The young woman visibly flinched. She slowly turned around, still kneeling, and looked at him with wide eyes. Her gaze leapt from him to the door behind them, then back at him again. “You don’t really believe the words of a madman, do you?” Her voice trembled.

  “Who are you?” He repeated himself. Simply focusing on this conversation took more effort than it should. It was exhausting, because his thoughts tried to wander. Or rather, something tried to force his thoughts to wander. “Where are you from?” Every word took effort to speak. “What have you done to me?”

  She looked like a deer caught in a light resonance – her body froze, her eyes remained wide, and blood was drawn from her face. Her lips were a pale, thin line. She parted her lips as her gaze darted off. “Midhir, are you alright-“

  “Stop that!” His shout cut her off, startling them both. “Stop messing with my mind. Stop lying!” He dug his nails into his palms. The pain helped keep his thoughts straight and kept his mind from wandering. “Answer me!”

  Her shocked expression relaxed. She slowly stood up, dusted off her uniform and then straightened her back, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. “This is a bother,” she let out a sigh. “I’m your classmate, and your friend, first and foremost-“

  “No.” Midhir narrowed his eyes. “You lit that man on fire with your bare hands. You made Lonan stop with just your voice. You healed Lord Aulorn without your crystal staff.”

  Arwen’s lips curled down. “All done to aid you.”

  “You’re a witch.” Just like her. But he didn’t speak his thought.

  Arwen flinched, visibly, one more. “What-“

  “You’re a witch. You’re not a foreigner at all, are you?” Witches were from old folktales, ancient stories that predate Eldoria. “You’re a descendant of one of the tribes.” Just like that woman – the Crimson Witch called Circe. If he was right, then they could be acquainted. Or perhaps even more. He squinted, staring at Arwen’s face – they didn’t resemble each other at all.

  Arwen’s arms hung to her sides as she hesitated. She pressed her lips together, brushed her hair back, then let out a sigh. “That part of history isn’t taught in Solus.”

  “No.” He curtly replied.

  “You’re mostly correct,” Arwen forced a weak smile. She reached under the top of her uniform and pulled out a piece of uncut crystal tied to a string. “I’m sorry for using this charm on you.” Her finger lightly touched the uncut crystal.

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  A pressure lifted from his mind – a pressure he hadn’t even noticed he was under before. The force withholding his own thoughts from him finally released its grasp on him. It almost felt like he was waking up from a long slumber.

  “I know you want answers,” Arwen – was that even her real name? – said with a gentle smile. “But we are in the thirteenth district, at the place where the worst events imaginable happened. This place isn’t safe. We should leave, fast.”

  Now, without that force making him want to agree with her, his mind filled with doubt. “I don’t even know if Arwen is your real name, and you expect me to wait? To trust you?” He shook his head. “I may be na?ve, but I’m no fool. I have no reason to trust you. You could just as easily force that charm on me, or worse.”

  She seemed hurt at his words. “I’m your friend.” She reminded him with a catch in her voice. “I would never hurt you.”

  He scoffed. “Are you? You played with my mind, changed my thoughts!” The sound of approaching footsteps stopped him from speaking more. He turned around, staring into the swirling mist to try and see who was approaching.

  Arwen rushed past him, standing in the doorway. She held one hand behind her back, while the other rested against the door hanging off its hinges. “Willow?” She called out.

  “Yeah, we’re here.” Willow’s voice reached their ears from inside the mist. “It just keeps getting worse, keep talking so we can find you.”

  “Ilya?” Midhir called out.

  “I’m fine!” His sister’s voice snapped. “Curse this damn mist…”

  A wave of relief washed over him. It had been chaos since they arrived down here. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to worry about her because of Lonan, and then Arwen. His gaze shifted to the tear in the veil – a vortex hanging in the air. The melody he had been hearing was still present, albeit much quieter now.

  Regret mixed with worry and anger as he watched the vortex slowly spin, with the occasional flashes of light illuminating its surroundings. Had Lonan even survived passing through the veil? He clenched his fists. He was unsure of what to wish for. Lonan’s death, or survival? If everything on the other side was as powerful and bloodthirsty as the creature they fought against the day before, then perhaps death was a mercy to the madman.

  Willow and Ilya’s footsteps neared, and they finally stepped out of the mist. “Cait’s still chasing their leader.” Ilya immediately said as she noticed Midhir’s worried expression. “He escaped the estate – somehow, despite his wound. But she’ll catch him, he can’t get far.” Her words seemed to be spoken to reassure herself rather than him. “The Historian…?” She asked, letting her voice trail off.

  “He passed through the tear.” Midhir pointed over his shoulder. “We couldn’t stop him.” He glanced at Willow, who shook her head in regret. Surely she was also affected by Arwen’s charm, but was she free of it too now? Or had Arwen lifted it only for him?

  “I see.” Ilya pursed her lips. “It’s a shame.” She shrugged. “Let us leave now, it’s dangerous here, and our fight made a lot of noise.” It was only a matter of time before the more dangerous creatures in the mist began to flock here.

  “Right.” Midhir shot Arwen a glance. “Let’s hurry then.”

  He took his weapon from Ilya and walked past them with a brisk pace. Once they were out of the mist, he was going to get his answers – about Arwen, about Circe, and about that damned charm they were under this whole time.