Thick stone walls, artifact seals on the doors. The magic presses on the air. The teachers sit behind a long, curved table: adults, powerful, respected—each with their own story, name, and authority.
And every single one of them is silent.
The first words cut through the air like a dry thunderclap.
– We have to admit: what happened doesn't match any registered model, – says the woman in black, the Convergence teacher. – It wasn't a surge. It was a response.
– To a threat, – adds the combat instructor. – Protection. Instinct.
– Or some other instinct, – snaps one of the oldest. His eyes flash amber, almost beastlike. – We still haven't found the source. No ritual traces, no seals, no lineage. But her aura… it's foreign. Not corrupted—separate. Not ours.
– Are you suggesting… a parasite? – a voice slices through, cold as a knife.
– No. A guest.
– Or a remnant.
Silence falls.
The Headmaster sits in the center, motionless except for his fingers tapping on the ancient wood.
– Not "who is she," – he says quietly, – but what do we do now?
– Isolate?
– Expel?
– Erase?
– Or… – someone breathes, – try to guide her.
No one speaks for a moment.
– If we don't decide who's in charge of her development now, tomorrow could be too late. She could run… or break.
– Or kill someone.
– Or save someone, – rasps the quietest teacher. – That's an option too, isn't it?
The Headmaster stands.
– She stays. Under observation. But not in isolation. Find a way to reach her. Through a student, a mentor—someone who can get through. Because if she shuts down completely…
He sweeps his gaze around the room. Everyone knows: they're not afraid of the girl. They're afraid of what might wake inside her. The meeting ends. A silence spell seals the doors, and above the academy, a single alien star flares in the sky.
—
She burst into her room, slammed the door, pressed her back against it. Her heart hammered in her throat, knees shaking, breath short and ragged. Panic crashed over her—not right away. At first, she just stood there. Then slid slowly to the floor.
Her hands were covered in dirt, grass—maybe someone else's blood. Not hers. Or maybe it didn't matter anymore. It was all rage. Heat. Light. A pulse that thudded not in her veins, but in the air around her.
Aya stared at the walls and saw herself—not a reflection, but there, inside. Like watching a stranger. The one who screamed, hit, dragged—who could have, if she hadn't… stopped.
Just a little more, and Levana would've been gone. Like she'd never existed. Like dust. Like a mistake.
I could have killed her. The thought didn't come right away, but it stayed.
Aya stood. Silent. Undressed, went to the shower. Hot water beat down, but her body didn't react—not to pain, not to relief. She stood until it turned cold.
She came back, wrapped herself in a towel, stood at the mirror. Didn't look away.
The reflection looked back. Steady. No fear. No shaking. No "what if." Calm. Alien?
Aya lifted her shirt, slowly. Checked her side, her ribs. Where the pain used to throb, where scars would bloom after every surge—her skin was smooth, clean. No mark. No scar. No memory. As if her body had decided to forget.
– Who am I? – she breathed.
No answer.
A knock at the door. Sharp, precise. She turned her head… but the reflection didn't.
It still stared right at her.
Kayden stood by the window, leaning against the cold frame. Arms crossed. Staring into the courtyard, where the weak light barely touched the stones.
He didn't move, but his thoughts raced, wild and out of control. She can't control her power, but she doesn't want to hurt anyone. Instinct? Or is it in her blood now?
He clenched his fingers tighter. Why does this feel familiar?
He paced along the wall, slow. Sat down at one of the empty tables, pristine as an archive. Ran his hand along the edge. All of it painfully familiar. Like years ago, when…
He exhaled, almost soundless.
– Back then, I couldn't. Didn't find the words. Missed the signs. And… lost her.
He looked down.
– She still has a chance. If someone's there before she shuts down.
He sat, careful, like settling next to a memory. His eyes landed on the list—her name. Aya Li. Strange. Sharp. Alive. Dangerous. He traced the letters with a finger. Quietly said:
– And what if you're stronger than she ever was?
Resolve lit his eyes—not duty, not orders. Just the need to finally get it right.
Late night. Girls' wing corridor. Quiet as a chapel. Kayden stood by door 217. Knocked.
No answer. Only a soft voice inside:
– If it's someone from the commission, I'm not opening. Not yet.
– It's me, – he said evenly. – Kayden. I need to talk.
The door cracked open. Aya stood barefoot in one of the standard black T-shirts and loose pants. Hair a mess. Not a trace of sleep in her eyes.
– So what now? Arrest? Lecture? Some frozen-in-time guidance from our emotionally stunted mentor?
– Neither, – he said. – I came to check on you.
He glanced at her hands, expecting to see cuts, claw marks, anything from what happened in the courtyard.
But there was nothing. Not a scratch.
Clean skin. As if reality itself was healing around her. Unnatural. Silent. Ominous.
– You heal quickly, – he noted, glancing at her arms.
She turned away, muttering over her shoulder:
– Come in, if you're here.
Kayden entered, careful, as if crossing some invisible threshold.
The room was dim. The windowsill cluttered with books, a mug with leftover cocoa, a notebook missing a page. The air smelled of dust, static, and faintly of ash.
– I know this isn't easy for you, – he began.
– Oh, especially when you snap in public and everyone looks at you like you're an exhibit. "Aya, the problem child. Three surges a week, possibly a god." No photos, please.
He paused.
– I'm not here for a report.
She shot him a sharp look:
– Then why are you here?
He didn't answer right away. Just perched on the edge of her desk, fingers locked.
– There was a girl, two years back. I know what I'm talking about because I saw how it starts—when something wakes inside and you don't know if it's yours or someone else's. When you're afraid you'll hurt someone. When you're just waiting for people to call you a monster.— He looked up.— And because once, I was too late to save…
Silence.
Aya stepped closer, anger boiling with every word. Not at him—at everything. At how he spoke, like he understood, diagnosing, comparing.
– I'm not her, – she snapped. – Stop projecting. I'm. Not. Her.
He didn't get defensive or irritated. Just met her gaze.
– Good, – he said quietly. – Because you're still here.
Silence.
He stood, went to the door. But paused at the handle.
– If you ever decide not to carry this alone… I'll be here.
She didn't answer. Didn't nod, didn't turn away. Just stood there. And in her chest, it thudded: "still here…"
The night was too quiet—the kind where even thoughts sound too loud.
Aya lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, hoping for answers. The pillow was too hard, the blanket too heavy, her own breath foreign. Inside, everything felt burned out, but somewhere under her ribs, the last bit of heat still smoldered.
The room was half-dark, her phone screen blinking now and then—reminding her: you're not alone. You're just quiet.
She was about to turn everything off when a message arrived.
[00:47] New message from: Mirael 🐦
________________________________________
[00:42] Mirael
Hey. You awake?..
[00:43] Aya
Not sure I'd call this "awake."
What's up?
[00:43] Mirael
Just…
Are you okay?..
[00:44] Aya
Physically, yes.
Mentally—ask the stars.
[00:45] Mirael
I saw… how you went at her.
I'm NOT judging! Just…
You looked like a storm. Beautiful, deadly, and honestly, wow, but…
[00:45] Aya
But?
[00:46] Mirael
I got scared.
Not of you. Of you ending up alone again after this.
People here love to stick labels, especially on anyone who doesn't fit.
[00:47] Aya
I was born for those labels.
[00:47] Mirael
And I'm…
I'm sorry I couldn't… actually stand up for you.
I wanted to. But when they turned on me—my brain just shut down.
[00:48] Aya
Mira.
You're the first person who's ever even tried.
[00:48] Mirael
But I cried! Right there! I'm a Garuda, damn it. I'm not supposed to be like that!
— Close your beak, chick — Pff.
I almost did—tears everywhere. I'm like a baby bird with rhinestone claws.
[00:49] Aya
But you didn't break.
So your beak's pretty strong.
[00:49] Mirael
…Is that a compliment?
Because it sounds like nonsense 😭
[00:50] Aya
It's a compliment.
You're awesome, Mira. Even if you're quiet, scared, and never know what to say.
You stayed.
[00:50] Mirael
😶
Then just know: I'm always here for you.
If I have to, I'll even punch someone.
Probably. Maybe. A little.
Like, with a finger. In the air.
[00:51] Aya
Deal 😄
Sleep, chick. Tomorrow the academy will finish us off again.
[00:51] Mirael
Yeah…
Aya?
[00:52] Aya
M?
[00:52] Mirael
You're really not alone.
Don't ever think you'll have to be alone again.
[00:53] Aya
…
Thanks.
Goodnight, Mira.
[00:53] Mirael
Sweet nightmares~
(that's all we get around here 😌)
After everything that happened, Aya's life didn't stop. To her surprise, it just… went on. Not easily, not right away—but as if the world decided: "You're not done yet." And she had no choice but to keep going.