Chapter 30 #2
I scream in frustration, my fury unleashing the magic I’ve always kept so well hidden.
Instead of my usual, delicate control, without purpose or direction, it releases from me like an explosion, a wall of solid air thrown outwards through the room, causing everything not fixed to go flying, including Stryx.
She crashes into the fireplace and lands in a heap, surrounded by an array of books and detritus.
I stand panting heavily, my mind a swirling vortex of fog and confusion.
Achingly slow, it clears as my breathing calms, my Shadow sated and no longer present, and horror slices through me anew as I’m faced with the realisation of what I’ve done.
I launch myself across the room to Stryx, but mercifully she starts to move, shakily sitting up as I reach her. I hold out my hand to her to help her up, but she flinches away from me, a look of panic etched across her paling face.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, please don't hate me…” I trail off as I watch her eyes widen in horror, like she can see something I can’t.
“Octavia,” she says slowly. “How did you do that?”
My brows furrow, confusion replacing my panic. “It’s mortal magic, I think I just released it in its raw form instead of directing it.”
She shakes her head slowly, her eyes searching me from head to toe. “No, Octavia. That is not mortal magic.”
“You’re mistaken. I was taught as a child–”
“Who taught you?” Her voice rings sharp as she gingerly gets to her feet, brushing off the dust from my unexpected explosion.
“My father, I think. He taught me everything I know about magic before he died.”
Stryx takes a deep breath like she’s summoning her courage, before stepping forward and placing a shaking hand on my shoulder. “Your magic has the same resonance I felt from the one who chased us in the Archives.”
I take a moment to process her words, nausea coiling in my stomach as my breathing quickens again. “You’re not suggesting…”
She nods with a grimace, tears pricking at her eyes. “I think it’s the Veyne.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I stare at Stryx in horror, my chest tightening as her words sink in. “You’re not making sense–”
“Yes, I am.” Stryx steps closer, placing both her hands on my shoulders, her amber eyes gleaming in the dim light of our apartment.
“That’s not mortal magic, Octavia. That’s something older.
Wilder. Something you shouldn’t even be capable of wielding.
I can’t believe you’ve managed to survive this long without anyone noticing it. ”
“No—no, that’s—no one can–” I can’t get the words out. Nothing makes sense anymore. Even with my Shadow mercifully absent, I still can’t think straight.
“Yes,” Stryx cuts in, her voice softening but not relenting.
“It’s possible. And you…” She trails off, watching my face crumple as understanding begins to dawn on me.
“You have both bloodlines in you. It explains everything—the way your magic burns through you, the way it defies control. You’ve been trying to use it like a mortal, forcing it into form without the proper incantations.
But the Forbidden Current isn’t meant to be shaped. It just is.”
My breathing quickens, the walls starting to close in around me. “No. No, Stryx, stop. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.”
“Octavia–”
“Stop!” My voice breaks. My hands tremble violently, crackling faintly with unstable magic that starts to shimmer like oil in the air as I lose control of myself. “I can’t—I can’t have that in me—I’d know–”
“Breathe,” Stryx says urgently, stepping forward, but I stumble back, gripping the edge of the desk to steady myself. My vision blurs, my chest heaving.
“I can’t breathe—Gods, Stryx, I can’t–”
I fall to my knees, the usual pain not registering at all as I grapple for my control, but I feel too lost.
“Octavia, look at me,” Stryx commands, falling by my side and grabbing my face, turning my head to look at her. “Look. At. Me.”
Her voice cuts through my panic like a blade, grounding me. But my heart still hammers wildly, my mind spinning with things I can’t understand.
“I don’t want this,” I gasp. “I don’t want any of this.”
Stryx holds me until the tremors begin to ease, though her own expression remains lined with worry.
“You don’t have a choice anymore,” she says quietly.
“You’re burning yourself alive with power you don’t understand.
And if we don’t act now, it’s going to consume you.
This isn’t just a case anymore. I started to suspect a few days ago, but I think this is all linked to the prophecy. ”
“The prophecy?” I breathe, my blood running cold.
“The reason I’m here,” she nods. “I was sent here to find you, to ensure everything carried out as it should, but there are things even I don’t understand. This is far over our heads. We need help.”
My eyes meet hers, raw and desperate. “Then what do we do?”
Stryx hesitates before answering. “We go to Lunoreth.”
I recoil. “No, that’s not possible.”
“Yes.” Stryx’s tone is final. “The Echofae will know how to help you control this. They’re the only ones who can.”
My pulse races, my throat tight with fear. “And if they won’t?” I whisper.
“They will,” Stryx says simply.
She stands and holds her hand out to me to help me up.
I stare at her hand numbly, considering the olive branch she’s offering me.
An immense sense of pressure builds on my shoulders.
I could tell her to leave and never come back, falling back into my old life and stubbornly pretending none of this ever happened.
Or I could risk everything and take her hand, following her into the unknown.
I get an overwhelming feeling that whatever choice I make will determine the course of my fate.
She waits patiently in silence, allowing me the courtesy of taking my time over this choice. My whole life has been a lie. I’m questioning everything and everyone I’ve ever known, and the pain of it is almost too much to bear.
I feel like I’m drowning.
My gaze lifts to hers and I study her carefully.
I should’ve known that her dropping into my life so unexpectedly was not without reason, and I silently curse myself for not prying sooner.
But as I watch my friend's beautiful face, her ears twitching anxiously, her stubbornly bare feet, her almond eyes so welcoming…a lance of pain lashes through me as I imagine what my life would be without her. It’s an unbearable thought.
She’s been the light to my darkness, my anchor in the storm.
If what she says is true, I know I can’t do this alone, and I don’t want to either.
I swallow thickly and steel my features into determination.
Then I take her hand.
“Take me home.”