Chapter 45 Avilyna
Avilyna
THE SMARTER CHOICE
Vanessa needs an official diagnosis to be admitted to the Institute, paperwork, procedures, and all that. Whatever people who like to follow rules say. So after the meeting with the powerful elite in this corner of the world, the boys head off to their classes, and the rest of us follow Sakura.
As we walk, it suddenly strikes me. Our little medic did me a huge favour by hiding what I truly am, listing me as a potential witch rather than exposing everything. Sometimes survival means knowing which truths to keep close, and this time I got lucky.
I’m beginning to think hospitals are universally depressing.
Maybe it’s an unwritten law. I can’t stop thinking about it as I watch my dad lying in his cylinder—silent, still, and unresponsive.
At least here, white walls aren’t mandatory.
The place feels more like a monastery, a space where people come to consult a healer, with incense smoke curling through the air.
The healers light it once a week to maintain the enchantments, but still, fear coils in my gut.
There’s no guarantee the enchantments will hold forever.
This condition is so new that no one really knows how it’ll evolve.
Aunt Ruby has been absent since our last conversation.
I know she’s been sent away to work on other cases.
Experimenting with fellow alchemists to find a solution, but she promised to answer my calls.
I kept trying for a while before finally giving up and asking Sakura for answers.
That, too, was unproductive; she had no news.
Too busy guiding the other students, being the most experienced among them.
It makes sense, I guess. Sakura has followed her parents since she was a child, imitating her mother’s craft, healing soldiers on the battlefield.
It’s the only inheritance her mom left her.
Not many healers stay in Kallahan. It’s simply more profitable to go where the rich are, and they’re definitely not hiding out in the world’s most remote corners.
I’ve come to realize that, no matter where you are, power breeds greed and those who suffer remain its victims. Compassion becomes a luxury when there’s no one willing to pay for it.
In the end, healing follows wealth, not need.
Vanessa’s room is located off the opposite staircase from mine. There are more rooms upstairs, but those belong to the past. Where Wyll and his family once slept, a long time ago. It was the only place I was ever allowed to have sleepovers.
Somehow, memories start to resurface; staying up until the birds were singing, playing dress-up with their mother’s old gowns.
Vintage silks and satins pulled from a dusty trunk that probably hadn’t been opened in decades.
It smelled of lavender and something older, ghosts woven into the fabric of the past. Those nights blur now, soft echoes from a time I’m not sure I lived or dreamed of, like the faded pages of a picture book.
No wonder the house feels alive, as if it’s watching, whispering pieces of the past to anyone willing to listen.
This place isn’t just wood and stone; it hums with something older.
Portraits blink when you’re not looking.
Sometimes, the air wraps around your ankles, reminding you that you’re not alone here.
As weird as it may sound, I find it comforting.
Every room in the manor follows the same pattern, but where mine burns ruby, Vanessa’s is wrapped in deep amethysts.
As if the house already knows us, even before we leave any trace of our souls in its margins.
Sitting on her bed, a vinyl spins on the record player, drifting soft, melancholic music through the room, curling around the slow trail of smoke from my joint.
Vanessa is knee-deep in the closet, making whatever modifications she judges necessary.
Both of us have our hair tucked into silk bonnets, my rituals slowly becoming hers.
She pulls out tight leather pants and a pair of high platform boots.
At five foot nine, Van’s already tall, but she never lets that stop her from wearing whatever the hell she wants.
Prepping her uniform for the days ahead, I’m not even surprised she picked the Legion.
There’s always been a fight coiling in her spine, waiting.
She slips on a sleek, breathable black mask, then casually plucks the joint from my fingers and does a small twirl on her way back to the pile of clothes.
Guided by the rhythm of classical music.
Being a witch means your power is tied to your voice, every spell an incantation, every curse a breath away. Other wielders can afford to show their faces; they have other options. But witches don’t get that luxury. It’s mandated to hide any weakness in Elgar, but even more so in Kallahan.
“You seem to have acclimated pretty easily to the whole magic thing.”
Vanessa takes a long drag, holding it in before answering, “Magic’s just another way to make the world more interestingly miserable.
” She exhales slowly, steadily, her eyes fixed on some invisible point.
A smirk tugs at her lips, but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
“I’d rather be miserable with a little power than live every day completely powerless.
And the people here? They’re not so bad…
” But her expression tightens into a sharp frown.
“Except for that General. What’s up with his ass?
He actually made me feel bad for your stupid man. ”
The anger rises fast before I can stop it.
Not the kind that flares and fades, this one burns steadily.
How dare he treat the last living member of his bloodline as if he’s nothing more than vermin?
Van and I know that feeling well. Being overlooked, dismissed, deemed less.
Different lives, same ache, the kind that carves itself into your bones.
It’s not just anger, it's hunger. A sharp craving to see justice, to see blood on that pristine white marble, staining the silence they’ve all learned to weaponize.
“Oh, it makes you angry. Definitely the smarter choice.” Vanessa’s lips curl into a dark smile, her blue eyes sharp. “So… What do we do?”
I exhale, “I know he’d hate pity, and he won’t want my rage. So I’m holding back, for now. Also, he fucking poisoned you.”
“Well, my proposal to set him on fire still stands.”
I just grunt.
“Anyway, it’s not-so-terrible of a situation, stuck with your best friend. That’s a win, if you ask me. We’re in this for life, Rey.” Van continues.
Rey, I’ve carried that name for years, but it never felt whole, as if it was never truly mine. An identity stitched together from shadows and half-truths, and that’s because I am also a Morween. Daughter of Queen Camyla Eilgolor and King Loras Morween, the rulers of Kallahan.
But really, the truth is a tangled mess. I may not be a Rey by blood, but my father bore that name and all the weight it carries. For ten years, that fragile shard of my past was all I had. And for a while, it was enough to survive.
“Morween Rey.”
Vanessa’s smile breaks through, warm and real, a rare, genuine one.“You’re stuck with me for life now, Morween Rey.” Her words anchor me, a promise of certainty in a world that keeps shifting beneath my feet.
Sensei Sato doesn’t give two shits that we were attacked, or that we recruited a new student the night before, so we thought a day to ourselves was well deserved.
We had lessons, not missions or patrols, so that meant no excuses.
Which translated into endless, merciless drills.
And lucky me, Vanessa gets to suffer right alongside me.
Judging by the red of her face, she’s not exactly thrilled about it, can’t say I blame her.
By the time I hit my hundredth push-up, I’m pretty sure someone sawed my arms off.
I can’t feel them anymore; the tingling is just a ghost of where my limbs used to be.
But the nightmare doesn’t end there. We repeat the motion with a hundred sit-ups, then squats and just when my body is ready to give its testimony, Sensei sends us off on a casual five-kilometre run.
Welcome to hell, Sato style.
Huffing and puffing, hands braced on our knees, Vanessa mutters dryly, “If Sakura survived this, she’s either a sadist or a God, possibly both. Honestly? I’m now scared of her.” I glance her way, half-smirking.
“If we keep talking, I’m gonna throw up, so suck it up, we’re not dying this lamely.” Then I straighten my shoulders as if it’s just another Tuesday, and we start running again. What choice do we have, really?
The other students left hours ago. Sweat-soaked curls frame my face as I spot Sensei walking toward us. We stand as quickly as we can with trembling limbs, our laboured breaths desperate to even out.
“I heard about your father, Miss Rey. I’m truly sorry. It’s never easy to see those we care about, not… themselves.” He hands us each a towel, and we thank him quietly; his gaze focuses on Vanessa.
“Well done, Cadet Hawthorne. It is an honour to have such promising students. You are dismissed for today, and as a reward for your dedication, you may rest tomorrow. Use the time wisely to deepen your mastery of Kvirr.” The irony isn’t lost on us.
Vanessa glances at me, silently asking if she should stay.
I offer her a reassuring smile before she nods.
“Thank you, Sensei. Lyna, see you at home.”
Once we’re alone, Sensei Sato asks me, his voice calm but carrying through the training room, “Have you found your calling yet, young cadet?” His question stops me mid-step. I’d completely forgotten about that.
What was it again?
That, when I find my calling, he will take charge of my training. But what does that even mean?
With the knowledge I’ve gained in recent weeks, I see it from new angles. And I can’t help but be on guard.
A calling, does that mean who I am?
Or what am I?
Or the prophecy?
“Maybe,” I answer hesitantly.
Trusting an adult with all this feels, is alluring like a breath of fresh air.
Someone who might actually guide me, even if deep down I think no one really knows what they’re doing.
A small smile tugs at Kazuki Sato’s lips, but it’s the way his eyes brighten with hope that roots me in place, my guard lowering just a fraction.
“If you truly are your mother’s daughter, then you’ve already found the old temple.
The one hidden, opening only with invitation.
There, she left a gift for you, one that needs control and precision.
So we’ll train. We’ll prepare, because the day you’ll need it is coming.
” His last words fall barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might summon the Gods themselves.
“So you knew,” I say, my voice echoing oddly loud in the empty gymnasium.
“Ah, but the ocean of knowledge is vast, and we are mere swimmers at its edge. Keep your secrets close until someone proves themselves worthy of them.” Sensei Sato replies. He moves toward the back door without a glance, and I follow, confused.
The door creaks open to a small storage room cluttered with training gear. In the shadows, runes are etched into the stone, familiar runes, and suddenly, it clicks. Kazuki Sato wants me to unlock the temple door, but why?
“If you want me to unlock it, you’ll have to take a truth serum,” I say, my back straightening, testing his reaction. Slowly, I reach for a staff with a blade resting in a nearby barrel. But a genuine laugh escapes him, startling me, cutting through the tension.
“I can’t do that. Some truths are better left hidden. But don’t worry, Miss Rey, or should I say, Miss Morween, I have an invitation.” With a swift motion, he slices his palm and presses it against the wall. Power flares as the runes ignite under the spell, and the door swings open.
“It’s Morween Rey.”
“After you, Miss Morween Rey.”