“-ngh”

  I lift myself up from the bed, lightly brushing my bnket aside to avoid disturbing and accidentally waking my sleeping roommates.

  My body feels strangely light, not fully rested exactly, but unburdened, as though something heavy was removed from my chest while I slept.

  But I’m sure this has to be a pcebo effect, if that’s what it’s even called. Like one of those four-hour sleeps where you feel super refreshed, but after a few hours you feel like dropping dead.

  I’ve had my run-ins with a few of those already, so there is no way I’m trusting my body with this sensation.

  Still, it feels good, though.

  I tiptoe across the room, but the wooden floorboards protest under my weight. A sharp creak snaps through the room, and I freeze mid-step, my breath caught halfway in my throat.

  Thankfully nobody stirs, or even moves. Still, I should be a bit quieter.

  No matter how many times I do this, the silence combined with the darkness always freaks me out. With the state the world is in right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if a monster burst out from the ground and ate me.

  Well, if that monster is made of shadows…

  But in a world of magic, who’s to say that’s impossible? And what if those monsters particurly like to eat girls with no magical abilities?

  No, no. I have to keep myself together. Eyes forward.

  I walk over to the desk and drink the gss of water I always leave waiting for myself. It’s cold enough to sting my teeth.

  Hydration is a key component of my daily ritual. If I skip it, something about the night feels misaligned, like beginning a spell without the proper incantation. Not that I’d know what that feels like anyway.

  When the gss is empty, I slip toward the shared closet and begin yering myself against the winter.

  The winter night won’t be kind, no matter how refreshed I feel at the moment.

  So for now, I’ll wear some heavy clothes.

  I swap my academy uniform for thicker yers.

  Long pants first, then heavy boots. A beanie pulled low. A scarf wrapped tight around my neck until my voice feels slightly muffled when I test it with a quiet breath.

  My only jacket is short. During nights like these, a short jacket like this only serves as a cosmetic. But if I wear it on top of enough fabric, maybe it will pretend to be adequate. After pulling on the fuzzy gloves, I stare at them longer than necessary, a gift that was given to me long ago.

  When I reach for the dormitory door, the metal handle bites through the wool and into my skin. The cold is sharp, immediate, honest. I slip into the hallway.

  “So cold…”

  My skin immediately prickles with goosebumps. I clench my jaw, but somehow my teeth still ctter, my head moving with the motion.

  I close the door behind me, quickly locking it. I twist the key slowly, minimizing as much noise as possible. When that’s all said and done, I turn around to be greeted by an empty hallway.

  The academy is dead silent of any human-inflicted noise, but I can’t say the same about nature. The wind cws at the outer walls, howling low and distant, and my footsteps echo faintly no matter how light I try to make them.

  As I walk through the empty halls, Professor Hector’s voice echoes in my mind.

  “You’ve been sneaking out at night, haven’t you?”

  I mean, he’s not wrong. And to be honest, I can’t even pretend to be offended that he never even considered me a possible culprit.

  Albo has a history of sneaking out during exam seasons for te-night snacks in the vilge, and reputations cling longer than behavior does.

  I don’t think Hector is foolish, and the evidence would look damning enough from the right angle. No one else in the academy wears a short robe, after all, and from a distance, my jacket fluttering in the dark could easily be mistaken for one.

  It’s quite convenient how it all ended, but it still sucks, though.

  If Albo is reprimanded, I’d rather it be for something he actually did. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t without sin, but I’d hate to get in trouble for something I didn’t do.

  Guess I’ll tease him about it tomorrow.

  By the time I reach the first floor, my route feels automatic. The dormitory and these cssrooms are the parts of the academy I know best.

  If I really tried, I could probably walk this specific stretch with my eyes closed, counting turns by memory alone. Maybe I’ll test that theory sometime soon, just not today.

  As I turn down the final narrow passage before the exit, my body stops, greeted by a familiar sight.

  “—Ah.”

  Albo stands by the back door, blond hair catching what little light filters through the windows. He’s wearing his own set of winter clothes. A puffy, zipped-up orange jacket with gray sweatpants.

  It’s actually kinda cute on him.

  “Yo!” he calls softly, waving even though we’re only a few meters apart. “Gd you’re doing fine now.”

  Before I can respond, before I can even decide what expnation I would’ve offered—he loops an arm around my neck and starts steering me toward the exit.

  I’ve known this man long enough to understand when he’s keeping me locked down. He knows there’s no way I’m going to let him go with me, so he’s forcing me to take him with me.

  With a resigned sigh, I push open the small metal door. It groans against the stone ptform, scraping loudly enough that I wince, but the city beyond greets us with nothing but cold air and stillness.

  Ka sleeps under winter’s grip.

  Two-story stone buildings line the streets, wooden pilrs weathered with age. Many double as shops below and homes above, small businesses folded neatly into daily life.

  It isn’t a merchant hub, as it’s too far from major trade routes for caravans to bother detouring, but that’s part of its charm. My favorite aspect of living in such a “smaller” city is the fact that all the citizens know one another, and unlike rger cities, Ka maintains a warm retionship with its knights.

  Still, it’s a bit odd that people are against the knights in a nation that prides itself on freedom.

  Or maybe that's why people are so against the knights. Their presence and authority goes against everything that people look for in true freedom.

  But freedom doesn’t mean you can do anything you want. I feel like that’d make us no better than those crazies in Keptas.

  “Still, I’m surprised the military isn’t concerned with the missing people’s cases,” Albo mutters, his breath fogging white in the air.

  “But that’s in the capital,” I reply, slipping into a narrower alley and quickening my pace. “I doubt anything’s going to happen to Ka.”

  We move through the smaller streets rather than the main roads. It isn’t exactly stealth, but it’s a habit that I’ve picked up over the years of countlessly following the route to the food district.

  “Mhm, but it’s better safe than sorry, right?”

  “I guess. Is that why you came out tonight? I feel like I usually don’t see you sneaking out during the winter.” I ask.

  “Actually, I didn’t know you knew I went on these walks.”

  Slightly turning his gaze, he lightly chuckled, “I do, and I always did. You should be more careful, y’know. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed someone following you. Even Hector saw me.”

  “Oh, so it was you that Hector was talking about. I for sure thought he mistook me for you.”

  I turn into another alley and gnce at him.

  “Maybe he did, but I also made sure to wear the academy robes.”

  For one, it’s clear that he’s telling the truth, as winter-lined innerwear hides beneath his stubbornly modified short robe.

  “And why would you do that?” I ask.

  Without any incoming warning, he flicks my forehead lightly. It happens so fast, I never even realize he raised his hand.

  “Idiot, it’s because someone has to take the bme. I wouldn’t want you to be caught, y’know?”

  “Besides, when I sneak out, I make sure to take the least noticeable route, but you just trot through the halls like stealth is a second thought.”

  I pout. “I’ll be more careful from now on then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Eventually, we stop in front of a small cake shop in the food district. The lights are off, and an indoor sign decres it closed.

  At first, seeing the lively streets so empty weirded me out, but now they’re rather peaceful to look at and stand on. It gives me the true sensation of loneliness.

  It’s not like being alone is bad, either, though, good silence always encourages life-changing thought, I think…

  With a couple steps, I slip into a narrow alley connecting the food district to the shopping district. The stench of decaying food and oily water clings to the walls. When I turn to see Albo’s reaction, his nose is already pinched, his face scrunched up.

  It’s horrible, I won’t lie about that. But at this point, it doesn’t really bother me, considering I’ve been coming to the city for three years now.

  Sorry, Albo. You’re going to have to endure the smell for now, because what I’m really here for is just in front of me.

  Amid torn garbage bags, a single dog rummages weakly for scraps.

  Its limp leg drags behind it with each step. One front leg stays lifted, trembling whenever it brushes too close to the ground. It pants between motions as though every breath requires negotiation.

  There’s no madness in its eyes, no feral snap, just exhaustion worn thin.

  “Albo,” I murmur, pointing. “What do you think?”

  “It’s on its st legs,” he says quietly.

  Yeah, I figured, too.

  But I guess I already knew that; otherwise, I wouldn’t have come here.

  A part of me wished this whole operation was a fluke, that I’d return to my dorm empty-handed. But fate has a cruel way of pying its tricks.

  The dog notices us. Our eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between us. I extend my right hand with an open palm, inviting it to come closer. After a brief pause, it makes an uneven hop toward me.

  I step forward to meet it halfway and kneel in the damp stone. Filthy water soaks into my clothes. I don’t really care about that, though. I can wash my clothes anytime, but this dog will probably never find its peace if I don’t do something now.

  When I reach toward its injured paw, it ignores the gesture and presses its nose into my chest instead.

  She’s so warm.

  The heat of life… It sucks to have to drain it out. Or maybe, hopefully, this isn’t what the dog wants.

  “Are you sure?” I whisper, stroking its head.

  It steps back slowly, as if gathering the st of its strength, then curls into itself and closes its eyes.

  I feel sick. No, maybe sick isn’t the right term.

  My heart just feels heavy, and I feel like shedding tears that haven’t been formed yet. I bite the lower right part of my lip, as what feels like a cold, iron hand gripping my chest pulls my body down.

  With a sharp inhale, I close my eyes as well.

  All I can hear is the strong howl of the wind. I see small fragments of light flickering from within my closed vision, dancing in the dark. Clearing my mind is the next step. I breathe slowly, aligning my rhythm with its shallow breaths until my senses sharpen and the world narrows to a single fragile existence in front of me.

  A sharp sting fres into my eyes. Unlike earlier today, I’m able to pull off my special technique without a hitch.

  When I open them, the world changes into a deep blue, the world fading into the background as the real star of the show appears before me. The dog shimmers with quiet vibrance, light radiating from its body. Animals don’t carry Birthmarks, but they possess souls.

  Animals don’t carry Birthmarks, but they possess souls. Behind its neck, a white thread stretches upward to the same height as the tip of the mppost illuminating next to us.

  Over time, I learned that the length of the thread shows one’s willingness to surrender to death. The more they’re ready to die, or willing to die, the longer the thread is.

  I suppose looks can be deceiving; I was sure that this dog looked peaceful from when I met her.

  “If I were older,” I murmur, stroking its fur one st time, “I would’ve adopted you.”

  The thread rests between my fingers, warm and vibrating faintly.

  “I’m sorry I was born too te.”

  I hold the magical thread holding the soul between my fingers.

  When I pull, its life flows into me. Not metaphorically. Literally.

  Memories overp with my own.

  Born in a family of six, it was forced at an early age to fight for its own food. With the amount of thrown trash, food was often not an issue for the family of dogs, but water was. With only dirty, contaminated water to drink, slowly but surely the cubs met the end of their lives, unable to maintain their unhealthy diet.

  Somehow, the dog managed to survive the years, until it got into a fight not too long ago over some discarded meat. Its injuries weren’t grave, so if someone had been there to help, it wouldn’t have been a problem.

  But dogs don’t speak our nguage, and we don’t speak theirs. So an infection took over, slowly crippling the already struggling animal.

  The people of Ka feed the dogs every now and then, but when they move to a different city, it’s quite doomed for the animals.

  Ka is a city where people mostly move to in order to send their kids to the magic academy. After four years, they move away to find life in a bigger city, like the capital or somepce else. For these dogs, if they find someone to take care of them, it’s a four-year friendship before their owners leave for somepce else.

  “And yet, you still don’t bme the humans.”

  With a final whimper, I pull on the thread. There is no resistance at all, almost as if the thread wasn’t there in the first pce. But as I raise my arm higher and higher, the soul within the dog begins to disintegrate.

  The soul fractures into blue particles that dissolve into the surrounding mana, dispersing quietly instead of tearing violently. If I skipped the memory step, the body would break apart grotesquely; but when I see them fully, when I understand them, they fade beautifully.

  I tell myself that means it’s mercy.

  I don’t know if that’s true.

  My legs feel weaker than they should when I stand. It isn’t exhaustion alone; there’s something hollow that follows every unraveling, as if removing a thread from the world requires one to be removed from me as well.

  The cold stone presses insistently against my knees before I fully straighten, and only then do I realize how long I’ve been kneeling there.

  For a moment, I stare at the empty space where the dog had been.

  No body.

  No blood.

  No evidence.

  Just damp stone and the lingering smell of decay, suddenly heavier than before. The stench of rotting food and dirty liquid. It’s as if the dog never existed in the first pce.

  I turn toward Albo and raise my hand in a small wave, mimicking the brightness he had shown me earlier in the hallway, though the gesture feels thinner now.

  “Thanks for waiting,” I say quietly, deactivating my eyes.

  Thankfully, deactivating them is always easier than turning them on. Instead of performing an entire ritual of emptying my mind and commanding the jolt to strike my eyes, all I have to do is take a long, deep breath before it disappears.

  “Let’s go.”

  He doesn’t press the matter, but I can tell he wants to say something. His mouth shifts slightly, like he’s testing possible sentences before discarding them.

  Making people ugh is something he prides himself on, but when it comes to heavy moments, he tends to retreat rather than risk mishandling them. In his mind, doing nothing is safer than saying the wrong thing.

  It’s a fact he most likely doesn’t know I’m aware of, but it’s a bit cute that we don’t know everything about each other, so I’ll keep it to myself for now.

  We retrace our steps through the alleys, our pace slower now that there’s no destination pulling us forward.

  The wind pushes between the buildings in uneven bursts, tugging at my scarf and slipping cold fingers through the seams of my jacket, but neither of us reacts much. After what we just witnessed, or rather, after what I did; the winter feels secondary.

  “How did you know where the dog was going to be?” he finally asks.

  It’s a reasonable question. From his perspective, I led us in a nearly perfect line through the city, weaving through smaller roads as if I’d memorized the exact location beforehand. I fidget with my gloves as we walk, twisting the wool between my fingers.

  “It was obvious,” I answered, my voice barely louder than the rustle of fabric in the wind. “I could see the thread even from the academy. Or I guess, I could more or less sense it from there.”

  Albo’s brow furrows slightly. “Was that the only thread in the city?”

  I shake my head and gnce toward the open sky, as though I might catch a glimpse of the countless invisible strands stretching upward from rooftops and alleyways alike.

  “There are hundreds every night.”

  The number never stops unsettling me.

  Threads of varying lengths, pulsing faintly above strangers who will never know I noticed them. Some are short and stubborn, clinging desperately to life, while others are long and heavy, sagging with surrender.

  “Then how’d you know?” he asks.

  I tilt my head back and look at the crescent moon hanging above us, its thin edge cutting cleanly through the darkness. It looks detached from everything below it, untouched by hunger, untouched by cold.

  The moon is so beautiful.

  “I don’t know how to put it, but I could hear its desires,” I whisper, still looking upward. “There was not a single hint of malice or anger. Just a craving for the end.”

  The scarf around my neck suddenly feels too tight. Not because of the cold, but because of memory.

  I lower my gaze and press my fingers briefly against the wool, as if that might loosen something pressing against my throat.

  “To be honest, even after all the dying animals I’ve led to peace, I still feel like I’m bringing them to an unnecessary death.”

  The words come out steadier than I expected. I lift my hands unconsciously, fingers hovering in front of me as though the thread is still there, waiting to be pulled.

  “They thank me, or actually, I just assume they do. It’s hard to expin, but it’s a certain relief I feel from them as I pull their thread. Still, though, I can’t help but feel like I’m a death reaper.”

  “And that killing is all I can do.”

  Albo steps slightly closer. I can feel the subtle shift in distance more than I see it.

  “I’m not sure if that’s quite right,” he says, his voice steady in a way that cuts through the wind. “If you were killing that dog, then the dog would have feared you.”

  He gestures vaguely, like he’s holding something invisible.

  “If I walked toward it with a knife, it would have growled and attacked back.”

  “Because by holding a knife, and having hostile intentions, I would be giving clear signs that I was there to kill the dog, to end its life.”

  The logic is irritatingly simple, but it makes sense.

  “But I saw it walk up to you and y down in front of you.”

  The memory fshes again; its uneven hop, the way it pressed its nose into me, the deliberate curl of its body.

  “It allowed itself to leave this world.”

  “I suppose you see it as killing, but think about it from the other perspective.”

  I don’t answer. I’m not sure I want to think from the other perspective. That would mean trusting something I can’t measure.

  “You might have been the thing that they have been waiting for, an angel to sweep them away into a better afterlife.”

  Angel…

  I don’t know about that. He should know better than anyone that I can’t be compared to an angel; not after what I did all those years ago.

  “And if they feel that way, I don’t see any reason you should feel bummed out about anything.”

  There isn’t a hint of sarcasm or exaggeration in his voice or actions.

  “Saving doesn’t necessarily have to mean preserving a life. Sometimes, salvation also means bringing an end to suffering.”

  He lets the thought settle before finishing.

  “Ending a life and ending its suffering are two different things.”

  The wind fills the space between us, but something inside me shifts slightly. It’s not absolution, and it's definitely not forgiveness for myself. Simply, a bit of ease.

  A bright smile spreads across his face as if the seriousness never existed, as if he can’t hold that version of himself for too long.

  I slip my hands into my jacket pockets to stop them from hovering uselessly in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

  “For what?” he asks, surprised that he caught it.

  “For your words of comfort…! And for saving me earlier too.”

  “Oh, I did do that, huh? What’ya think? I was kinda cool, huh.”

  Oookay. There’s his smile and shameless fishing. Stupid grin.

  I roll my eyes and bump my shoulder into his. “You were super cool.”

  “Even though I told you not to get involved with her before, you gotta think a little—what if she stops you from being a Mage Tower Candidate?”

  The phrase lingers in the cold air.

  “I mean yeah, that’d suck, but aren’t you worried that she might sabotage your chances too?” he asks, tilting his head.

  “Not me. I can’t even cast magic anyways. All hopes and dreams of becoming a full-fledged mage are out the window.”

  I say it lightly, but there’s truth embedded in the joke.

  “Oh, then I don’t care either.”

  It’s so casual I almost miss it.

  I turn toward him. “What are you talking about? It’s quite literally what all mages strive for. Isn’t that why you enrolled in the academy?”

  “Nah, I just did it ‘cuz it was fun, and besides, you were attending anyway.”

  The words nd harder than they should.

  “Why’d you enroll then? If you weren’t interested in the Mage Tower?” he shoots back.

  “It’s not like I’m not interested. I just feel like my chances are quite low. They typically only choose really strong mages, right? So by process of elimination, I am OUT.”

  “So what? Well, if you give up on that goal, then I will too. There’s no point in getting shipped out for some trial when my friend isn’t with me.”

  He says it like it’s obvious. Like the decision requires no further analysis.

  For a moment, I genuinely don’t know how to respond.

  Is this guy serious? Is he really about to throw away an opportunity just because he feels like it’ll be boring to be alone?

  Even strangely, he doesn’t ugh it off, ciming that what he said was a joke.

  He was 100%, completely serious.

  The rest of the walk dissolves into quiet contemption. His words loop in my mind, colliding with every assumption I’ve ever made about him. Even as a child, he always had a goal, hidden beneath recklessness and ughter, but sharp and unwavering.

  What’s his goal, his reason for joining a magic academy, if not the pursuit of further knowledge?

  I enrolled to learn about these stupid eyes, but he doesn’t have an ability like I do. At least, I don’t think so.

  When we step back into the academy, the silence feels heavier than before. Our footsteps echo faintly against the cold, symmetrical walls as we approach the stairwell tucked into the corner.

  This is where we separate, thankfully, the boys' dormitory sits one floor above the girls’.

  I’m not necessarily worried about Albo, but there are definitely some weirdos at this academy. Since I room with others, I absolutely do not want to deal with any of them coming by during the dead hours of the night.

  Maybe Hector had the same thought, since he takes it upon himself to patrol the boys’ wing often.

  We slow on the nding. He gives a small wave, and I return it.

  Just before I descend out of his view, he calls out, “Hey, were you heating up earlier ‘cause of your eye?”

  I half-turn, resting my right hand against my chin as I think. “I suppose so.”

  “I’m not sure what could have activated it, though.”

  “That’s right. You told me you have to be super calm to use your eye, right?”

  I nod.

  “Strange. We can talk about it a bit more tomorrow then. I was just curious whether or not you were actually sick.”

  I wave once more before heading down the stairs.

  Twisting the key in the lock, I make my way back into my room. The world inside is exactly as I left it. The curtains hang still, the air faintly warm from trapped bodies and old bnkets.

  My roommates are sprawled across their beds in careless shapes, breathing slow and deep, the soft rise and fall of their chests untouched by anything beyond these walls.

  One of them murmurs in her sleep and turns over, pulling the bnket tighter around her shoulders.

  I close the door quietly behind me.

  After a quick change, I slip back into bed, sliding beneath the covers.

  I look out the window behind me, as the knot of tension on my chest slowly loosens.

  Though I felt renewed at the start of the night, as if the cold had carved away the dullness clinging to me, that sensation was nothing more than borrowed strength.

  A temporary illusion.

  Using my abilities always costs something.

  I know that.

  And yet, I pretend every time that this time will be different.

  The exhaustion gathers behind my eyes first, a slow-burning heat that dulls my thoughts and makes the world feel slightly out of focus, as though a thin film has been pced over reality.

  My limbs follow soon after, heavier than they should be, as if gravity has grown curious and decided to test its limits on me alone.

  The ceiling above me begins to blur at the edges, before my vision completely slips into the darkness.

  My body sinks into the mattress, tension unraveling strand by strand. The warmth of the bnkets presses against me, and for once, I don’t resist it.

  My eyelids fall.

  And this time, I don’t force them open again, as I sink into a deep slumber.

  ***

  Even as peace settled over Saya’s mind for the night, the streets of the city told a very different story.

  From the mouth of a dark alleyway, a pair of legs frantically jerked and kicked, the heels of her shoes scraping uselessly against the damp cobblestones.

  Muffled screams, thick with terror, tried to cw their way out onto the main street, but they were swallowed by the shadows.

  “Now, now.”

  A sickening, wet sound echoed as thick, dark mud oozed out from the alley’s depths, spilling across the pavement like a living shadow. The victim was caught in a cruel, suffocating trap.

  Pinned against cold masonry, her body trapped by a massive, pulsing cluster of sludge. Only her nose and wide, frantic eyes peeked through cracked gsses, legs filing helplessly into the night air.

  The books she had been carrying home y scattered in the dirt nearby, their pages soaking up the filth. Ironically, the wall that she found herself pinned to was no other than the library that she worked at.

  She had stayed te, hoping to finish just a few more pages of work, but her ambition had turned into her greatest mistake. The smell of the library’s old paper and ink was now repced by the heavy, iron-scent of the mud, pressing the breath right out of her lungs.

  The mplights cast shadows that twisted into the form of a writhing monster, its teeth as sharp as cws and as rge as a human hand. From the woman’s perspective, the mud seemed to rise on its own, standing on two feet, jaws opening wide enough to swallow her upper body whole.

  “—MMMPHH!” the woman protested, her legs thrashing as she struggled to escape, tears welling in her eyes. Her breathing grew ragged, and her heart seemed to freeze in shock.

  “I like that! I like it when they struggle!”

  “When you struggle it just, ahh, it just pleases me. The squirms, the hope. IT’S ALL SO DELICIOUS!”

  “If you answer a few questions, then I promise not to eat you!”

  The woman tried to nod as best she could, but with her head pressed against the wall and the mud forcing her entire body backward, it was nearly impossible. The mud lodged in her throat was quickly pulled free as the creature spoke to her.

  “When is the new shipment of books coming?”

  Without hesitation, the woman answered, “They arrived yesterday!”

  She merely worked at the library; she had no stake in the future of literature. When it came down to it, she valued her life far more than a few pieces of paper.

  The mud monster smiled, slowly retracting the sludge that had pressed her against the wall. She exhaled in relief and readied herself to sprint, but before her thought could finish, sharp bdes erupted around her waist.

  Her skin tore, organs twisted from their pce, and blood gushed freely. She tried to scream, but her vision went dark, and her cries were once again muffled.

  The monster consumed her as it had intended. While devouring the top half of her body, it extended part of itself into the library, breaking through the window and swallowing as many books as it could.

  After a few seconds, the library had been completely drained of its contents.

  “Not here…”

  “Next up is the academy, I guess.”