I cracked open the kitchen window to let in fresh air. The house still held the night's chill, but beneath it lingered a musty staleness. The kitchen had gone unused for ages, so, inside the cupboards, I found only remnants of old flour and grain, a handful of nuts, and some beans. I shook a few tin cans and discovered dried herbs, gathered and stored by my mother for tea. There was no actual tea left on the shelves. I filled the kettle with water, traced a fiery circle above the stove, and a small flame flickered to life in the hearth. I set the water to boil.
Once the drink was ready, I stepped onto the porch with my cup. The garden looked wild, overgrown with clumps of weeds. Ivy had crept up the fruit trees, strangling their trunks, and the hedges had lost their shape. Autumn's approach was already in the air. The sun no longer climbed as high as it had weeks before, and even on clear days, its warmth felt weaker. In years past, my mother had tended every plant with devotion, grateful for their leaves, flowers, and fruit. After my parents' deaths, I couldn't bear to stay in their house. That's why I left the city. It was agony to walk through rooms where I'd once talked with my father or cooked beside my mother.
I had to return to the city to attend the memorial evening held at the Academy where my parents had worked, and to settle all the paperwork for the inheritance. After a brief visit, I was planning to retreat back to my forest solitude or, as Olivia called it, my "backwoods hideout", and resume my self-imposed exile from the outside world.
I finished the herbal infusion, watching pensively as clouds gathered overhead, then went back inside to change for the event. My status demanded a proper appearance. After all, Father had been the head of his department. Personally, I had no desire to step back into society or make small talk with near-strangers. I'd learned about the memorial from a formal invitation and had no intention of going until the family solicitor insisted. My presence, he argued, was necessary to maintain appearances and avoid complications with the legal proceedings.
The Academy was located in the heart of the city. To get there from home, one could either take a carriage or board the tram, whose tracks ran close to the estates of Academy members. Nearly all the institution's senior staff and professors lived on our street. Tall hedges shielded the gardens from prying eyes, while neat wrought-iron gates marked the paths leading to each scholar's residence. The bushes were already tinged with the first crimson of autumn.
I chose the tram, hoping to avoid drawing attention to my arrival. The weather was pleasant enough for a walk. The stop stood at the end of the street, shaded by a sprawling maple. Two men were murmuring to each other. When I approached, I recognized one as my father's former lab colleague. He noticed me, offered a polite nod, condolences, and a stiff greeting. His companion followed suit. Relief washed over me when, after the obligatory formalities, they returned to their conversation and ignored me entirely.
Soon, the tram arrived, slowing with a whir of gears before halting at the platform. The men gestured for me to board first through the doorless entry, even offering a hand to steady my step. I took a seat by the window, where I could observe the driver in his cabin. Like all city transport, the tram ran on kinetic force –energy channeled by the operator. Through the glass, I watched him move his hands in precise arcs over a panel of glowing alchemical circles. Corresponding sigils pulsed along the wheels and drive mechanisms as he harnessed the power of his crystal to set the machine in motion.
The tram rolled forward at a leisurely pace, its wheels clacking rhythmically against the tracks as I absently watched the city life unfold beyond the window. After my parents' funeral, I'd left the city to sort through my grief, only to realize I had no desire to return to its relentless pulse. As we neared the downtown, the sidewalks grew more crowded, the noise more insistent. Everything was exactly as I remembered: mechanical toys whirred and clattered in the souvenir shop while children laughed; the warm scent of fresh bread wafted from the bakery; café patrons chatted loudly at outdoor tables; a clerk hurried across the street with an armful of papers; two women argued on the corner. Every inch of pavement thrummed with the same frantic energy.
I froze at the Academy's entrance, my hand hovering near the door. For a wild moment, I considered turning back. Then, steeling myself, I took one step, then another, and pushed inside. My stomach twisted in a sickening lurch, as if my heart had missed a beat, followed by a scalding wave of heat that rushed through my veins.
"Good evening, Miss Demare," the guard greeted me. "They're expecting you in the banquet hall. Allow me to escort you."
He stepped out from behind his desk and gestured down the corridor. I knew perfectly well where the banquet hall was, but propriety demanded adherence to protocol. My gaze caught on a notice pinned to the announcement board beside book sale ads and the new academic year's schedule. It read – "Memorial Evening for Those Lost in the Train Derailment". Dozens of lives snuffed out, yet hundreds more would keep bustling through these halls, attending lectures, scribbling notes, as if the world hadn't fractured. My parents were among the victims. Officially, this gathering honored them all, but only Mr. and Mrs. Demare had ties to the Academy, so their names would dominate the whispers tonight. Still, invitations had been extended to every grieving family.
The guard paused before the heavy oak doors and glanced at me sidelong, as if sensing my urge to flee.
"My condolences, Miss Demare."
"Thank you," I forced a smile and stepped inside.
The room beyond the door held far more people than I'd expected. I'd deliberately arrived late to avoid the opening speeches and ceremonies. While this might have made a poor impression on some Academy members, I cared little for their opinions—and could always claim grief as my excuse. Listening to eulogies about my parents' accomplishments was more than I could bear.
The moment I entered the crowded hall, a procession of mourners descended upon me. Each offered condolences for the loss of such brilliant scholars and murmured sympathies. I smiled politely and endured every word. Then the Academy's rector appeared before me, launching into an extensive monologue about my father's work, his achievements, his impact on alchemical sciences, and other accolades. I stopped listening around his third sentence, snatched a wineglass from a passing waiter, and wielded it like a shield between us.
Rector Birnison was a man of advanced years and vast experience, which made his thoughts meander unpredictably, frequently doubling back, repeating fragments. I focused on the bubbles in my glass, nodding occasionally while stealing glances at him. A double brooch with a delicate chain gleamed on his lapel. One half held a dull gray power stone, its setting a masterpiece of craftsmanship with twisted metal tendrils cradling the gem like miniature vines. The other half displayed a dark emerald, flanked by a scattering of tiny blue-tinged crystals.
Rector Birnison finally fell silent, pulled away by another guest. I surfaced from my thoughts with a start and absently thanked him for his kindness. My hope was to slip into some quiet corner and avoid further attention to minimize conversation but the task proved difficult. On my way toward what I thought would be a less crowded hallway, I was intercepted by more well-wishers and their companions, all eager to offer condolences. Two of them were also relatives of the other victims. I listened as they shared fragments of their own grief, how they were coping.
Eventually, I reached the gallery overlooking the inner courtyard. Fewer people lingered here, largely because the waitstaff orbited the main hall, rarely venturing near the gallery's entrance. I had hoped to miss the formal speeches, but no such luck. Rector Birnison called for silence, his voice was amplified by the stone in his brooch and now booming over the murmur of the crowd. He was speaking gravely of an irreplaceable loss to society and science, then began reciting the names of the deceased, briefly noting each person's contributions to the city and the society. Leaning against the wall between the window frames, I half-listened to the old man's droning and studied the faces around me.
After a while, I caught myself fidgeting with the power stone set into my bracelet's pendant. Unlike most of those present, I didn't need a stone to wield transformative forces or trace alchemical circles. Like my parents, I could channel energies directly, without a focusing crystal. But no one could know that. From early childhood, I'd been taught to conceal my abilities. I'd received my power stone at the customary age of six, first set into a simple pendant, later refitted into this silver bracelet by my father's order. To me, it was nothing more than a sentimental gift that was utterly useless in practice. Yet the world had to believe I was no different from the rest.
I knew we weren't rare, those of us who could harness power unaided. We hid to avoid the Inquisition's notice, branded heretics for supposedly practicing forbidden blood rites and drawing strength from chaos entities. Hunted. As Rector Birnison yielded the floor to others eager to eulogize the dead, I caught myself wondering how many in this very room might be like me.
Then I sensed someone approaching from the second hall, where portraits of the deceased were displayed. I hadn't gone in; I couldn't bear to see their faces. Turning, braced for another round of hollow condolences, I startled at the sight of Olivia. She looked uncharacteristically solemn in a fitted emerald gown, her blonde curls pinned high to accentuate the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders.
"Anna, how wonderful we found you!" Olivia exclaimed, pulling me into a firm embrace. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show or, which is worse, that you'd already slipped away unnoticed."
"To be honest, I'm considering that very plan," I admitted with a faint smile. Seeing Olivia lifted my spirits, despite my earlier efforts to sever all ties. She understood me and never judged, never pushed.
"Anna Demare, allow me to introduce my companion," Olivia began in a playfully formal tone, gesturing to the man behind her. "Officer Alexander Kiron of the Inquisition."
Only then did I properly notice the man in the Inquisition's uniform. Conventional wisdom claimed that with a power stone, it was nearly impossible to detect those who didn't truly need one, but I also knew the Inquisition had methods of interrogation neither public nor legal.
I inclined my head politely. Officer Kiron bowed slightly deeper, as etiquette demanded.
"My condolences for your loss," he said.
"Thank you," I replied, noting how his heavy gaze held no trace of actual sympathy.
"Anna, Alexander and I plan to announce our engagement at the end of the month," Olivia said, her voice bright. "I do hope you'll be there for this very important occasion."
I hadn't taken a sip from my glass, luckily . Otherwise, I surely would have choked.
"Engagement?" I repeated, stunned. "How long have you known each other?"
The moment the words left my lips, I realized how tactless they sounded. A quick glance at the officer revealed no change in his impassive expression.
"What I meant is this is quite unexpected," I hurried to add. "I'm very happy for you. Congratulations."
I'd known Olivia for years. Kind, trusting, but never impulsive – that was her. Though my withdrawal might have caused me to miss much, I struggled to believe that in the mere three months since we'd last spoken, she'd found the love of her life. And with this man, no less. A vague unease settled in my chest.
Olivia adored romance novels and melancholy ballads. Dashing suitors had always lined up to court her, beautiful, impeccably bred, with a dowry substantial enough to attract even the highest echelons of society. So why was she standing here with an Inquisitor?
I studied Officer Kiron again. He was noticeably older than Olivia, fine lines at the corners of his pale eyes made their way more prominent. High cheekbones, a straight nose, fair hair. His strong, masculine features were offset by unexpectedly sensual lips. He carried himself with the rigid poise of a military man, every inch the perfect officer.
"Anna, have you seen the portrait exhibit yet?" Olivia asked.
"No. I'm not ready to see their faces."
She nodded in understanding. After an awkward pause, she suggested we return to the main hall where eulogies from friends and family still droned on.
Father had worked closely with the Inquisition, so their officers crowded the event. The moment we reentered the throng of guests, elderly commanders descended to pay respects to the late Demares. Each approach made my spine stiffen. Olivia and her escort stayed nearby, more than once rescuing me from tedious exchanges with emeritus professors. She also filled me in on city gossip during my absence, happily reciting who'd done what with who and how many dull parties I'd missed. After thirty relentless minutes, my focus frayed.
"I believe I've paid sufficient respects," I announced. "I'll find the Rector and take my leave."
"Oh! We should go too," Olivia chimed.
I exhaled. I'd prefer to stay alone at last.
Rector Birnison was conversing with an elderly couple near the exit when I approached. I waited for their conversation to conclude and the pair to depart before stepping forward.
"Rector Birnison, I'm deeply grateful for this evening," I lied, steering us toward farewells.
"The honor was mine," the old man smiled.
"I must take my leave now." I attempted a sorrowful expression.
"Anna, since you're in a hurry, allow me to be direct."
I tensed. Pleasant conversations rarely began this way.
"I'd like to propose that you remain at the Academy and assume your mother's former responsibilities."
The suggestion caught me off guard.
"I'm flattered you value my skills so highly, but I'm afraid I must decline."
Birnison nodded with practiced understanding, paused, then said:
"It must seem terribly tactless of me to ask you to return so soon after everything that's happened."
Return wouldn't have been my word of choice. I'd never been entrenched in the Academy like my parents. I'd fled immediately after graduation. Neither scholarly pursuits nor political machinations had ever held my interest.
"If you ever reconsider and wish to revisit these halls, do let me know," the old man added kindly.
"Of course."
"Well, it was a pleasure seeing you. Until next time."
Olivia and Officer Kiron also bid their farewells to the rector. We left the memorial event behind, walking in silence through the corridors toward the exit. Outside, night had fallen, the air turning crisp and cool. I intended to hire a carriage to return home alone, but Olivia insisted I ride with them. Reluctantly, I agreed.
All vehicles were required to wait in the rear courtyard to avoid blocking the Academy's entrance, so that's where we headed. Several carriages stood parked, though their drivers had likely wandered off to smoke or play cards, given that most guests weren't ready to depart yet.
"I'll fetch our driver," Kiron offered before striding toward a gazebo nestled among the trees at the far end of the courtyard.
Seizing the moment, I turned to Olivia.
"Listen, this might sound harsh, but... are you certain about this man?"
Olivia frowned.
"What do you mean?"
I hesitated.
"Isn't this all too sudden? Why the rush?"
"We suit each other," she retorted, her tone daring me to challenge her further. Arguing with Olivia was always a losing battle, as she always had to have the last word, even when her reasoning made no sense.
"Fine. It's just that I..."
I never finished my sentence.
A sickly green glow flickered at the edge of my vision. I turned and froze. A silhouette stood a few paces away. What might have been its face gaped at us. It was a maw of jagged, countless fangs, voids where eyes should have been. Limbs like twisted human arms and legs bent at too many joints, their movements grotesque. Its surface pulsed with eruptions of emerald light, warping the air around it. Olivia stared, just as horrified.
"That's…" she whispered.
"An etheric," I finished.
We stepped back slowly. The creature lurched toward us with unsettling hesitation.
"Back to the building. Now."
We retreated without turning, keeping it in sight until its sluggishness vanished. It lunged, jaws unhinged, clawed fingers snapping forward. Olivia screamed and bolted. I threw up my hand, a defensive circle flaring to life between us. The etheric slammed into the barrier, recoiled, then struck again. The second impact shoved me backward; the shield flickered.
As it reared for another attack, an alchemical sigil ignited beneath its feet, trapping it in a crackling cage of energy. Kiron emerged from the shadows, his fingers tracing lines across a cera – a metal plate etched with pre-made alchemical templates, strapped to his belt. His pupil-less white eyes gleamed unnaturally in the dark as he wove a second binding circle. The creature thrashed, but the seals held.
"Step back," Kiron ordered.
I hastily moved aside. The air around him vibrated as he performed another series of precise gestures. The trapped creature let out a scream. It was a sound that turned blood to ice. It was nothing human, nothing animal. A piercing, almost ultrasonic wail tore from its gaping maw, quiet, yet it drilled into the skull, bringing nausea and a throbbing ache.
"What's happening?"
"Move farther back unless you want your eardrums damaged," Kiron snapped.
I obeyed, retreating from the horrifying spectacle of the shrieking entity. Two more Inquisitors sprinted past me toward Kiron. By the Academy's heavy doors, curious guests and faculty had gathered in a nervous cluster, none daring to stray far from safety. Olivia pushed through the crowd toward me.
"Are you alright?" she gasped, crushing me in a hug.
"I'm fine. Kiron showed up just in time." I extricated myself.
"Alexander?" Olivia immediately pivoted, straining to see past me. "Is he hurt?"
"He's a trained officer," I replied, irritation sharpening my tone. "I'm sure he's perfectly fine."
The creature's shrill, whistling scream still echoed in my ears when Rector Birnison joined us, having finished issuing orders to his staff. He listened carefully as we recounted what happened, asked if we required medical attention, and after ensuring the safety of the other guests, he headed toward the commotion. The attendees were instructed to return inside, but Olivia and I remained on the steps under the watch of two officers assigned to guard the entrance.
Kiron found us only after the Inquisition had transported the etheric to the fortress – their stronghold for containing such abominations. He insisted Olivia and I return home under escort, assigning a junior lieutenant to accompany us. I wasn't really fond of this idea, but I offered no protest, silently climbing into the carriage after Olivia.