The brooch dimmed once as the call ended. I set it back in its box and closed the lid, the faint click sounding louder than it should.
Silence returned—but I appreciated it.
I leaned back in my chair and let my gaze drift to the stack of files Lauren had left behind. Perfectly aligned. As Lauren always did.
I exhaled, turning my gaze.
Faced the ceiling.
Following the prints as I replayed our conversation in my head despite myself. His reassurances felt more like a promise than a definite. I wasn't sure he even believed himself.
Five years.
That was how long the war was supposed to last. If the story was still following the plot, that is.
It had already been three. I'd be turning sixteen soon enough.
On its own, that wasn't alarming. But if it crossed—over five years, what happens then?
This war could spiral into something worse than anything I was expecting. And the worse part?
I didn't actually know how or why the war ends.
Eventually, Oayai supposedly strikes a deal with Varkyn to live harmoniously. That's how the second male lead shows up. But I have absolutely no idea how that happens.
Everything else that had gone wrong in the plot—happened to unimportant characters or just irreverent because the story hasn't actually started.
My kidnapping.
Mother's death.
The thought landed the same way it always did—hard, wrong, with a little bit of guilt. She was the first fracture. One I couldn't just rationalize away no matter how much I tried.
And then there was Raymond.
I'm really praying his childish crush passes like years in old people's memory, but without the regret. But the chances of that happening is probably slimmer than I imagine, cuz this is a book. They thrive on melodrama.
Still, the questions surfaced again, uninvited.
What if the war didn't end at five years?
What if it dragged on longer? What if it doesn't end at all?
What if we lose?
What about... Father?
—
I stopped.
No. That line of thinking was useless. Speculation without leverage was just masked fear. And I can't be scared.
He'd survived three years. What's two more?
I exhaled deeply. All the tension had been building slowly but steadily, settling itself into my bones—too much to ignore any longer.
"I knew caring was going to cost me, I signed up for this."
I leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes. To breathe. To sort my mind out a little.
Fatigue from doing nothing caught up with me in minutes, slow and drifting.
The darkness remained gentle.
Familiar—like a space I often lingered in when my body was forced into rest. Almost safe.
I took it for what it was.
I could still feel the chair beneath me. My posture hadn't slumped. Somewhere at the edge of my awareness, my index finger tapped against the armrest in a slow, steady rhythm.
It was a reflex I'd picked up somehow.
Also helps me sleep—like counting sheep.
My thoughts continued where they'd left off.
Father was strong. One of the strongest mages alive. If anyone would survive this war intact, it would be him. Entertaining the alternative was almost stupid. I pushed the image away before it could take shape—
Drip.
I frowned slightly.
The sound hadn't come from my thoughts.
Drip.
I opened my eyes—
—and saw nothing.
Literally nothing. Not darkness exactly. Just absence. Like my eyes were closed, except I was certain they weren't. I don't know what it's like to be blind, but if I had to guess. This couldn't be very different.
I stayed still, listening to my breathing, to the smooth flow under my fingers.
Flow?
Then a voice spoke.
"You know, you tap that finger even in your sleep."
The flow stilled. That sound—voice—it sounded mystical.
I tensed up. That surprised me, a little. But fear only makes shit worse.
"…Who's there?" I asked. Eyes fixed in the direction it came, I couldn't see, but my hearing seemed fine.
The voice came from somewhere ahead of me. Not close. Not far. Just… there.
"It's impressive, really. Annoying, but impressive. Most people just let go and die—temporarily, of course. They wake up in the morning."
I frowned deeper.
I was asleep?
The realization crept in slowly, then clicked into place. I catalogued sensations—nothing.
I knew I wasn't home anymore. But nothing? Not even the flow from before.
My chest tightened even more.
The last time I'd been in a place like this—nothing but dark and vague awareness—I was thirteen. Kidnapped.
My mind moved quickly after that.
Am i dreaming?
Or is someone inside my head? Or in my dream?
Was it the same person in the room earlier?
I reached instinctively for my influence.
Nothing answered.
I felt nothing.
Not even a flicker.
Panic rose, sharp and immediate. I tried again, forcing the command with more intent, more clarity—
Still nothing.
A laugh echoed softly through the dark.
"That won't work here, Iris," the voice said, amused. "Not with what you have."
My pulse spiked.
{It knows my name?}
"What did you do to me?" I demanded.
"Nothing," it replied cheerfully. "Your influence just… doesn't cut it. That's the correct reference, right?"
I swallowed.
"Who are you?" I said evenly, trying not to let my voice shake. "What do you want?"
"I'm here to help of course," it said. "But you have to ask, and be nicer this time."
The voice was closer now. Something tugged at my chin, like a hand.
I pulled back, stumbling.
That's when I realized I was standing.
And that I could move.
Fine.
If this was a dream—or a trap—running blindly wouldn't help—literally. But neither would standing still.
So i focused on the direction of the voice and stepped forward. The ground was wobbly beneath my feet. Cold and sinking, but not actually.
"I'm waiting..." The voice came again, impatient. I didn't respond.
After a few managed steps, my toe struck something hard.
Pain flared sharp up my foot. I hissed and stumbled, "Ow," reaching out instinctively—
My hand caught on something solid. Wood. A table, by the feel of it. Sturdy. Real.
"Oh—oh my," the voice said, suddenly closer and oddly apologetic. "you can't see."
Before I could respond—
Warmth pressed against my lips.
Soft. Wet. Intrusive.
My breath caught sharply as something pressed into my mouth, unfamiliar and unmistakably deliberate—
"Hmp!" I protested.
Then the world exploded with light.
Books rose around me in towering circular walls, shelves stretching impossibly high. A vast library, round and enclosed, its ceiling lost in shadow. A single floating flame hovered above a wooden table at the center—the same one I was gripping. The floor beneath my feet was now smooth stone.
And in front of me—
She pulled back, hovering inches away.
Luminous and bright. Beautiful in a way that felt wrong to look at for too long.
Her eyes were bright—and her smile unapologetically pleased.
"There we go," she said happily. "You see me now?"
I wiped my mouth without thinking, heart hammering.
"…What," I said carefully, "did you just do?"
She tilted her head, sapphire eyes sparkling.
"Oh! That?" She waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. You needed a point of reference."
"A what?, you!—" I stopped myself, I had to be careful here. My grip tightened on the table. "Who are you?" I asked, glaring.
She frowned.
"That's the third time you're asking, I thought you were joking, do you really not remember me?"
"No" I said flatly.
She cupped my face in her hands. Our faces were inches apart.
I grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away, before she'd try to violate me again.
But—
Something about her touch felt familiar—faint, distant. Like a lost memory brushing the surface.
"Enia?" I said, without realizing.
"Yes! That's me! So you do remember!" She brightened instantly, "wait, isn't that what they call gaslighting?"
"How do you know that word?" I arched a brow, prying my face out of her hands.
"Oh," she leaned back, floating a few inches off the ground like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Just... here and there."
That made no sense at all.
Who the heck was she?
What did she want?
And why did she feel so familiar?
She must have noticed my confused staring, because her smile suddenly fell flat. "Did you lose your memory or something?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No..?"
Her eyes widened, like she'd realized something—again. "Maybe if I—" she didn't finish before pulling me by my blouse. It happened so fast I barely had a moment to react, knowing exactly what she was trying to do—
{Oh hell no.}
I raised my hands. Her face pressed—lips first—against them.
I shoved her back. "What is wrong with you?!" I lashed out.
"Hm? What do you mean? I'm trying to help yo—"
"By shoving your tongue down my throat?!" My breathing came heavy.
"Shoving my..." She mumbled to herself, then gasped, surprise breaking her face. "Oh—oh! That's not… that's not it at all!" She laughed.
"How do I say it in your tongue?" she thought for a few seconds. "Aha!" She clapped her hands together, gleeful.
"I don't swing that way," she said, smiling like I was supposed to understand.
I arched back, harder than I ever had. "...Excuse me?"
"I don't swing that way. I don't… do humans. I can't. I'm a god." She continued, nodding like something was finally clicking.
It definitely wasn't.
I just watched her.
"So!, rest assured I have no ulterior intentions with your mouth. I just need to—" She started floating toward me again.
"No." Already leaning back, I tiptoed around the table. "No, no, stay away from me."
She smirked. "It's the only way to help you remember."
"I'm not forgetting anything, I promise you that." I stepped back again.
"You forgot me," she said, still hovering toward me.
"I don't know you!" I yelled.
"Yes, That's what I'm trying to fix."
"I'm not broken!"
She stopped, sighed. "We'll be yelling all night at this rate."
I walked so far back I hit something solid.
I turned—shelf. Tall. Stretching far into the darkness.
I looked around. More shelves. No windows. No doors. No exit.
The realization settled like shock—
I was trapped.
"Do you remember this place?" She spoke again.
My eyes darted to her. She was sitting on a chair that wasn't there before.
I swallowed. "You live here?"
"No. You did."
{What?}
She said it with a straight face, as if anything she'd said until now had made sense at all.
"Do you think... maybe there's a possibility you got the wrong person?" I asked, keenly.
"Nope." She replied immediately. Then leaned her face against her hands on the table. "Come, sit." She continued, snapping her fingers.
A chair popped out of nowhere next to me.
"Since you do not wish to remember me, I suppose I'll have to reintroduce myself. Again." She smiles "I am Enia, the goddess Enia."
I nodded slowly. "..Okay."
"You aren't still impressed the second time." She gestures a hand towards me, then pulls it. The chair leapt from my side. I gripped the headrest with all the life in me.
As the chair flew across the room, landing opposite Enia.
My eyes felt hot, like I hadn't blinked. My chest pounded. "What the fuck was that?!" I blinked.
"Don't be so jumpy." she said, sitting upright. "Now, ask your questions. I have all the answers." She smiled.
My chest was still pounding, but… I needed to calm down.
"All my questions?"
"Every and any." She nodded.
"Okay. Am I dead?"
She hesitated. "Right now, or.."
"Or."
"Oh. Yes. You are. You were reincarnated, not transmigrated."
My chest instantly dropped like I'd lost a piece of it.
I exhaled. "So, I can't go back? That's… not an option?" My voice shook. I could hear it.
"Do you want to?" She tilted.
The question paused me.
Sure, I did want to. But ...
I thought about what awaited me if I could go back, and...
"No—"
"What if I made you an offer?" She retorted.