A Child Beyond Fate’s Design
Looking back, I recall how displaced we felt. The
dormitory was grand—larger than the orphanage, certainly—but it never welcomed
us. Not truly. We were village girls adrift in a city steeped in magic, lost
beneath the towering spires of Avinnois—the Magistrate’s capital, the heart of
the Magical Academy.
The air carried a weight of ink and parchment,
laced with the lingering traces of burnt herbs, remnants of failed
enchantments. Candlelight wavered along the stone walls, golden and soft, yet
it cast no true shadows. There was something unnatural in its stillness,
something unseen but deliberate.
I had noticed it then, that quiet anomaly. And
when I looked closer, I understood.
The candles were more than they seemed. Their
holders bore runes—three interwoven pentagrams bound within a single magic
circle, etched with a precision that spoke of mastery. Holy, light, and life
magic intertwined in delicate harmony. Subtle. Intentional. A silent testament
to the power that wove itself into the very bones of this place.
And yet, for all its wonder, the Academy remained
a world apart. Enchanting, yes—but never ours.
"I see..." the dragon murmurs, its
voice a rolling thunder in the hush of the void. "They were warding off
evil spirits."
"Yes..." I reply, folding my arms.
"A dormitory teeming with magic-infused virgins is an irresistible
lure—prime territory for entities prowling in search of a vessel."
A deep, resonant chuckle rumbles from the
dragon's chest, reverberating through the air like distant echoes in a cavern.
"Ah... how very true."
Our room had been small, but it was
ours—a fragile sanctuary, if one could ignore the occasional book drifting
weightlessly through the air or the stubborn blue flames flickering in my
makeshift laboratory.
I remember hunching over a cluttered table,
fingers smudged with charcoal, tracing arcane symbols onto scraps of parchment.
Bottles of diluted aether, enchanted quills, a rusted pocket watch—each
artifact arranged with meticulous care, each theory scrawled in the fevered
script of discovery.
Selene had lain on her bed, orange hair spilling
across the pillow, ears flicking at every sound, tail curling and uncurling in
time with the candle’s restless flame. She had been so small then—watching,
waiting. I often wondered if, in her quiet way, she saw me as her whole world,
unaware of the obsession that consumed me.
But whether she knew or not had never mattered.
I had been determined to understand.
It had pained me. I knew it was wrong—the memory
of her mother, Selena, lingered in my mind, a quiet reproach. But… I had to
know.
I remember gritting my teeth, stealing one last
glance at her before turning back to my notes. My clairvoyance worked on
everyone—everyone except her. She was a void, an absence where fate should have
been inscribed. And that terrified me.
"Hold still," I had murmured, reaching
for another rune-inscribed mana crystal.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Selene had only giggled. She would coo when I
held her too firmly, her tiny fingers curling around mine, or sometimes
suckling absentmindedly on my thumb. In those fragile, tranquil moments, doubt
took root. It stayed my hand, kept me from pushing further. For a time.
But in the end, the hunger for knowledge always
won. The need to understand—to unravel the enigma of her existence—consumed me.
Why did she stand outside fate’s design?
I had to know.
I had been ten, nearly eleven, when Selene came
into my life—a fragile thing with sun-kissed skin and eyes far too green for a
newborn. People whispered, their gazes edged with judgment. An orphan girl
raising an infant? It was unnatural. Reckless. But they didn’t understand.
I... we had no choice.
Every orphan of the Magistrate received a strict
allowance. Selene was too young to take the pledge, so she had none of her own.
Mine covered room and board, my tuition, and the meals I carefully split
between us. Childcare was a luxury I—we—couldn’t afford. And so Selene remained
with me always, bound to my chest by an enchanted harness that made her
weightless, as if she simply drifted before me.
The irony was not lost on me. Fate had woven us
together, inextricable. And yet, fate itself remained beyond my sight.
But we were never truly alone.
Magister Enoux—Professor Enoux to most—had been a
High Elf of rare beauty and an even sharper mind. Where others saw burden, she
saw potential. She understood the nature of my kind, how Wood Elves felt too
much, too deeply. Perhaps that was why she took pity on me.
I had worked as her scribe in the healer’s hall,
copying records in careful strokes by candlelight while Selene slept, swaddled
at my feet. Enoux covered my expenses, ensured we had food, a place to sleep.
I should have been grateful. And I was. But with
my allowance untouched, my needs already met... what was I to do with it?
With security came obsession.
Selene was wrong—an anomaly in a world bound by
rules. My clairvoyance unraveled every truth but hers.
And I would find out why.
The aether-infused doll sat motionless on my
desk, its porcelain face fractured from my last failed attempt. Faint lines of
shimmering blue pulsed through the runes etched into its frame, feeding
hungrily on the magic I had so carefully woven into it. The spell should have
worked. It should have revealed something—anything—about Selene.
But once again, there was nothing.
Looking back... it had been foolish. I had
convinced myself that by infusing the doll with aether and using a mana stone
as a catalyst, I could grasp the very fabric of fate itself.
All I had to show for it was the acrid scent of
burnt parchment and a fire I had barely managed to contain.
I remember clenching my fists, my jaw tightening
as frustration coiled up my spine. My clairvoyance had never failed before. It
had always whispered the secrets of the world to me—glimpses of the future,
hidden truths woven into the present, echoes of a past long buried. Fate was
inscribed into all things, into every reality, even those that would never come
to pass.
And yet, when I turned my sight toward Selene,
there was nothing. Only emptiness. A void where answers should have been.
"Why can't I see her?" I murmured, my
voice scarcely more than a breath. My hands trembled as I reached for another
doll, pressing my magic into it, willing it to show me something—anything.
Still, nothing.
Selene—the great cycle bless her—fragile as she
was, innocent as she was. She cooed softly from her place on the bed, bundled
in the blue blanket Enoux had gifted her. Her green eyes—far too knowing for a
newborn—watched me with quiet patience. She didn’t cry, didn’t fuss. She only
waited, as if trusting that, in time, whatever I was doing would make sense.
I swallowed hard, blinking against the sting of
failure.
It wasn’t just that I couldn’t see her.
Selene had broken my gift.
And if she could shatter something woven into my
very soul... then what was she?