PART 1

  Falling Apart

  Ty woke up the same way she had for most of the past few months: arms and legs numb and filled with an awful sense of déjà vu while looking up at her bedroom ceiling.

  She raised her right hand like she usually did to make sure it was still there. The light from her window illuminated the creases of her palm, casting a shadow upon her face. She brought her hand close. No tears this time.

  Sighing, the child let her hand drop to her side and surveyed her small room. There was a lovingly crafted table across the room beside her window to the sea, a plain wooden chair with a similarly plain black cushion, a small wardrobe that contained what little clothes she owned at the end of her bed, and finally, above and next to her bed, bookshelves with an assortment of study material packed to the brim. It smelled of the dust from her books and the trees of the forest.

  Yes, this was her small, precious world that she had called home for almost all her life.

  Like many other days before this one, she pulled off her blanket and dispelled the feeling of foreboding by walking over to her desk, where her black notebook lay, and flipped to one of the well-worn pages in the middle.

  1A-EX2 POST-ANALYSIS, today’s page said. Take advantage of anger, she had written halfway down the page beside one of her classmate’s names.

  Ty let out a long sigh again, her usual frown still plastered over her face as she closed the notebook. The Sixteenth Circle was still active, and so were her sins. Her unfulfilled promises.

  After rubbing her eyes a few times, yawning and practicing her smile in the small mirror hanging on her wardrobe door, Ty put on a light shawl and headed outside.

  Not bothering to close her door, she stopped briefly to look over the upstairs hallway railing at the enormous living room below.

  There, beside the door to the backyard and across from the main entrance, was her mother sipping on her usual cup of black tea and absorbed in a book. This time it was a small green pocket-tome that she had been asked to review as a part of her duties as an independent MATS researcher. On the table was breakfast, which was always kept warm with a hot plate and cover. It looked like toast and soup today.

  She took another breath of fresh fall air, eyes drifting over to the other end of the cabin where there was a giant library of books and tomes that had not just been lovingly cared for, but its pages sifted through countless times. At its center, a singular, worn study desk, just as messy and scattered with paper as the Headmistress’s. She was going to miss rifling through her mother’s books to find cool spells to use in her daily duels.

  Under her room and the balcony landing that connected both floors was the kitchen, which was small and impeccably clean—on account of it not being used often. Her mother did not particularly have a knack for cooking and found that there was little necessity in creating lavish, artistic dishes like something Darius or Korinna would have joyfully produced back at school.

  I’m going to miss this, Ty thought to herself as she finally descended the wooden stairs, eyes to the ground so she could see the small, carpeted space through the gaps in the steps. It had a singular plush couch, two warm blankets, and a small fireplace. It was cramped, but that didn’t matter. It was warm and safe. Her mother had read her countless books there as a child. Whenever she was happy, whenever she was sad, it was there that she would sit.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Over the entire break, its hearth had only been lit a handful of times, most of her time split between either studying and dueling with her mother or studying by herself in her room.

  “You’re up early today.” Her mother glanced at her briefly from behind her book as she approached to take the seat across from her.

  “A dream woke me up.”

  She hummed and nodded in response.

  Without even having to use her practiced smile, Ty felt herself smiling faintly as she watched her mother—Joanie, as the Headmistress called her—do a double take at her silence.

  “Yes?”

  Ty shook her head and looked down at her food, whispering, “Nothing.”

  Joanie returned a sentimental, wistful smile. “Since you’re leaving today, I made your favorite soup. Tomato, with fresh vegetables from the greenhouse.”

  Uncovering the plate and picking up a spoon, Ty returned to her practiced smile. Her mother hadn’t pried as always; she was the original recluse that Ty eventually learned to be, after all. She was unreadable and stoic, the cold pillar of reason that she had always aspired to be.

  But Ty loved her so much. For taking care of her, for looking after her, for giving her comfort and warmth when she needed it. For keeping her on the straight and narrow, for molding her into the person she was today, for doing everything she could despite being alone, despite giving up everything else, despite knowing that the daughter she would raise would not live long. Despite the eventual heartbreak.

  “It’s delicious,” nodded Ty shakily after eating a spoonful of the rich, red soup. No, she scolded herself, trying to stifle her emotions. This isn’t the last time you’re going to eat your mother’s cooking. This isn’t the last time you’ll see her.

  She could hear her mother put her book down and rest her gaze on her from across the table that was built just big enough for two.

  Wanting to make an effort, Ty took a weak breath, letting the tears flow freely as she ate another spoonful of soup. Stuffed a torn piece of bread into her mouth. Swallowed. Another spoonful. Another piece of bread. Swallow again. The tears meant nothing. She had to eat. She had to live. She had to be strong, like her mother. She had to continue, continue, continue.

  “Tyche, dear, please stop.”

  A sob finally broke through, and Ty covered her face with her sullied hands. Of all days, why did she have to fall apart now? “I’m so sorry,” she blubbered, getting up from the table to get away, to not fall apart. It was because of the dream; it was definitely because of the dream.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” stated her mother simply before getting up from her seat and catching Ty before she could make her escape, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “It’s okay. I’m here. Come on, it’s not goodbye. I’ll drop you off at school, you’ll get to come back home over the winter break, and I can come visit whenever you need me.” And then, pulling her closer, quieter, she murmured, “Doesn’t matter what it is. I’ll drop everything. Everything for you.”

  “Mom, I’m so sorry,” Ty repeated, letting go of her face to hold her mother close, knowing that she could not tell her the truth. Knowing that she should, that her mother deserved at least that, that there was no way she hadn’t suspected something was wrong. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Joanie held Ty close to her chest, stroking her head lovingly. “I don’t know or understand everything that’s going on, and maybe I never will, but I will always, always love you. No matter what happens, no matter how many seasons pass, no matter if you leave before I do. I raised you with my own two hands, knowing nothing about being a parent, knowing nothing but what I wanted. I really thought I knew what I wanted before I met you, and I was wrong. All my life, I had been waiting for you. You’re the only one I care about. You’re the only one who matters to me. I know you’re special, that you don’t have much time—I wish every day that I could have stopped you from leaving, stopped you from growing up. So I could have watched you grow up until the end of time, never losing you, never even entertaining the thought. You’re the light of my life, the reason I get up in the morning. I want to see you again. I want to hear your voice, I want to watch you eat with me across the table, I want to spar with you in the backyard, I want to sit and listen to the forest and the sea with you by my side. But…I know I can’t. I know we can’t. I know I have to let you go, that I have to let go one day as well. That this world can’t just stay still for one person. It has to keep on going, and so do we. Even though I ache when you’re away, even though I see your ghost in every corner, in every shadow of this house when you’re not here. So please…please do mom a favor. Just this once.” She buried her face in Ty’s shoulder so no one could see her first tears as an adult. “Don’t fall apart.”