With his trusty Mirror, Revan had stolen away into the woods behind the stage and conjured Zara’s image into it. He was still within range of her and for his magic to work. Easy enough tonight since she was willingly allowing him into her head. She’d been doing alright by far, except for that instance in which her expression, along with her mind, had seemingly frozen.

She was moving with the other dancers, following the crass routine she had learned so quickly, but she wasn’t herself at all. He could not read her. He could not reach her. For those few seconds, an unnatural panic settled over his heart.

What happened?

And then all was well again. She had snapped out of whatever mental issue had overtaken her. Had it been nerves? But Revan would have known that. He would have known whatever it had been, no matter the issue. And that was the problem—the confusion. He didn’t know anything about her. It was as though her conscience had been blocked entirely from him. Which shouldn’t be possible for her to purposely cause, given her level of practice. Whatever that was, he’d be sure to ask Zara about it. Even now, it was difficult to sense her entirely as he normally did and he knew it wasn’t Zara’s doing.

Rubi’s staff was currently collecting cards from the audience. Scrawled on each card was the guest’s name and the number of the performer they had taken a liking to. Taken with the card was their hefty payment for said performer’s continued services for the rest of the night.

Zara, anxious as she was, was not a bad dancer. She liked to practice the hobby on her free time, when she was not practicing spells and incantations with Revan. Now he wanted her front and center, showing this audience her flourishing skill, and proving to herself that she wasn’t as terrible as she believed herself to be. That she was no longer the same dancer she’d been during her last night in Pria.

Revan smirked as waiting staff went around refilling glasses with drinks. Not everybody was drinking, but enough were to make Zara’s magic effective. He had the pitchers laced with her blood. It had been easy enough to take samples from the heap of soiled rags in the backroom. He was ready, and judging by the peak of confidence in her thin smile, so was she.

But there was still the issue of Emran. The opposite side of the woods had caught fire, and that had been his doing, of course. Revan sighed. It was still a small flame at the moment, so he’d put Zara’s test into motion before seeking out the young man and putting an end to his unfortunate predicament.

Her first line of thought led her away from her spot. Her sudden and fast movement even had Saren startled. When Zara looked back at her friend, her eyes were rounded quizzically. She didn’t understand what was happening, and she couldn’t use her newly developed “instincts” to figure it out. Zara didn’t know what it was, but she was sure it had to do with this mysterious woman that had appeared to her, Dayana. While Revan still had some access into Zara’s mind and heart to guide her, he had no clear window to either. And neither did Saren.

Jiyara was finished with her song, and the audience whistled for her. As she smiled and waved a reluctant hand in the air, Zara grasped her shoulder.

Startled, Jiyara turned around. Zara smiled encouragingly, nudging her head as a signal to step aside and let her take the center.

Dumbfounded, Jiyara moved, obedient to Zara’s silent command.

The actress playing the “queen”was not pleased with bouncing off her precious script. “What the fuck you think you doing?” she hissed at Zara, in a broken accented speech.

Rubi almost made herself visible right then, practically leaping into the audience’s view.

“What are you doing you damn girl?!” her rasping voice spat. The woman turned beckoned a couple of guards to seize Zara.

Zara had a song in mind. It was a swift and classical beat she remembered from childhood. She was confident, and would remain so as long as she didn’t look directly at a single person beyond the platform.

Ignoring Rubi and the “queen”, she raked a searing gaze over the baffled musicians, silently urging them to play her song. She felt her magic roll off her. Her ability to persuade as is was strong tonight, stronger than any other night.

The musicians wordlessly readied their instruments and began playing like marionettes. Zara lifted her arms above her head, bringing her fingers together in a point. She brought one leg up to her thigh, brought it back down in quick succession with a light bounce to her feet, then twirled.

Round and around she went, across the entire lower platform, from one side to the other. The queen had even stepped back, mesmerized. The security men Rubi had tried siccing on her reluctantly stepped back, baffled whether this was actually a part of the show after all.

As the drums and tambura slowed, Zara stopped at the center again. She continued her sequence, taking purposeful hip-swaying steps forward to the harsh beat of the percussion. She had the people entranced to her movements, and with each motion she had her audience’s minds swirling with thoughts and memories and emotions as black as their greedy self-serving souls, and as tragic as this very tune.

Their drinks had been poisoned. Zara sensed it at work, and it was the work of Revan. It was taking affect as the melancholy mood below the stage drew in like a thick gray cloud. Zara would not be sold, and she would not let the children be sold. It hadn’t seemed like any performer was here against their will, but some might be. In the end though, the adults made their choices. The children had not been given one.

So Zara would take it in her hands to make sure those cards the staff were collecting were useless by the show’s end. She did not want any of that money in Rubi’s possession. Zara had taken the woman’s shit brother hostage, as he deserved, and she would happily steal her chance at a life and an income too. She would save herself, the kids, and Saren. Saren had said earlier she would not let anything happen to Zara. But Zara wanted to control her own path tonight, and controlled she was. She would be the one doing the saving here.

This level of control was new. She was aware Revan was helping here and there, keeping her calm and relaxed, nudging her on what she should try with her captivated crowd of watchers, but it was only guidance. He was not holding her hand like he’d do during their training sessions, talking her through every step by the minute.

At the halfway point, the audience members who had not taken the poison turned on each other, the bombardment of their grievances, grudges, and ill memories driving them mad. Their assaults ranged from strangulation to stabbing to bludgeoning. Zara had let their pets make clean escapes from the massacre.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?! WHAT ARE YOU FOOLS FUCKING DOING?!” Rubi had come on stage while Zara was still dancing, shrieking at the mob before her crazed-glare landed on the helpless performers and her security team behind her. “WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL STANDING AROUND FOR? DO YOU SEE WHAT’S BECOME OF THESE PEOPLE! STOP THE MUSIC! STOP THE SHOW! GET THAT BITCH OFF THE STAGE! IS SHE BLIND TO THIS? DO SOMETHING FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

Her screechy annoying cries fell on deaf ears. Nobody was doing anything except witnessing their show fall to pieces in absolute horror. Almost all the children were backstage, away from the raw sight of mindless carnage, but Jiyara wasn’t. She had begun to weep, confused and obviously terrified of the dark aura that had surrounded them all.

It was for the best, though. Zara was doing her a favor. It was actually too bad that the other kids couldn’t be here to witness her noble act. She was their dancing heroine. By forcing her fellow performers and Rubi’s security to stay put, Zara was able to finish the song in peace. The only person she allowed for free movement was Rubi. She wanted the hag to break down as much as possible.

Rubi was shoving and pounding her fists at her useless security until Zara felt pity and had one of the men lift her by the throat. The regal headdress with the beautiful red jewel Zara so admired slid from her hair before she was thrown off the stage.

With the last beat of the drum, those who had been drinking were knocked out of their stupor. Their veins had swollen and their hearts had filled with too much blood for it to pump properly. Each heart ruptured at once, then it was over. The gruesome episodes came to an end, and every piece of filth on the ground was gone from the world, their final thoughts being nothing short of grim and ugly—consumed by their worst memories and fears.

She had done it. She had been successful. She had controlled this mostly herself. She was proud of her work.

The stage would probably burn soon, as the dark smoke trail was finally becoming visible to the eye. The low orange glow would grow bigger and soon brighten up the dreary night.

Revan’s pull summoned her to him at once. Zara’s eyes roamed the stage; her hold over each performer had been lifted, and now it was chaos. They scrambled through the doors to the safety of backstage as Muni gathered the weeping Jiya in her arms and wildly scanned the area below the platform where Rubi had fallen. It was too dark to see anything. Zara contemplated if she should burn the torches around the place higher or something. That way, she’d give enough light for Muni to see whatever the hell she wanted to see before letting those flames loose too.

But Revan apparently needed her for something. Zara smirked. Perhaps the stronger she became, the better his need for her would be. If she became stronger than him, she would have no use for that scum in her life anymore, however grateful she was for his training and wisdom.

She caught Saren’s eye, the only person not panicking or doing much at all. Saren studied Zara tensely. Then, she marched over and grabbed her hand.

“I’ve seen this,” she murmured in Zara’s ear. “In a dream. Long ago. I didn’t know it was you at the time, but I am sure now I have dreamt such a nightmare, where I was at some kind of playhouse, surrounded by screams and the heat of flame.”

Before Zara could think about what that could mean, the fire had reached the trees on the left side of the stage and were burning faster than before.

“WE NEED TO PUT THAT OUT!” Muni screamed, pointing at it. “NOW! JIYA GET A BUCKET, FILL IT WITH WATER!”

When Jiya ran off, Saren looked at Zara pointedly. “You heard her. You need to put it out. You are the one controlling this, no?”

“I have to see Revan,” Zara said simply.

Saren gazed at her a little longer before relenting. “I will go with you.”

They walked briskly to the back and down the narrow hall, leading them to the rear exit door. Zara reveled in the stench of smoke and the distant shrieks of mayhem. It felt better than the quick puff of Emran’s pipe had.

“Where is he?” Saren asked. “I can’t find his direction. Everything is just…” She swallowed uncomfortably. “Everything is just wrong tonight. It is like I am losing something…” She clutched her heart, near the gem resting on her breast.

“You’ve dreamt about this, then?” Zara inquired.

Saren confirmed it with a curt nod. “Something like this. Although it was hard to see everything…it was like trying to see through a black fog.”

“Do you know what it could mean?”

“…I believe I saw a future. A future that has now come to pass, an entire decade later. But I do not know its significance, at least not clearly yet. I do know that if you don’t stop this flame, the children will get hurt. That much I saw as well. And I don’t see you as the kind to want that to happen.”

Zara’s curiosity had only grown, but they didn’t have exactly have time for dwelling too deeply on this.

“Fine. Perhaps, Saren, you were meant to be here to change things. Well, a few things, at least.”

They began to walk through thin woods.

“Perhaps I am,” Saren stated. “And I hope I can succeed.”

After taking a long swig from his bottle of cheap beer, Shia’s gaze landed back on the small orange glow in the far distance. It seemed like a mere spark from where he was, similar to what one would see leftover in smoldering ashes—remnants of an eager blaze. He recalled the area over there being a place of show business, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. Either way, it was going to be in ruins by morning. At least, that’s what Shia assumed.

He set the bottle down and leaned back on his hands. He enjoyed being up here, sitting alone on the rooftop and away from the overcrowded, smelly shitheads below. The city air, aside from the subtle stench of piss and garbage, was as pleasant as always, but this time the breeze sent over wafts of burning wood and leaves, along with a restless craving to be in the midst of all of it.

Was he becoming suicidal? He hated his life now, and here he was wanting to throw himself closer to the flame. Was that what the feeling was, then?

It couldn’t be. Shia did not wish to die. But he knew there was something important there. Maybe not something, but someone. It made the hairs at the back of his neck feel prickly and strange.

As did the skin of his smallest left finger, right under the ring he wore.

He took another deep gulp from his bottle, longing once again to be where the fire scorched the scene.