Oryen's blue eyes fluttered open, settling instantly on the red-haired girl seated opposite her. Dydra's eyes were tightly shut, her expression distant, as though her mind had wandered somewhere far beyond the cottage walls. One of her arms was raised, her index finger pointed upward, a candle-flame hovering obediently above it. The other arm rested in Oryen's palms, warm, alive with power that pulsed faintly against her skin.
Fascination stirred in the aged woman's gaze. She studied the girl carefully, committing every detail to memory—the steady flame, the way Dydra's brow twitched slightly as though she were dreaming, the raw energy that hummed softly in the air around her. Something about this felt deeply familiar, and yet foreign all at once.
So that is why it was locked away, Oryen thought.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she slipped into deep contemplation. How powerful was this young witch, truly? She had manipulated nature with frightening ease, summoned fire without fear, without hesitation. She had lifted Oryen herself into the air the other day without muttering a single incantation. No symbols. No preparation. Pure instinct.
That kind of power did not belong to a novice.
For a witch so young to wield such force, there was only one explanation. Her parents must have been extraordinarily powerful. Not merely trained, but born of great covens. Yet even that explanation frayed at the edges the more Oryen examined it.
Dydra was unmistakably Okitu—her dark skin kissed by warmth, her reddish-brown hair glowing like embers, her ocean-blue eyes a clear marker of ancient blood. But the magic she had just performed was not solely Okitu. It bore the imprint of Inui craft, refined and controlled, magic that required years of discipline to master.
Which meant one thing.
One of her parents had been Inui.
Oryen's thoughts raced. Which one? And where were they now? Dead? Hidden? Or erased, like the memories that had been sealed away inside the girl herself?
The questions spiraled until Oryen abruptly realized something was wrong.
Dydra was still in the trance.
Her breathing was shallow, her body unnaturally still. The flame above her finger flickered once, then steadied again.
Oryen frowned. She should have released her sooner.
With a snap of her fingers, the candle-flame vanished instantly, swallowed by the air as though it had never existed. The tension in the room loosened, the hum of magic quieting.
Dydra gasped.
Her icy blue eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. It took a few seconds before she found her balance, her gaze drifting slowly from Oryen's face to her raised hand. Relief washed over her features when she noticed the flame was gone.
Good, she thought. It's over.
Without a word, she yanked her arm from Oryen's grasp and pushed herself to her feet. Her movements were quick, sharp, fueled by urgency rather than grace. She headed straight for the door.
Oryen rose as well, her brows knitting together. "Where are you headed to?" she asked.
The question made Dydra halt mid-step.
"It doesn't concern you," she replied flatly, without turning around.
The words hit harder than she intended. She bit her tongue the instant they left her mouth, irritation flashing across her face. Damn it, Dydra. She hadn't meant to sound cruel—just firm.
Oryen, however, did not look offended. She simply watched in silence, her expression unreadable.
That silence only unsettled Dydra further.
Does that mean I'm free to go? she wondered. Or was it a warning, the calm before another trick? Her fingers twitched at her side as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Something deep within her chest urged her to stay, whispered that running again might cost her more than she realized.
But her mind screamed otherwise.
Even if Oryen wasn't lying—even if she truly was a witch—what then? Was she expected to stay here, learn spells, live out her days in a secluded cottage surrounded by secrets and shadows? That wasn't a life. And going back to the Thelmond mansion was unthinkable.
She exhaled sharply, decision hardening.
She would leave.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she reached for the doorknob, silently begging fate not to twist reality again. Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal and she twisted—
"You remember, don't you?"
Oryen's voice cut through the air behind her.
Dydra froze.
The moment her eyes had opened earlier, something old and buried had surged violently to the surface. A memory she had locked away years ago, sealed behind grief and desperation.
Her foster grandmother.
After the woman who raised her like her own had passed, Dydra had unraveled. The memories—her laughter, her warmth, her teachings—had clung to her mind relentlessly, replaying over and over until the pain became unbearable. One night, as little Dydra lay curled on the thin foam mattress in the servants' quarters of the Thelmond mansion, she had heard whispers.
They sounded like her grandmother's voice.
Soft. Familiar. Echoed by others that somehow sounded the same.
Shut them all, the voices had urged.
And Dydra had obeyed.
She had shut them all away.
In doing so, she had buried not only the memories, but the teachings. The lessons. The magic.
Now, standing there, the memory came back with painful clarity.
She saw herself as a child, standing in the forest, her small fingers curled around the air as the wind responded to her will. A little bunny floated gently before her, unharmed, spinning softly in delight. And her grandmother's face—proud, warm, glowing with quiet satisfaction.
Tears burned her eyes.
Her nose tingled as she struggled to hold them back. Why was she remembering this now? Why had it returned so vividly, so suddenly?
Her back still faced Oryen as her voice shook. "What did you do?"
Oryen smiled faintly. "Remind you of who you—"
"Why?" Dydra snapped, spinning around at last.
The word cracked through the room like a whip. Her fists clenched at her sides, her breathing heavy and uneven.
"Did I ask you to remind me?" she demanded. "Did I beg for your help? Why do you keep deciding things for me without asking how I feel? Who do you think you are to make choices for my life?"
The anger pouring from her felt restrained, as though bound by chains that were now beginning to slip.
Oryen opened her mouth to respond, worry flashing through her eyes. "Dydra, dear, that wasn't my intention—"
"Who said I was upset?" Dydra interrupted.
The tone of her voice was calm.
Too calm.
A chill ran down Oryen's spine.
The aura surrounding the girl shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. It felt eerily similar to what had filled the kitchen days ago. Power stirred beneath the surface, restless, volatile.
This is bad, Oryen thought.
Had restoring her memories been a mistake? Had she pushed too far, too soon? The girl was awake now—aware of her magic. Would she still be able to stop her if she lost control again?
Or would the darkness bound to every Okitu finally reveal itself?
Oryen's heart hammered in her chest as she braced herself, eyes locked on Dydra, uncertain whether the next breath would bring calm—or catastrophe.