Morning came, and Scarlette was already awake.
The red orb still hovered in place, thick yellow mists curling through the air like smoke from a slow-burning fire.
As I rubbed my eyes, I noticed the emerald—floating beside the orb, rotating slowly within the haze.
Something in my gut twisted.
This wasn't right.
"Scarlette," I said, standing. "Do you even understand what you're doing? Manipulating an emerald that can alter reality? That's dangerous."
Her frown deepened, frustration flickering across her face. "What if there's no Light Guardian? No scroll? What if this is the only way to make it work? Don't you think it's faster?"
I stepped closer. "Stop this nonsense. Now."
Silence.
Then, slowly, she turned to face me—her eyes glinting with something unreadable.
And that's when I knew: she wasn't going to stop.
I'd only ever read about this spell in an ancient text—a half-burned page describing magic long buried for good reason. Dangerous. Unstable.
And yet here Scarlette was, wielding it like it was just another tool in her glittery little arsenal.
That was enough for me.
Without hesitation, I summoned a burst of dark mist toward the orb.
It shattered—scattering in a flash of mist and silence.
Scarlette let out a sharp growl. "It's too early for dark magic! Not yet! Now I have to start over." Her voice cracked with frustration. "I'll tell you when I need your help."
She wasn't wrong—I wasn't helping.
But that was the point.
And if my magic was necessary to finish this spell, then I wouldn't give her the chance to try again.
I stepped forward and seized the Baltimorean Emerald. It was heavier than I expected, thrumming with restrained power.
Scarlette's expression shifted, darkened, like she'd just glimpsed something dangerous in me.
"Veravos… come on," she said, softer now. "You know this is our failsafe. It's faster."
"But at what cost?" I snapped.
Her gaze flickered—uncertain for the briefest moment.
Then she reached for me.
I didn't wait.
I turned and walked out of the room.
She wouldn't manipulate it. Not again.
I stepped into the kitchen, the warm scent of soup catching me off guard.It dulled my anger for a heartbeat.
Lumera had been a good host—kind, warm, hospitable, and patient. Something I hadn't experienced in a long time.
But the pot on the stove bubbled unattended. The windows and doors were open wide. And the house was silent.
Something was wrong.
I switched off the flame, a creeping unease settling in my bones.
Then I saw it—glitter, floating through the air like fractured stardust. A faint, musty scent followed, clinging to the walls and curling in my lungs.
"Lumera?" I called. No response.
I turned toward the hallway. "Scarlette?"
She must've sensed it too. She burst out of the room and knocked on Lumera's door.
Nothing.
Slowly, she pushed it open. A thick, golden mist spilled out, swallowing the air like a living thing.
My stomach dropped.
Lumera lay on the floor.
Or rather—what was left of her.
Her body dissolved before my eyes, turning into fine yellow dust.
Scarlette staggered back. "Ver… Lumera… Let's save her." Her voice cracked, fragile beneath desperation.
She reached for the emerald.
I stopped her.
"Scarlette, Lumera is dead."The words dropped like stone.
Scarlette turned to me, eyes wild with disbelief. "What happened?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The room was wrong. Shadows bent in unnatural ways. Deep claw marks slashed across the walls, etched with lingering traces of twisted magic.
Whatever had done this… it hadn't been quick. Or kind.
Scarlette's voice cut through the silence. "We can save her. My magic—I can manipulate the emerald again."
She stood.
Reached for it.
I froze.
Because the yellow mists were moving—drifting from Lumera's remains, flowing like smoke back toward our room.
Where a new red orb hovered.
Of course she had started again.
That wasn't natural.
My gut clenched.
And before I could stop myself, I said it.
"Your spell… you did this."
The words sliced the air—sharper than I meant, crueler than I realized.
Even as I said them, I knew they were wrong.
The scene didn't match Scarlette's magic. This was darker. Wilder. Controlled by no one.
I had watched her for weeks before approaching her. Learned her quirks. Her recklessness. Her impossible logic. She wasn't a murderer.
But the damage was done.
Her eyes flickered—hurt, disbelief, anger. It all swirled too quickly to read.
"Your trust in me is underwhelming," she muttered. Her voice was low, but it hit like a blade.
Guilt crawled up my throat.
"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," I said quietly, stepping forward.
But she shook her head, looking past me.
She didn't meet my gaze.
I wasn't sure she heard me.
I stepped into Lumera's room, every footstep slow, heavy.
No sign of struggle. Whoever had done this had been swift. Precise.
Tiny golden specks glowed faintly across the floor like fallen embers.
I crouched, brushing my fingers through the dust. It clung to my skin like pollen—soft, eerie, unnatural.
I looked up at the walls.
Claw marks. Dark Fairy magic.
"No, Scarlette…" I whispered. "This wasn't you. This is Dark Fairy work."
Silence.
I turned.
She was gone.
"Scarlette?" I called, stepping into the hallway. Empty.
"Scarlette!" My voice echoed. Still nothing.
The red orb—gone.
I exhaled slowly.
She left.
Well done, Veravos.
I stood frozen in the aftermath. Lumera was gone. And I'd accused the only person who might've helped me understand what was going on.
Scarlette had every right to walk away.
The emerald still lay heavy in my palm. Cold. Pulsing with quiet, restrained force.
Usually, being alone felt like a burden I had no choice but to carry.
But now... it just felt empty.
Still, something wasn't right. The shadows in that room didn't just speak of tragedy. They whispered of something hunting.
And I needed to find out who.