By the time the golden hue of the setting sun began to pour over the the leaves of the tallest trees, Chase had managed to finish cleaning the tools she had used in the garden today. Brushing the soil from her apron, she stepped back into the shed with a heavy weight in her overworked limbs. She had been repeating the same routine for the past week.

  Wake up. Leave for Llana's shed. Work until the evening. And finally, leave.

  The warmth of the hearth in the shed met her first as she closed the heavy door behind her. A dull and persistent heat that seemed to emanate from every crack in the old rickety wood that had made up the place. Llana remained perched on the stool by the windowsill, her elbows angled just above the table's edge as though they'd grown roots there. She scribbled tirelessly into her ledger, as if the words might vanish if she didn't get them down fast enough.

  But there was one other thing that Chase had made a routine of before leaving at the end of each day. She moved quietly, setting her notebook down on the smaller side-table beside Llana before flipping it open to a page near the back. Her handwriting could hardly be called neat, but she'd managed to keep the columns organized-- questions in one, records of her mistakes in the other, and small diagrams on a third page where she could best hide their embarrassing visages from anyone who might need the rest.

  "Do you have a minute?" she voiced her question seemingly to the open air, voice quiet but practiced. "I have a few more questions."

  Llana didn't look up. Not right away.

  Perhaps it was because she'd always asked after she'd spent the day working in the garden. Maybe she did it as some sort of repayment for her work. But Llana didn't tend to ignore the questions she'd ask at the end of each day.

  "Of course you do," She responded flatly. "Let me guess-- how does siphoning magic work? Or maybe you want to know which end of the bucket is the top?" Her words were accusatory, but her tone hardly matched it. Coming off instead as if she were asking out of necessity rather than genuine feeling the sentiment.

  Chase thumbed to the next page. "That's what you said yesterday." She said as she stifled the pain she felt from the words. Though they'd hurt the first time, it was getting easier to deal with.

  She didn't want to get used to it though.

  Chase flipped through the notebook, thrumming through the pages of words she hadn't heard before, plants she didn't yet fully understand, and of course the questions she was most curious to have answered. At first she'd only asked about the things that felt urgent, but now she'd ask about everything she felt the slightest curiosity towards.

  Of course, she made a strict rule of never bringing up the topic of magic in front of Llana. Fearful that it may bring more of her ire after her reaction to the first incident.

  Yet even when the questions were harmless enough, Llana gave the same responses every time.

  "You're seriously asking that?" or "You're pretending not to know something this basic?"

  Or her personal favorite: "You don't need to know that."

  But despite her precursive rejections, she'd always answer in the end --and with more detail than Chase expected.

  She wondered sometimes if Llana even realized how much she gave away once she started talking. It seemed to be in her nature, after all, to be overly corrective. She especially appeared to hate it when Chase would explain how she handled certain situations in the wrong way.

  But for all the questions she'd answer, Llana never asked her anything in return. Not of what she might have remembered after her recovery, not how she was sleeping, or if her head still ached the way it had before. The only thing she'd done to show Chase some semblance of concern was a strange off-handed question she'd asked on the first day she'd come back to the shed. Once and without so much as a greeting beforehand, she'd asked whether Usra's home had been 'comfortable enough' for her.

  Chase hadn't known how to respond to the question. Especially when it had come from the same person who shut her out of where she'd lived before.

  Chase didn't bring it up. The same way she didn't ask about Llana's secretive glances or why she'd become so suddenly cold.

  The questions she could get answers to were already enough to fill a book. There was no point in asking those that she couldn't.

  Llana glanced at the next entry as she pointed out something about how korlan roots couldn't be harvested for at least a couple hours after being uprooted. "Seven days. Any longer than that and they start bleeding their sap into the surrounding soil. And then you'll have a lot more than wasted korlan roots to deal with."

  Chase scribbled down the answer quietly into her notebook when she found her gaze rising as the last letters scratched onto the page.

  Llana noticed it first in her peripheral when she paused her explanation and turned her head.

  Chase was looking directly at her.

  Not a glance or the careful flick of her eye but a full and clear gaze directed straight to her eyes. Her expression was unreadable save for the quiet resolve that seemed to linger behind her eyes.

  It was the first time she'd looked her directly in the eye all week.

  Llana blinked.

  "What is it...?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically cautious. "You have more questions?"

  Chase hesitated. But she soon steeled herself, opening her mouth with new resolve as she spoke.

  "How... How old do you think I am?" she suddenly asked.

  Llana's brows knit as she heard the query. For a long moment, she did nothing else but gaze back into the girl's eyes.

  They didn't flinch, though they more than blatantly began to lose their resolve under her lingering stare. She awaited an explanation, but there was no trick to her question. Just a girl with too many questions and nowhere else to ask them.

  Llana sighed.

  "How the hell would I know?" she finally muttered, her words just as toneless as before.

  At her words, Chase dropped her eyes immediately. A moment passed as her mouth came to a quiet close, her shoulders drawing closer to chest as if she wanted to shrink away entirely.

  "Sixteen." Llana said suddenly after a moment.

  Chase's eyes trailed back up towards her.

  "If you truly don't know... I'd say considering yourself sixteen this year is a good place to start."

  She spoke plainly. Without flare or ceremony.

  But to Chase, it felt far different than the answers she'd jot down in her notebook. The traces of a smile crept across her face.

  Emboldened, she opened her mouth to speak once again. "A-and what do you think..."

  But she was quick stop.

  She stifled the question before it had the chance to leave her mouth.

  "Never mind," she said, cutting off the thought.

  Llana had answered one stupid question already. She'd be wise to not push her luck.

  Llana’s eyes fluttered at the sight, her lips parting slightly as though she'd caught a word in her throat before it could leave.

  “I have no idea what you are,” she said at last, not unkindly—but not gently, either.

  Chase’s eyes lifted, surprised by the sudden shift. Llana wasn’t looking at her directly, but there was something different in her tone now. Something unguarded.

  “That rose-colored healing…” Llana continued, her voice low, as if still deciding whether or not to speak at all. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. And I’ve seen a lot --more than anyone in the Detas at least.”

  She leaned back slightly, her hand brushing the edge of the ledger she’d left ajar. Her fingers tapped it absently as she spoke.

  “Not in my travels. Not in any of the texts I’ve read. Not even from the other highborns who have as much mana as blood in their veins.”

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  Her eyes flicked briefly toward Chase, then away again.

  “But that child…” she continued, “Usra’s boy—he’s been healthy as an ox ever since... whatever it was you did." Her gaze returned to Chase before she continued. "Not a rattle in his lungs, not a fever, not even a sneeze if she’s telling the truth. That kind of healing—”

  She paused, the air suddenly growing tense around her.

  “It must’ve cost you something. I wouldn’t be surprised if it shaved years off your life, let alone drained what little Elja you had.”

  She didn’t say it like she was trying to frighten her. Just plainly, as if stating the weather.

  Still, Chase felt the words settle somewhere heavy beneath her ribs.

  She didn’t fully understand what Llana meant. But she understood enough to know that whatever she’d done hadn’t come free.

  Chase swallowed, the weight of the words still pressing faintly against her chest.

  Shaved years off your life…

  The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. But even more than the fear, it sparked something else. A quiet, gnawing curiosity.

  She hesitated, then lifted her eyes again.

  “What is… Elja?” she asked, her voice soft.

  Llana blinked. The question seemed to catch her off-guard.

  She leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the edge of her ledger, fingers curling over the spine as if debating whether to answer at all. Her gaze lingered on the girl for a moment—sharp, measuring—but whatever she was searching for, she kept to herself.

  This girl...

  A faint exhale left her nose—almost a huff. She didn’t smile, but something flickered across her face. A twitch at the corner of her mouth that never quite became one.

  She'd just told her she might've shortened her own lifespan, and yet...

  -She really might've believed she was a spy for all the questions she asked.

  That is—if the answers weren't such common sense.

  Llana took a deep breath. When she finally spoke, it was without irritation. Just matter-of-fact.

  “Elja,” she said, her voice steady, “is what my—”

  She cut herself off, her eyes flickering a strange emotion before she let out a practiced cough.

  Chase looked on with quiet confusion, but she didn't open her mouth.

  “—what the royal family of the Nordic empire calls it. In the eastern nations it’s called Qwa, and in the southern tongue, Kinses. The central plains don’t bother naming it anything at all. They just call it magic power. Energy.”

  Her fingers curled slightly over the edge of the ledger, tapping a slow rhythm against the worn leather.

  “It’s not mana, if that’s what you're wondering. Mana is something you're born with—fixed. It doesn’t change. But Elja is different. It’s what your body draws out of that mana --what already exists within you. It’s what makes up every magic that a mage might cast.”

  She didn’t glance at Chase as she spoke. If anything, she seemed to be speaking more to herself now, falling into the rhythm of explanation.

  “Every spell, every channeling, every breath of power—it takes energy. And energy needs to be rebuilt. Trained. Refined. That’s why young mages, as rare as they are to begin with, rarely survive childhood. They're expected to pick up complex magic too quickly, and they burn what little Elja they have trying.”

  A pause. Then her tone shifted slightly—not quite a warning, but something close to it.

  “If you force a technique you’re not ready for… your body compensates. It pulls from the source directly. From the mana itself.”

  Her eyes lifted—just briefly.

  “And that’s not something you get back.”

  Silence followed for a moment. Then she added, almost offhandedly, “No one can tell how much mana a mage has left within them. Those techniques are lost.”

  “But I can still see what’s left of your Elja. Or rather… what isn’t.” She suddenly said, the green hue of her eyes flashing through a small gap in her eyelids.

  Chase shifted, uneasy. “So… I just have to learn how to control it?”

  “Hm?” Llana blinked.

  “The 'Elja',” Chase clarified. “If I learn how to control it, then… that won’t happen again, right?”

  She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered just enough to betray the edge of fear.

  Llana regarded her for a long beat. She didn’t disagree, but she felt it wrong to agree with her too.

  Llana's silence stretched long enough to turn to deliberation as she pondered over how she should answer. Then Chase's expression suddenly shifted.

  "But if I do... will my eyes be like that too?" she suddenly asked.

  “Huh?” Llana's brows knit, puzzled by the question.

  Chase leaned forward, raising her hands toward her face and pulling the corners of her eyes taut with exaggerated effort.

  “I mean... will my eyes start doing that?” she asked. “Like yours?”

  Llana blinked. A startled noise escaped her lips before settling into a dry chuckle. Her fingers lifted instinctively, brushing the edge of her cheekbone and running upward, tracing the edge of her right eye. The movement was slow as she did so, almost absentminded.

  “No,” she said at last, voice softer now. “This—” she tapped the side of her face lightly with two fingers, “—is a very special case.”

  Her fingers paused there, drumming faintly against the skin just beneath her eyes.

  “There’s no need for you to worry about that,” she added.

  The silence that followed settled suddenly --almost melancholic. And for some reason, Chase felt as though she shouldn't disturb it.

  Just as Chase was gathering her things to leave, the back door creaked open.

  In a matter of seconds, the four boys flooded in to the shed—snow still clinging to the cuffs of their boots and the hems of their coats. Rafal entered first, followed by Roan and Arton, and finally Tetsu, who ducked slightly beneath the doorframe out of habit more than necessity.

  Llana didn’t look surprised to see them.

  Chase, on the other hand, blinked in confusion. “Um…what?”

  “You didn’t need to come, Tetsu,” Arton muttered as he shrugged snow off his shoulders. “He already saw you yesterday.”

  “Shut up,” Tetsu grumbled under his breath, his eyes fixed anywhere but on her. His shoulders looked too tense, too straight. Chase couldn’t tell if he was angry or ashamed—or something else entirely.

  Before she could get an answer to her question -which came out more like an unfinished thought- Llana moved quickly past her.

  She closed the door behind the boys, turning the bolt with a decisive clack. Then, without a word, she moved from lamp to lamp, snuffing them out with practiced flicks of her fingers. One. Then two. Then three. The light dimmed in intervals until only the hearth remained—its flickering glow casting long shadows over the walls.

  Chase stared, confused. “What’s going on—?”

  “Shh.” Llana’s voice came sharp and low, slicing across the room like a blade too quick to dodge.

  That was all it took. The room went still.

  A long, narrow window overlooked the dirt path outside the cabin. They all turned to it now—Llana first, the rest following in quiet understanding. Chase stepped closer, unsure what she was supposed to see.

  Then, outside—

  Two figures appeared in the orange glow of dusk.

  The first was unmistakable: Chief Deta, his posture straight and rehearsed even from this distance. The second walked with a measured sort of pomp—each step landing as if it were meant to be recorded in a history book. Broad and squat, draped in a coat of too-fine wool, a gold monocle dangling from his brow.

  Chase’s breath caught. “That’s…”

  “Chamberlain Edgar,” Rafal whispered, unnecessarily.

  The man walked toward a carriage waiting just beyond the post at the bend in the road. It was elaborate, even beneath the heavy tarp that dulled its gleam. They spoke—quietly, too far to hear. The Chief offered a sharp bow, and Edgar stepped inside. The carriage gave a soft jolt before beginning its slow turn down the road.

  It was only after the wheels had disappeared from view that the Chief turned his gaze back toward the cabin.

  His eyes didn’t scan the tree line. They didn’t drift across the clearing or check for signs of life. They fixed themselves on the shed.

  On the window.

  Chase stepped instinctively back, a chill bristling against her spine.

  He couldn’t see them. Not through the darkness. Not at this distance.

  And yet, he stood there—motionless, silent—watching.

  Then, without a word, he turned and began the walk back toward the village.

  The room remained silent. None of them moved. Even the hearth had grown quieter.

  After a few moments, the carriage was long gone. The village chief, too, disappearing into the night. The path outside was empty now, save for the faint marks left by the foregone wheels of the carriage pressed into the earth.

  Tetsu exhaled slowly. Roan shifted his weight.

  “Well,” Arton said, his voice quiet but trying to sound nonchalant, “guess it’s safe to leave now.”

  Chase turned to him, her voice still hushed in compliance with Llana's demand. “What was that about? Why are you guys hiding?"

  Her hushed tone also served her preference for Llana not hearing her question, which she was sure she would receive no real answer to if she did.

  Rafal scratched his cheek. “It’s for tax purposes. Or… something like that. The Chief doesn’t want them to know how many of us boys are here.”

  “It’s because they’re charging us up the roof, those damn capitalists.” Roan chimed in from beside him.

  Chase raised a brow, but said nothing. For some reason, she felt she'd heard those exact words before. And many times at that.

  Arton blinked at Roan's words. “...Capitalists?”

  “Yeah,” Roan nodded. “They live in the Capital. So—capitalists.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Even Rafal squinted at him.

  Arton sent him a strange look. “Right…”

  Chase looked between them, her brow furrowing. Though their explanation didn’t feel exactly untrue, it felt like only half of the whole truth. And if the boys were only holding half of it...

  She turned her gaze toward Llana.

  The woman stood motionless near the window. She was unable to mask the faint trace of guilt that flashed past her face as Chase looked her way.

  Chase's brows furrowed at the sight. What was going on?

  Sure enough of the empty field outside, the boys began to file out, their boots creaking faintly against the wooden floor. Tetsu offered a short nod toward Llana on his way past, but she didn’t return it. Instead, she only watched on with a stern gaze as the boys made their way down the mountainside, her expression drawn so tight it looked like her skin might split from the pressure.

  Chase blinked, but soon followed after them, gathering her notebook and wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  She reached for the door—

  “Wait.”

  Chase paused.

  Llana didn’t raise her voice, or even look in her direction. But the word came sharp enough to stop her just the same.

  Chase turned slowly. “What... What was this all about?" She found the courage to ask the question immediately. She was certain she wouldn't find a better moment than now.

  Llana's eyes remained trained on the window, her eyes trailing the boys as they walked down the mountain path. There was a long pause before she spoke again.

  “You ask a lot of questions,” Llana said, finally. Her tone wasn’t accusatory—just tired. “But too many that you're better off not knowing the answers to.”

  Chase tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

  A long silence followed. Then Llana spoke again.

  Her voice was quieter now. Firmer.

  “I don’t know if your whole amnesia story is true, girl.” She began, as Chase felt her heart sink under the alien tone of her words.

  “But if there's somewhere --anywhere else that you feel like you can go home to in this world—” she turned at last, meeting Chase’s eyes with something like resolve, “—go there. Anywhere but here. Go home.”

  Chase stood there, rooted to the spot as Llana's words echoed in her ears.

  She wanted to ask what that meant. Why she was speaking to her like that.

  But in a strange way, a part of her already knew she wouldn't get a straight answer.

  So instead, she turned on her heel, opening the door without a word as she held back the sudden and strange feeling of loss that welled up in her chest.

  "I..." She took a deep breath as she faced the dark mountain trail ahead, not bothering to face Llana as she spoke. "...don't have anything like that."

  The last of the daylight was already gone, and the frost had begun to settle in the garden as she stepped past the gate and down onto the narrow, unlit path leading back to the village.