowned. “It still felt… loud.”

“And that’s your problem,” Naelle replied bluntly. “You don’t feel magic as a tool. You felt it as an approach.”

She stopped and faced Mirael fully.

“Most mages touch magic when they reach for it. You feel it when it moves—whether you want to or not.”

Mirael swallowed. “So that’s why I keep collapsing!”

“Yes,” Naelle said simply. “You react as though every passing current is a threat.”

Naelle raised her hand. The air shifted again, gentler this time, like warmth through stone.

“Tell me what this is,” she said.

Mirael closed her eyes. She focused—not on the sensation itself, but on where it came from.

“A coexistence,” she said slowly. “Steady, not sharp. It doesn’t pull. It just… exists.”

Naelle nodded. “Benign. Supportive magic. The kind that strengthens, steadies, enhances, even makes a cast faster.”

 “Valerie,” Mirael suddenly blurted.

“What about her?” Naelle asked.

“I’ve had a similar feeling from her. It's different to your power, though,” Mirael explained.

“Maybe her element is different to mine. I share both light and dark called grey mana, maybe hers is light alone,” Naelle suggested.

“What about a hostile power?”

As Mirael asked, Naelle raised her hand again, allowing the dark part of her power to seep out.

“It… feels unsafe. A pain almost.” Mirael grimaced.

Naelle’s expression cooled as she reduced her power until it stopped.

“Then you warn,” she said firmly. “You move. You shield others before the strike lands. Don’t absorb it and definitely don’t endure the feeling, or someone will get hurt.”

She stepped closer. Voice calm.

“You are not meant to be a vessel, Mira. You are like a sensor.”

The word settled deep.

“This should be the last time I see you. Take what you have learnt and don’t—”

“Drown,” Mirael said, smiling.

“Exactly,” Naelle’s gaze sharpened with approval.

The landscape shuddered. Mirael staggered, grabbing at the air.

“Something’s happening,” Mirael said weakly.

Naelle’s head snapped up. “Your body is calling you back.”

The world lurched.

“Wait—” Mirael said. “I’m not done—”

Naelle’s voice cut through sharply. “You are. Remember The Broken Fringe, and I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Mirael reached out a hand. Her real hand. “Wait!”

As Mirael lurched backwards, the corners of Naelle’s mouth lifted, and her lips moved, “Be brave, Mira. We will meet again.”

“Mirael!”

Her eyes flew open.

Light. Sound. Panic.

Rachelle was gripping her shoulders, eyes wide with relief. Eldric stood just behind her, jaw tight, Elena’s hand clenched in his sleeve. Nyra paced at the foot of the bed, tail lashing.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Eldric said. “We tried for hours.”

Mirael sucked in a breath—steady this time. She sat up slowly, heart still racing from the return trip.

“I can sense magic now,” Mirael admitted.

The room went still.

“And this time,” Mirael added, meeting Valerie’s gaze across the room. “There will be no collapsing.”

Valen burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but saying, ‘there will be no collapsing, so seriously I just—I can’t.”

Valerie punched Valen in the shoulder at full strength.

“Ow!”

“Zip it!” Valerie snapped. “How are you, Mirael?”

“I’m okay. Really. I’m sorry for scaring you all.” Mirael replied.