Chapter Twenty-Six #2
One shot too close to the rim of a cauldron and sparked sharply before veering away again. Another zipped straight toward me, circling in tight, anxious loops.
“Easy,” I said softly, stepping forward.
The heat in the room intensified.
It wasn’t just the flare of open flame. It felt more like pressure building inside the magic itself.
The surfaces of the cauldrons rippled faintly, as if something beneath them had begun to stir.
My birthmark flared so sharply that I had to brace a hand against the stone to steady myself.
That was when I saw it.
At first, I thought it might be a tear in the Ward or the beginning of a breach. But the longer I looked, the clearer it became that it was something else entirely.
A thread of magic, so fine it was nearly invisible, ran from the lip of one cauldron down into the seam of the Flame Ward.
Someone wasn’t attacking from the outside.
They were drawing power from within. They were attempting to collect memories.
The pull was slow and deliberate, careful enough that it might have gone unnoticed if the Academy were still half-asleep.
But now that it was fully awake, it could feel the drain.
And so could I.
The sprites moved faster now, their agitation rising as they circled the cauldrons. One clipped my shoulder in a brief burst of heat and panic before darting away again.
“I see it,” I whispered.
The thin thread of magic flickered, almost like it had noticed my attention, but then it pulled harder.
The glow of the nearest cauldron dimmed just enough to be noticeable, and my birthmark burned in response.
“Not today,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
The memory forge didn’t withdraw. If anything, it tightened, the pull growing sharper as though whoever controlled it had felt my interference.
My pulse hammered in my ears, and for a single, chilling moment, I had the distinct sense that the Priestess knew exactly what I was doing.
Somewhere, she was smiling.
The cauldron pulsed again.
I kept one hand on the rim of the cauldron and forced myself to think past the immediate problem.
The Priestess had brushed my thoughts too easily earlier. If the Academy’s awakening made its magic shine bright enough to draw her attention, then every open door in my mind was a risk.
I couldn’t leave everything sitting where she might reach it.
The idea settled in slowly, heavy but unavoidable.
She didn’t need to tear through my mind to win. All she needed was a crack—one moment where fear or doubt slipped in, and something important spilled through.
And there were things I would never let her touch.
Celeste’s first laugh in the kitchen was when she was small enough to stand on a chair and insisted on stirring the batter herself.
The way her hair fell across her cheek when she stayed up too late reading as a teenager and hid under the covers.
The stubborn lift of her chin whenever she pretended she wasn’t scared or didn’t need help.
Those memories couldn’t become weapons. They needed to remain as my anchors.
And if the Priestess ever reached far enough into my thoughts to twist them or turn them against me…
I pushed the idea away. I wasn’t willing to risk that.
A flicker of warmth brushed the back of my hand, and I looked down.
One of the smaller flame sprites hovered there, its ember-bright eyes fixed on me with surprising focus. Unlike the others, it wasn’t darting around the chamber. It simply watched.
“You can’t possibly know what I’m thinking,” I murmured.
The sprite tilted its head, drifted closer, and reached out, placing its tiny hand against my fingers.
The touch didn’t feel like heat.
It felt like light.
Something moved through me and became startlingly clear.
My thoughts didn’t disappear. They simply shifted. The sharp edge of panic eased, and the tight knot of fear loosened enough for something steadier to take its place.
Hope.
It wasn’t the blind and reckless kind that pretends everything will work out. It was just the quiet certainty that I wasn’t facing this alone.
For a moment, my mind felt lighter, like something fragile had been lifted out of reach and set somewhere safe.
The sprite’s glow brightened briefly, then faded back to its normal flicker.
The feeling passed with it.
The chamber settled back into focus with the cauldrons, the rising heat, and the thin thread of magic still pulling at the seam of the Flame Ward.
The sprite released my hand and darted toward a smaller cauldron that sat half in shadow. It rested a little apart from the others, as though it had always been meant for quieter work.
The sprite hovered above it for a moment before dipping inside.
The surface of the cauldron shimmered once and then went still.
A quiet understanding settled over me.
The memory cauldrons didn’t just hold echoes of spells and memories. They protected the intention behind them.
I didn’t need to look inside to know what the sprite had placed there.
Celeste’s laugh in the kitchen.
Her stubborn courage.
The way she hugged me too tightly before running off to school.
Safe.
Not gone—just out of reach from the Priestess.
Those moments weren’t surrendered forever.
They were simply held somewhere the Priestess couldn’t reach without disturbing something far older than her ambition.
I let out a slow breath.
Whatever she wanted from me, she wasn’t getting that.
A flame sprite streaked past my shoulder, leaving a thin trail of warmth across my sleeve before circling back in agitation. Its tiny form crackled in protest, emitting a high, chittering sound that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
I turned back toward the cauldron.
The thin thread of magic shivered.
For a heartbeat, it hung there, perfectly still.
Then it pulled harder.
The nearest cauldron dimmed another shade, and the seam of the Flame Ward groaned like something under strain.
The sound was slow and deliberate.
Whoever held the other end had just realized I was here.
And they weren’t letting go.