CELESTE #2
“Anyway,” Ian says, like he didn’t just confess to attempted arson, “do you guys wanna come with us? I want to find something for my mum for Parents’ Week in April. Something that says I’m thriving, not I’m one incident away from expulsion.”
Amelia shrugs—which we’ve all learned by now means “yes.”
Fifteen minutes later we spill out into the cold.
Ink & Ether is a peculiar little bookstore tucked between a florist and a bakery.
Inside, the shelves bow under the weight of obscure arcane tomes, folklore compendiums, and out-of-print novels.
Somewhere in the back, incense burns, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.
The shopkeeper, known only as Madame Romari, is a raven-haired woman with eyes like storm glass. She seems to appear beside you just as you’re reaching for a book—as if she already knows what you were looking for, even when you don’t.
I head toward the elemental theory section, wondering if she carries anything our school library doesn’t. The soft clinking of her bangles gives her presence away before I even see her.
“You’re looking for something,” she says. Her accent is thick and foreign, and it’s not a question.
“Yeah… I mean, yes. Just browsing elemental theory. Maybe something specifically on water magick?”
She peers at me—no, through me, a feeling that’s both eerie and unsettling. “I have something you might like,” she says, then turns, expecting me to follow.
We pass through a beaded curtain that rustles softly behind us as she leads me into what must be her office.
The space is small but brimming with secrets.
A towering bookcase dominates one wall, lined with ancient tomes—cracked leather spines, handwritten titles in dead languages, and symbols I don’t recognize.
Her desk is a chaotic arrangement of half-melted candles, stacked parchment, and arcane instruments.
Crystals glitter faintly beside chipped ceramic bowls filled with sand, salt, and herbs.
She paces to the bookcase and carefully selects a volume. The cover is a faded, blood-red leather, its binding cracked and delicate.
“It looks a hundred years old,” I murmur, almost to myself.
“Older,” she corrects gently, without looking at me.
The title is faint but still legible: Elemental Fusion: The Art and Origin of Convergence.
My heart lurches. Fear and possibility crash together inside me like opposing tides.
I thank her and quickly purchase the book. As I gather my things, she watches me with dark eyes.
“You are sad,” she says quietly. Again, not a question.
I pause.
“He will find his way back to you,” she adds, her voice almost too soft to hear.
I look up, startled—and a little uneasy. “Excuse me, but—”
I’m cut off as Amelia and Ian burst through the curtain, arms full of books.
“Look what I found!” Ian grins, holding up a fire magick text. “It mentions my family. My mum’s going to love it.”
We step out into the crisp air of the main street, bags full of new purchases and sweet treats from the local candy store. The others talk and laugh, but I can’t shake the feeling Madame Romari’s words left behind.
When my squadmates invite me to join them for drinks at the pub, I decline, citing tiredness. Amelia’s green eyes scan my face, missing nothing. “You’re sure?” she asks quietly. I nod, forcing a small smile.
As I head back to my room at the inn alone, the book clutched tightly against my chest, the words echo like a whisper I can’t unhear.
He will find his way back to you.
I wish I could believe her. But the thing about hope is—it hurts just as much as heartbreak when you’ve been holding it too long.
* * *
The inn’s room is tiny but comfortable. Worn plaid comforters in shades of maroon and tan are tucked neatly over two queen beds with dark wood frames, their headboards carved with old-fashioned scrollwork.
A small window seat is nestled beneath a paned window, the seat cushions faded to a soft yellow.
It overlooks the town square and fountain, where strings of lantern lights sway gently in the evening breeze and the sound of chatter from my classmates at the nearby pub drifts up through the glass.
I can hear Rozsen’s teasing voice and Elliot’s answering laughter.
I curl into the window seat, tucking my legs beneath me, and pull the book from my bag. My fingers brush across its worn leather cover, tracing the etched emblem of a diamond within two opposing triangles, creating an eight-pointed star, before I crack it open.
The first recorded case of elemental fusion dates back to 1590, in Trier, Germany.
The mage was an unnamed earth-wielder, a woman later accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake during the infamous Trier witch trials.
Her grimoire, discovered years later in the walls of a monastery, detailed the successful convergence of earth and air magick—its pages ripped, but intact.
I swallow hard and turn the page, heart beating faster.
In 1715, a water Magick named Evric Thalrien reportedly merged water and fire.
The resulting surge destroyed Ormacleit Castle in the Western Isles of Scotland.
No one survived the blast save for Thalrien himself, though he vanished from history not long after.
The castle ruins still stand, blackened stones untouched by moss or time.
The air feels colder all of a sudden, as if the words themselves are drawing energy from the room. I tug the sleeves of my sweater over my hands and keep reading.
Auren Emberlain, a fire-wielder, recorded successful fusion of fire and air in 1893. Her methods remain the cornerstone of what little is known about elemental fusion today, though her notes suggest the process is inherently volatile.
During the first rebellion, in the infamous Battle of Redmere, Serena Thalrien—water Magick, rebel supporter—merged water with an unidentified essence.
Witnesses claim she wiped out over 1,400 soldiers in a single strike, sparing only the rebels she swore to protect.
She was captured, tried, sentenced… and then vanished after a mysterious break in the prison walls.
Her fusion remains one of the most destructive ever recorded.
Much of what we know of elemental fusion is limited, the greatest known text being from Auren Emberlain herself, describing convergence. Many have tried and failed to recreate the process.
I close the book slowly, my fingers trembling.
So much power. So much destruction. And so little understanding.
A part of me is thrilled at the possibility…
but another part is absolutely terrified.
If what Gavrail and I did as children was really fusion—then I’ve already crossed a line I can’t uncross.