Syra spent the morning bundled on the couch while Cassius fussed over her eating as much breakfast as she could stomach. In between his check-ins, Petra schooled her on proper voice exercises and pitch and come sun-high, the cottage hummed with duet voices that beckoned glances from passersby.

“Not too bad,” Petra admitted and refilled their teacups with extra honey. “A little wispy, but it’ll fill out with practice.”

Syra petted the icy-blue stone strapped at her throat, “Is there enough time for that? I’m not sure ‘wispy’ will be good enough if it comes down to it.”

“Probably not. Took me a whole year to get the right muscle control. It is similar to firebreathing, though, but given your difficulty…”

Syra winced and chewed at her thumbnail, “Perfect.”

“Look, it’s fine.” Petra waved her concern away. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but you’re doing much better than I thought you would, given your situation. And while you might not be able to master it yet, I’ll be there to pitch in if needed. Duets are more powerful, anyway.”

Syra’s chuckle caught her off-guard.

“What?”

“You’ll pitch in?”

“Oh, hush and drink your tea. We need to be ready when Aidan gets back.”

“He’s still not back?” Baba exited the closet with refilled backpacks and a look of genuine concern, “The train leaves in an hour.”

“He did say that opening investigations can be painfully slow,” said Syra. “Piper probably had to show them the kennel and everything. Not to mention all the paperwork and—"

“Sorry we’re late,” Aidan called as he and Piper entered the front door in a huff. “They made Piper recount all the details.”

“All twelve years of it,” Piper added, collapsing into a chair.

"And they're still not done. They'll need you again for identification once suspects are brought in. I'd like to stay and help, but unfortunately we have other pressing matters."

"It's alright," Piper slouched back, an invisible weight seeming to finally fade, "I'm just glad it's finally being dealt with."

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all that,” Baba said and offered them the leftover pork chops and eggs. “But you could be saving countless other children by snuffing these people out. I’m sure they would all thank you for it.”

“We haven’t caught anyone yet,” said Aidan, “but Morin’s invoices should certainly speed things up.”

“Speaking of speeding things up,” said Baba, shoving Aidan’s backpack into his arms, “You all need to get going. Cassius?” she called into the closet, “Are you all set, dearie?”

“No!” cried a chorus of tiny voices from beyond the door. “Not going!”

Shuffling and whining murmered past the closet, and Cassius soon emerged through the doorframe with little Ten clamped around one leg.

“He stay!” Ten demanded and tugged on his forearm, her cheeks red and wet. “Is adopted now.”

Cassius winced and gently pried her clawing fingers from his arm.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he knelt down and patted her small, freshly-combed head, “but there are others counting on me to help them—just like Piper and Syra helped you.”

“Oh…is that why you go? Not ‘cause us?”

“No, not at all.” He hugged her tight until he felt her chill dissipate. “Our family is in danger, and we have to go protect them. Do you understand?”

Ten nodded with a loud sniffle.

“Good, I’m glad. Now, I need you to help Piper and Willow take care of the others, alright? They’re like your family now. You think you can do that for me?”

“I guess.”

“You guess? You promise?” He smirked and gave her arm a light tickle.

She giggled and gave him a final nod, “Yes, yes, promise!”

“Good.” He gave her one last hug, “Thank you, Rain.”

Goodbyes were said and Piper herded the children back to their room. Cassius joined the others in preparations and Syra eyed him down.

“Rain?”

“That’s what she chose,” he said, massaging his arm. “Said the sound makes her feel better.”

“You’re going to have to visit them now, you know that right?”

“Let’s just focus on surviving Marrak and then we can talk visitation.”

"So, what's going to happen to them?" Syra asked Aidan. "Can the orphange handle them all? Will they be separated?"

"Not anytime soon, if I can help it." Baba said, giving Aidan an grin.

"Renguard's orphanage is still placing its current wards," he continued, "but Baba offered to foster them until space opens up. Apparently, a group of young mages is too hard to resist."

Baba met his smirk with fork pointed at his nose, "It's better than that watered-down academy of yours! Just give me a couple years and they'll be running the streets themselves."

"I don't really think that will be necessary, Baba, but I am certainly grateful for any help you do give them. At least, until they're able to be placed—academy or otherwise."

“Fine fine, suit yourself." Baba waved him away and turned her attention to their backpacks, "Now, is everyone here ready? Crescent Bay is the last stop, but after that you’ll be in Nord territory,” she eyed Petra down, “so be on your best behavior. We don’t need a second war starting.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Petra, surprisingly sincere, “I’ve spoken to them multiple times at our border with no issue.”

“You were also a dragon at the time, I bet,” said Baba. “What they will see this time is three humans crossing a highly contested border. Meaning, you must make sure you find the escorting party when you arrive at Crescent Bay. You’re already a day late, so I pray they’re still there.”

***

Crescent Bay met them with a wet chill, the cool mist beading on their skin. And while the flowering canopies smelled of spring, winter clung to the sea breeze and threatened one last frost. Beyond the harbor and scattered houses, the Silvercrest Mountains loomed dark against the slate sky, their peaks hidden in low-hanging clouds.

Petra smiled and breathed in the wind, “Feels like home.”

Home, right.

Syra's gaze swept down the mountain ridge to the valley road below, to the budding trade route lining King's Way, to the rolling hills with Altaira waiting beyond.

“Soon,” said Cassius, also casting a longing glance to their home range. “For now, let’s find our escorts.”

“The border is north of the bay, past the harbor,” said Aidan, leading the charge through the thriving fishing town.

They passed the square and the fish market, and the little sweet shop Aidan took Syra once before their ship was called. Aside from the added shops and housing the harbor looked the same. The wooden planks still creaked. The streets still smelled of wet stone and fish. Even the tiny beach that hosted Valen's swimming lessons still poked out from the outcrops. And beyond it all, ships of all sizes bobbed comfortably along the bay’s dark, rocky coastline. But despite this, she knew faces were missing; three specific faces that visited her on the bad nights. Now they watched her from the dock—that dock—as they passed the entry point to the navy's section of the harbor. That dock where she and Aidan, and "The Mages of the Mist" triplets sailed off to the western shore and its needless war.

Her eyes lingered there, watching the vestiges kiss and hug and cry, soaking up every last moment before they were shuffled off. Even her own forehead tingled from the phantom lips Aidan had left for encouragement. A year ago, the threat of a distant land and its "rampaging" dragons weighted her feet. But now, she welcomed the hourly commands and overfilled tents of rambunctious youths uncaring of status or origin. They were all soldiers—fodder, really—and all equally likely to die.

"Excuse me, miss!"

A gentle touch to her shoulder snapped her back to the boardwalk as she nearly walked into a passing man.

"Oh, sorry! Pardon me!" Syra cursed herself and jumped out of the way. But as the hurried traveller passed, the glint of a coin bounced against his chest and froze her in place.

"Would you hurry up?" Petra asked from the correct side of the street. "Stop dawdling."

"You alright?" Aidan asked, joining her side. His eyes had found the dock, too. "It's not an easy, is it? Being back here."

But she shook her head, "No, it's not that. I mean, yes, it is. But that's not what concerns me." She nodded to the traveller as he jogged down into the marina to join an oddly large gathering of people huddled by one particular ship. "That man...he wore a bronze coin. And those people certainly aren't dressed for a cruise."

"What?" Aidan stiffened and strained his eyes to make out the crowd. She was right. He couldn't see any coins from this distance, but he would recognize soldier armor anywhere. And these "soldiers" wore no banners. "Shit. They're moving already?"

"Where do you think they're going?"

"I don't know. But I do remember Kaelem saying they were setting sail somewhere. And wherever it is, I bet Marrak will be there."

"Meaning we don't have much time before he makes his move."

"Exactly. So, let's get going. The border's just up ahead."

The road ended at a gate just below the mouth of a river. Beyond the gate walls, the river disappeared between towering canyons walls.

“That’s the Gaping Maw,” said Aidan, struggling to take in the entire scene all at once, “it marks our northern border with both the Nords and Montari.”

“We know what it is," said Petra, pointing to the western cliff. "It's also our western border." Swimming through the gray mist above, dragon silhouettes cried and scouted the cliffs from overhead. “That side is Ignis territory.”

Syra thought she saw him shudder, but he kept his steady pace towards the gate.

“Right, so we’ll keep to the eastern bank, then.”

***

“State your business,” A human guard called as they approached, both pen and sword ready.

“We’re supposed to meet an escort to Koth,” said Aidan, holding his hand away from his hilt. “Has one arrived yet?”

The guard eyed his embellished hilt and scabbard, but nodded, “One came and left yesterday. Seems you’re a bit too late.”

“Damn it.”

“Sorry,” said Syra with lowered head.

“It’s alright,” Aidan patted her shoulder. “We can find them if we can just cross.”

“We can still cross without an escort, correct?" he asked the guard. "Merchants cross here all the time.”

“Not without papers. Is there someone who can vouch for you?”

“We weren’t given any papers,” Syra whispered up at Aidan “Did Valen give you anything?”

He shook his head and approached the guard again. This time he exposed the small crest from under his vest.

“Just write down, ‘Aidan Altair and party’, and let me vouch for us.”

“Altair?” The guard faltered at the royal family crest stitched onto his shirt, “As in, Prince Aidan Altair?”

“Aye, nice to meet you. I’m supposed to be meeting with Commander Stahdler in Koth, but ran into some…disciplinary issues in Renguard, which is why we’re late. If you’d like, send a raven to Master Valen at the palace and he will—”

“Oh, so Valen sent you?” The guard relaxed. “No wonder we don’t have you scheduled—he never sends notice. Not timely ones anyway.”

“So, we can pass?” asked Syra.

“Oh yes, go right ahead.” He turned and waved for the other guards to open the gate doors. “But do remember, once outside the gate you’re also outside our protection. So, do be careful. The nords who work here are nice enough, but I’ve heard stories of how ruthless some can be.”

“It’s not just nords, I assure you.” Aidan patted his shoulder as they passed through, “But thank you.”

They followed the coastal path into the mouth of the Gaping Maw. The small merchant path followed the treeline by the river, but even the great oaks of the riparian corridor were dwarfed by the walls of barred stone.

“It’s like a painting,” Syra said, pausing by a river shoal to appreciate the colored streaks that waved across the clifface. “Do you think the Ignis painted all—”

A sharp whoosh cut her off and she jumped from the arrow lodged in the stones by her foot.

“One more step and my aim gets better.”

Syra spun to see a nord archer step out from the brush, her white hair poking out from under her hood.

"Why do you humans insist on trespassing?” Two nords with shortswords flanked them and herded them towards the river. “The river is ours, and so are the spawning grounds.”

“We’re not here for fish,” Syra said, raising her hands. “We’re here to see Stahdler."

"Bullshit. You humans only want—"

"Hold it, Tarsi." The archer lowered her bow and approached Syra with examining eyes.

Syra stepped back but paused at the familiar lavender eyes, "Leti?"

The nordess lowered her hood with a grin, "I thought I recognized that voice. What happened to your braid?"

"Long story." Syra held out a happy hand, but a screech made her jump back.

“Easy, Igwi. They are friends.” Leti stroked the mass of gray-and-white feathers that nestled itself within her snowy mane of windswept braids. But Igwi just flared her feathered tufts and trilled a screech in suspicious protest.

"At ease,” Leti said to the patrol. “These are the ones we were sent to escort.”

“You were supposed to meet us at the border,” Syra said as they followed Leti farther down the path.

“And you were supposed to be there yesterday.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. We—”

“We camped just up here.” Leti waved Syra’s concern away and led them through a thicket to a small clearing where three frosthooves munched away at the brush.

“Where’s Stahdler?” Aidan asked, seeing only three sleeping mats.

“He had to go to Falorn to prepare for The Hunt, so you’re stuck with me.”

“Bashta,” Petra hissed. “The Hunt is today?”

“Shh.” Cassius hushed her, nervously eyeing the surrounding nords.

“It’s okay,” said Leti, “Valen told us about you. Apparently, you gave the Gahirem quite a scare, so he made sure to warn us beforehand.”

“Thank you for being so accommodating,” Cassius said with relief.

“We are neighbors after all.” She gave him a grin, but then turned a more serious eye to Petra.

“Speaking of the Hunt, the Bud Moon is in two days, but the winds have been strong so Stahdler’s preparing just in case the skyrays come early. I’m assuming we can count on your firepower again this year?”

Petra beamed, “Definitely. I wouldn’t miss such a hunt for the—”

“Come again?” Cassius leered over at her. “We are not here to hunt game, remember?”

“But I need to be there to lead them. Who’s going to plan the—”

“Grandmaw Vega knows what she’s doing. Plus, Tarys is flying flank this year and he’ll—” Cassius paused at how her gaze clung to the skyline.

“Or is he the real reason you want to go?”

“Oh, shut it, Cas.” Petra ripped her eyes from the sky and stomped off after the patrol.

He chuckled and gave her a cheeky grin, “Is the moon finally getting to you?”

“Suck a toad.”

“Why? It’s a valid question. You’re at that age now.”

“We’re the same age, foghead, and I don’t see your wings quivering.”

Cassius let the silence win and diverted his gaze to the mountains.

“Just ignore her,” Syra said when out of earshot. “It’s probably just the moon talking.”

“It’s alright," he said with a shrug. "It’s not like she ever noticed anyway. It’s probably better that she doesn’t know.”

Doesn’t know?

“Wait. Are you and Tarys still—”

“Not currently,” he said with a sad sigh edged with frustration. “He's been pretty hot-and-cold lately—pair bonding just 'isn't his thing', apparently. So, I’m just letting him be for now. No one ever thinks straight this time of year, anyway.”

“Shit, Cas, I'm sorry.” Syra searched the rolling clouds in his eyes, “But...you know she’ll find out eventually. And when she does, it’d be better coming from you, not him.”

He chuckled, “Since when should I be taking relationship advice from you?”

Syra faked a scowl and smacked him across the arm. “We were happy, I’ll have you know—before all this. So give me some credit.”

But his smile held more sadness than joy.

“I’m glad you were happy, I really am. But do you really think you would have stayed happy? With him not knowing what you truly are? Could you…could you really forget us that easily?”

“You know I’d never—”

“’Cause I never did. Not once.” The blue in his eyes faded, but his gaze was firm. “Nine years was too long, Syra. I don’t want to think about anymore.”

“You speak like I’m not coming back.”

“But you’re not, are you? I see you two together—I feel it. I know you say you want to help the clan, but I also know you don’t want to leave. Not in here.”

He pounded on his chest and Syra looked away.

Cassius scoffed, “I knew it. When you made that fancy spelltag back in Omei, I knew you were up to something.”

“I still don’t know how to power it, so it doesn’t really matt—”

“Oh, you’ll find a way.” Pride and pain played on his face, “You always do, if you want it enough.”

A guilty smile flickered on her face.

“I do want it,” she admitted, casting a glance to the empty hand at Aidan’s side, “but we both know that’s not always possible.”

They travelled the rest of corridor in silence speckled with small-talk—most of which was Petra squeezing any hunting plans from Leti on the off-chance that she could join. And though the way to Koth was unpaved, Syra was thankful for the small paths that cut up through dense thickets of rock and pine and made the slopes a faster trek. By sunset, the guiding rapids led the way to a riverside settlement dug into the foothills of an alpine plain.

“Welcome to Koth,” Leti said with an outstretched hand. “It’s small, but growing.”

From the hilltop, the agrarian settlement stretched down a rolling valley dotted with farm, shrub, and pine, while patches of snow lingered in the mountain's shadow. Squat cabins of stone siding crouched against the wind as if to warm themselves with the earth, their living quarters nestled neatly underhill. Beyond the crowded huts, burly deer fat with fur huffed and dined on the yellow blooms and icy berries dotting the juniper fields.

The roads were rivulets of mud and moss soggy from snowmelt, and Leti led the company to the largest cabin near the center of town. The shallow steps groaned with age, but the door was newly carved and bright with a fresh wax coating.

Leti’s hard knocks were met by an older nordess blanketed in colorful shawls and donning a freshly pinned crown of bloom-ladened braids.

“Oh, Leti, my dear, there you are.” She waddled out into the front stoop, unphased by the bowed legs under her, and gave her granddaughter a firm stroke down her furry arms. “I thought you were supposed to be back yesterday.”

“I was, Muhmuh, but you know how the wind can change.” She gave the elder a long peck on her stubbornly ruddy cheek. “We were a bit late meeting up is all.”

“We?”

Leti stepped aside to reveal Syra and company, though Syra was the only one not stooping under the eaves.

“Oh.” She jumped at the sudden sight of humans at her front door.

“It’s alright, they’ve been invited.”

“Oh, is this the party Stahdler invited?”

“It is.”

“Well, in that case, welcome.” She gave them a nervous but benign bow, but stared openly at the black-haired giant in front of her. “You humans really are tall, aren’t you?”

“We can be,” said Aidan, propping a hand on Syra’s head, “but not always.”

Butterflies raced from Syra's stomach to her head, “But I’m not—"

“Has Stahdler arrived yet?” Leti bumped Syra’s toe with her heel.

“No, I’m afraid not. But his owl did.” She dug a rolled piece of parchment from her pocket and handed it to Leti. “He said the visitors are to stay with Blyth until he returns tomorrow.”

“With Blyth?” Leti’s nose wrinkled. “They’re guests, not test subjects.”

Her grandmother just shook her head with a heavy sigh, “Who knows what your brother is thinking? Certainly not me. But it’s getting dark, so you best scamper off before the frost finds you.”

Blyth’s cabin was really just a large workshop by the river on the outskirts of town. Behind it, a smaller hut puffed steam and a waterwheel cranked and yawned under the torrent of the falls.

“Blyth!” Leti pounded on the unevenly hinged front door, “It’s Leti, open up.”

No answer.

Leti huffed but tried again. “Blyth!” she called louder over the rushing water.

This time a metallic crash came from hut followed by a sharp, “Damn it!”

“Great, now what?” Leti rounded the cabin as Blyth stumbled out of the hut in a cloud of steam.

“What happened this time?” Leti asked.

“The pressure’s been dropping and I can’t find the damn leak.” The sooty old nord snarled and ripped the goggles from his head, clearing the fog with his wrinkled shirt.

“Looks like the entire hut is leaking.”

“Which is why I can’t see shit in there.” He strapped the goggles back on and marched back to the hut, “Now get your rump in here and help.”

“Are you completely blind? You have guests.” Leti waved to the observing party, but he just beckoned them forward.

“Bring them too. The more eyes, the better.”

“This is not—” she strangled her shriek.

“This is not how we usually treat visitors,” she said, turning back to Syra, “but if you wouldn’t mind following me a moment?”

The steam had cleared the small room, leaving Blyth to skuttle around the boiler room tightening every knut and valve he could spot.

Syra flinched from the sudden heat, but Aidan stepped right in, eyes tracing the maze of metal pipes in their coming and going.

“Is this how you heat your houses?” Aidan asked.

“Nice observation, young human,” Blyth said with a grunted tug of a wrench. “Now if you could just find the leak, we can get to steaming our food instead of ourselves.”

“Yes, sir,” said Aidan, a bit taken aback by the command, and joined Syra in checking each joint for the hiss of escaping air.

“Anything?” Blyth asked from under the boiler.

“Nothing yet, sorry,” said Syra, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Damn, well keep looking.”

“You could say, ‘please’, you know?” Petra barked from her side of the hut.

“I could say many things, young lady, and none of them ni—"

“Do you have any soap?” asked Aidan.

Blyth’s mind and tongue fumbled, “Soap? No idea, ask Rasu.”

“Rasu?”

“Rasu!” Blyth’s voice echoed off the pipes, eliciting chittering from the roof. Some thumping and scratching later, a small monkey swung in through the door and clambered up onto the shelves. “Do we have any soap in here?”

Rasu swung himself around the hut, his bright eyes and nimble fingers searching the scattered items littering both table and shelf until he pulled a dirty, half-used bar of soap from behind a tin of rusty bolts. He chirped and held it up to Aidan.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the soap. “You’re a smart little helper, aren’t you?”

“That’s an understatement,” Blyth mumbled. “Now what’s it for?”

“This,” Aidan lathered the soap with water from his canteen and coated each joint with the foam until bubbles appeared on their own.

“It’s this one,” Aidan said, pointing at the bubbling gasket.

“Well, look at that. The human has some wit.” Blyth gave his work a surprised nod of approval.

“Wait, so humans can build a manarail but soap impresses you?”

Blyth just smirked and wiped the soap away with a sleeve, smushing a wad a resin into the metal seam.

“Who do think came up with the idea of mana conduction in the first place?” he asked, tinking his wrench on a pipe. “Certainly wasn’t your alchemists, but don’t let me challenge your history books.”

“I don’t need history books,” Aidan said, standing as upright as the roof would let him, “I was there when it was being built.”

“Oh, I’m sure they refined it, and refined it well—no doubt you humans are masterful crafters.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

Blyth put down his wrench and scooped Rasu up onto his shoulder, “I’m just saying that credit should be given where credit is due—even if it was just a working theory.”

“Now,” Blyth cut off Aidan’s retort with a hard pat to his shoulder, “why don’t you all use the rest of that soap to clean yourselves up while I sear up some dinner? There’s a washtub by the cabin and we got plenty of hot water now.”

***

The water was cold by the time everyone had taken their turn. But the towels were soft and the heat from the wood stove smelled of salty meat and herbs. By the time Rasu and Leti cleared the table of all its bits and bobbles, there was room for all.

“I’m not usually one for company,” said Blyth, motioning to the cluttered sitting area. “But there are some blankets in...one of the closets, so just sleep where you can.”

“What about the spare room?” Syra asked. “Is someone staying there? It looked neatly made.”

Blyth’s fork hung in the air and he glanced over to Rasu who dined from his own makeshift highchair.

“I’d rather you not.” Blyth strained to maintain eye contact before breaking under the confused stares. “That room belonged to a partner of mine and I haven’t felt the need to go rummaging through it yet.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Syra said, “I didn’t mean to insult the dead.”

“I’m not dead!”

A raspy screech startled the visitors as a huffing Rasu glared at them.

“And I’m still your partner, asshole, so don’t go making people think I died. I still have a reputation to keep.” Rasu gave Blyth a quick, toothy snarl.

“Sorry, I just didn’t know how else to put it.”

Rasu’s long tail twitched and he eyed the party with sharp awareness, “Apologies for the confusion,” he chittered with practiced words, “I am his very-much-alive partner, and that room is clean because it’s my room.”

“Wait,” Syra met his gaze full force, “so you’re saying you used to be a nord, or that you’re a monkey who was given speech?”

“Both, technically.”

“But how?” She examined the white fur on his chest, “You have no spellmarks.”

“True. Not on the outside, anyway.”

“Let’s not get into this now, Rasu,” said Blyth. “Let them fill their bellies before their heads or else they won’t sleep well.”

“It’s fine,” Petra said, having partially tuned out already. “This one’s a mage, too, so we’re well accustomed to the magic garble.”

Rasu looked to Blyth as if for approval, but Blyth just waved him off.

“Well, out with it now. Just don’t blame me if they fuck themselves up.”

Rasu fixed his large, round eyes on Syra. Their amber flames fueled more by fear than enthusiasm.

“I’ll tell you, from one mage to another. But please, if you have any inkling of an urge to try this, I absolutely do not recommend it.”

“To put it simply, to apply a shapechange spell to one’s exterior—as you two have done” he motioned to the twins, “is just that: external. Temporary and completely reversible.”

His gaze fell and his little hand gripped his chest fur, “I—in my blind curiosity—wanted to try something different. ‘What if, instead of applying the spell to one’s physical body, it was woven into their core?’” He chittered in mockery of himself but could only hang his fuzzy head. “I really shouldn’t have been surprised by the result—seems so intuitive now.”

“Rasu?” Syra asked with slow contemplation, “By ‘one’s core’, do you mean their…”

“Yes,” he tapped his chest, “the spell is woven from the threads of a soulstone itself.”

Syra sat back in her chair, a tad amazed and a tad disappointed, “That is pretty intuitive.”

“It’s also irreversible. Even by the original caster. Which is why I’m still a tick magnet.”

He forced a laugh, but Syra squirmed around inside her own mind.

“But why?” she finally asked, her concentrated brow making her appear angry. “You should be able to pull it back out and undo the spell. Shouldn’t you?”

“That’s the problem. Changing your soulstone changes your very essence. Not just your physical shape or species, but also your mind. You forget. You forget nearly everything. I lost all magical ability, and worse still…I forget my Name. My True Name…it just vanished immediately from my mind. So no, I can’t just ‘pull it out again’. I was lucky that I told Blyth beforehand—taboo, I know—but he was at least able to get my speech back.”

“And now you’re stuck like this?” Aidan asked, his voice kinder than usual. “No magic or anything?”

Rasu wiggled his stubby fingers in the air, “Not one spark.”

“Which is why,” he leered down at Syra who was noticeably deflated, “I’ll advise you again, leave it alone.”