The whole way back, I’m on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but after four days, we stand on the hill overlooking the city and I breathe out out a sign of relief.

  I won’t say it out loud, because that will surely trigger a flag, but I’m now nearly convinced nothing bad will happen. For a wonder, it doesn’t.

  We’re almost to the city gates when Mairi wrinkles her nose, looks at me in disgust and exclaims “Why does it smell so bad? What died here?!”

  I smirk, days out in the wilderness have apparently done wonders for her sense of smell. Some of the people surrounding us—I mark them as city folk by the way they don’t make a face—glance at us in amusement.

  A bushy eyebrowed farmer that’s also in town for one reason or another laughs heartily, before he agrees with Mairi “Ain’t that the truth, ey?”

  Mairi looks at him with indignation, and takes in a breath. The prelude to another helpful retort no doubt. This time, I manage to clap my hand over her mouth before the inevitable outburst.

  “I whife heu…” she tries to say through my hand, as I talk over her and respond to the farmer “Yeah, first time in a long time we’re visiting the city.”

  He nods roughly, and barks a laugh “Better get used to it then!” Then he walks off, dragging the goat that he’s brought after him.

  Thank heavens. I don’t need someone questionining why two people dressed like, well, beggars, are claiming to live in the city. Even most of the people living in the slums don’t look like this. We may have washed our clothes, but the roads have not been kind on them. These kinds of dresses are meant to be covered when you go out, being little more than a long tunic. We’ve basically been abusing them for weeks and it’s… well, it’s visible.

  It occurs to me that we should have stolen new dresses while we were out there. There’s barely any watching eyes in those outlying villages, especially compared to the city. I bite my lip, cursing our missed opportunity. Here we need to somehow sneak them out of the inner city. Damn.

  I tap my forehead with my knuckles, muttering curses at myself before my hand freezes mid-tap. Do I really think that I’m stupid for not having stolen something, because it would have been… easier? I examine my thoughts, and am forced to conclude that, yes, that’s exactly what I feel like. The old me would’ve been horrified, would’ve spent hours fretting over even considering theft. Now? I shrug, already planning to do better next time. Somewhere between stealing food, money and scaling walls for clothes that hang too high, my conscience learned to take a nap. A little voice at the back of my mind reminds me that it’d be inconvenient if I were worried about it every time. The kids need to eat, and dead people don’t have much use for morals.

  I motion Mairi ahead, my lips quirking as I puzzle over my own thoughts. The guards’ eyes slide right past us as we trudge through. The guards stand rigid in their posts, their eyes barely flickering our way—a stark contrast to how they usually ogle the prettier girls passing through. One of them shifts his weight, his hand tightening on his spear as a young woman in a clean dress walks past. His gaze follows her until she disappears into the crowd, but he stays put. I’ve seen this dance before; they look, but never touch. Still, my skin prickles at the thought of walking through here alone after sunset.

  Regardless, Mairi and I have no such issues. Dirty, ugly, mother and child combinations never seem to have problems of that kind. My mind drifts to Rhona, who’d probably turn heads even wrapped in a burlap sack. The way her hips sway when she walks… I catch my reflection in a puddle and grimace. Curves like a fencepost, that’s me.

  I glance at Mairi, but there’s no saying yet how she’ll turn out. Chances are that any issues boys have with her will be more related to her personality than anything else.

  I stifle another laugh, watching Mairi’s determined stride through the crowded street. The thought of this fierce little urchin growing up, maybe turning into some demure young lady—or more likely not—strikes me as absurdly funny. Will she be chasing after boys or girls with the same single-minded intensity she uses to case potential marks? Will she shoot up tall and willowy, or stay compact and fierce? The mental image of her trying to maintain her current tough-girl persona while dealing with teenage crushes nearly sets me off.

  “What’s so funny?” Mairi’s suspicious voice cuts through my musings. She’s stopped walking and turned to face me, hands on her hips in a pose that makes her look an awful lot like Rhona when she’s angry. Her eyes narrow as I try to compose myself, but the way her nose scrunches up in annoyance only makes it harder not to laugh.

  “I… uh…” I sputter, caught between amusement and the sudden realization that I probably shouldn’t share my thoughts about her future romantic life with an eight-year-old. “Nothing! Just… thinking about… things.” I manage lamely, which of course only makes her more suspicious.

  “Things?” Mairi’s eyes narrow further, if that’s even possible. She plants her feet more firmly on the cobblestones, making it clear we’re not going anywhere until she gets a proper answer. A cart laden with vegetables rumbles past, forcing us to step closer to the buildings. The driver shoots us an irritated glance, but Mairi’s attention never wavers from my face. “What kind of things?” she demands, crossing her arms. “You were looking right at me and laughing.”

  I run a hand through my hair, buying time. How do I explain I was imagining her future without sounding condescending? The truth might actually be better—she’d see through a lie in a heartbeat anyway. “I was just thinking about how you might be when you’re older,” I admit carefully. “You know, wondering if you’ll stay as… determined as you are now.” The word ‘determined’ is definitely more diplomatic than ‘stubborn’ or ‘fierce’, though the slight twitch of her mouth suggests she knows exactly what I mean.

  Mairi’s stern expression melts away, replaced by an unexpected brightness that transforms her whole face. “Oh! Well, that’s easy,” she declares, transitioning from being glued to the ground to bouncing slightly on her toes. "I’m going to be like you!”

  Blink.

  I stare at her and I feel my throat tighten unexpectedly. This fierce, clever little girl wants to be like me? I try to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, but it’s no use. My vision blurs, and I have to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

  Mairi’s face falls slightly, uncertain now. “Emma? Did I say something wrong?”

  I shake my head quickly, managing a wobbly smile. “No, no, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just…” I have to pause, collecting myself. “I’m touched that you’d want to be like me.” My voice comes out rougher than intended, and I clear my throat.

  Mairi’s face scrunches up in that particular way she has when she thinks someone is being particularly dense. “Well, that’s silly,” she declares, with all the conviction an eight-year-old can muster. “Who else would I want to be like?” She starts ticking off points on her fingers, as if presenting evidence in court. "You showed up out of nowhere, you keep us fed, you actually help us steal, taught us…” she seems to hesitate here, before making a vague gesture at the chest in the bag “awesome things.”

  At this point she realizes she ran out of fingers on the hand she was using to count, so she balls her remaining fist tightly, “but most importantly, you actually listen when we talk. You don’t treat us like we’re stupid just because we’re kids. Even Iain says so and he rolls his eyes at everyone." Her chin lifts defiantly, brown eyes aflame with certainty, as if she’s daring me to contradict her. “That’s what grown-ups are supposed to be.”

  I stare down at her upturned face, those brown eyes blazing with such unwavering faith it makes me dizzy. Every day I wake up wondering if I’m doing any of this right, fumbling through each decision like a drunk in the dark, yet here stands this fierce little scrap of humanity, who somehow finds something in me worth looking up to.

  I tell myself that she doesn’t have any role models. That the fact she wants to be like me is inevitable, but there’s Rhona, there’s even Eilidh. Of course Mairi’s situation is special, but it’s also not.

  My thoughts are a mess. A happy mess.

  I wrap my arms around her, pressing her close, “Thank you.” I whisper in her ear.

  Mairi lets me, though I can almost feel her thinking that adults—or this particular adult anyway—are weird sometimes.

  Every time I feel sad about the life I’ve lost, every time I think about the family I left behind, I’m sad, sure. I loved them. But… I’m also not, because it meant I found this new family, and this brave little one in particular. Meeting these kids, meeting Mairi, is what saved me when I was at my lowest point.

  If someone were to ask me, right now, whether I would turn back time, and simply continue my old life if I could. I don’t know what I would answer.

  Well… I do. The answer is literally right in front of me. I just feel ashamed to admit it. It feels silly that I’d choose this girl that I’ve known for barely two months over my family back home. But… I know all of them would cheer me on. They’re good people, and I’m inclined to think they’d choose the same. These children need me in a way my family does not.

  I imagine it’d be different if there was anyone waiting for me back there, but… there’s not. I never quite managed to settle down.

  I pull away from Mairi, and a small sigh escapes her lips. My brow furrows as I try to decipher the sound. I tentatively pull her closer again, and she immediately twists like a cat in a bath.

  “No, no, you’ve had enough! No more cuddling!” She shakes her head. Her little arms push against my chest until I release her, watching as she bounces backward, putting a safe distance between us.

  “How long were you going to keep me like that?” she frowns at me. Her head turns sideways to look at the dirt, and she mumbles, “I mean, it was kind of nice.” Then she stills, and her head snaps back up, nose pointed skyward like some merchant’s spoiled daughter. “But enough is enough.”

  I bite back a laugh—did this girl just go all tsundere on me?

  “Alright,” I agree. “Lets get home then.” Mairi bounces forward with a vigorous nod, her small fingers wrapping around my palm without hesitation. I guess hand-holding doesn’t count as cuddling in her carefully drawn rulebook.

  Eventually, we are standing in front of the alley that leads to the hideout. “Ready for a triumphant return?” I ask Mairi. She nods vigorously “I can’t wait for them to try the fruits too.”

  I’ve carefully inspected the fruits every day, and so far they don’t seem to have lost their lustre. I wonder how long we’d be able to keep them. Not that I expect this set to survive our return for very long.

  It occurs to me that we’ve basically walked into this city with the equivalent of a nuclear bomb in our bags. At least as far as reaction from the authorities is concerned. No use crying over spilt milk I suppose.

  Just a moment after we turn the corner that allows people to see us from our cozy hideout, a shout rings out. Calum is the one standing guard right now, and he rushes towards us, his eyes wide with fear. I’m momentarily confused, before he starts babbling in a panic “Eilidh! Why isn’t she here?! What happened to her?!”

  I take an involuntary step back, my mind suddenly blank in the face of Calum’s frantic energy. “I… she…” The words tangle in my throat unable to deal with his sudden panic. My hands unconsiously jump up to hold my nonexistent ponytail, a nervous habit I really aught to leave behind now that I’ve cut it off. Drawing in a shaky breath, I try to find my usual composure, but the responsibility of explaining Eilidh’s absence makes my tongue feel like lead. Mairi presses closer to my side, her presence both comforting and somehow adding to the pressure of the moment.

  Just as I’m struggling to form a coherent explanation, Mairi’s eyes light up. Before I can stop her, she steps forward, puffing up her chest. “Oh! Eilidh’s fine,” she announces with dramatic flair, clearly savoring every word. “She just found herself a boyfriend!”

  The statement hangs in the air for a moment, and I watch as Calum’s face transforms from panic to confusion to something that might be hurt. I want to intervene, to soften the blow somehow, but Mairi’s already warming to her theme. “He’s really old too,” she adds helpfully, “and knows lots about magic!”

  I jerk towards Mairi, the nonsense coming out of her mouth stirring me out of my inaction. “Who in the blazes are you talking about?” I frown. “Ronain’s like 10. What geezer are you talking about?”

  There’s definitely something like relief in Calum’s expression, some marginal relaxation of tension when he hears my words. He does look even more confused though. “So she’s safe?” he blurts out, clearly putting her wellbeing in front of any other concern he might have.

  I hold my hands up, trying to placate him. “Yes. She’s safe. Probably safer than any of us.” I say lowering my voice, trying to lower his panic. At this, Calum finally relaxes. “Thank god, when I didn’t see her turn the corner with you, I thought for sure she must’ve…”

  “No, no, she was perfectly fine the whole trip. Nothing bad happened.” I say. Then I glance at Mairi, before I mutter, more to myself than to Calum, “at least to us.” This little troublemaker really did a number on the village.

  “So what’s this about a boyfriend?” Calum apparently cannot decide whether to address this question to Mairi or me.

  I step in front of her, before she has the chance to say anything more, and try to placate him “There is no boyfriend.” Just as Mairi leans happily around my body and shouts “They kissed!”

  I’m not surprised to find Calum hears only one of these things, and unfortunately it’s not mine. “K-kissed?” He stumbles over the word, completely ignoring me, and looking at Mairi’s face peeking from behind my back in abject terror.

  “Look,” I continue, “There is no boyfriend.”

  Meanwhile, completely ignoring my words, Mairi thinks very hard for a moment, then says, slightly less certain “With their tongue?”

  Calum makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a word, his face cycling through several shades of red. If he weren’t clearly upset, it’d be absolutely hilarious.

  Mairi’s eyes dart between us, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she tries to think of something even more scandalous to add before I shut her down, or Calum’s brain finally catches up to his panic.

  “There is absolutely nothing going on,” I interject firmly, trying to head off whatever new horror she’s conjuring up.

  But Mairi, never one to be silenced, brightens suddenly and pipes up, “Oh! And he gave her something shiny! Like a… like a wedding ring!” The last part comes out in a rush of inspiration.

  This particular detail is one step too far, even for Calum. An exasperated expression forms on his face, as he slaps his palm against his forehead and rubs it. “He proposed they marry? After what, 10 days?” the disbelief is dripping off his words.

  “Like I kept trying to say.” I can’t keep my own exasperation out of my voice, “Nothing happened.”

  My lips twitch as I watch Mairi’s face fall, her previous excitement draining away like water from a broken jug.

  “Aww, and it was going so well too,” she whines, her bottom lip jutting out. Her words trail off into a mutter, “Should have stopped while I was ahead.”

  Then she glances at me with the same patented puppy-dog pout “You are no fun,” she huffs, “But come on, he was definitely making eyes at her.”

  I sigh, “Yes Mairi, but 10 year old boys do that at every pretty girl.” Most of them anyway. “Chances are he never even saw anyone like Eilidh before. Have you seen anyone else with hair like that?”

  “Well…” Calum and Mairi’s voices blend together, their eyes landing on my head. Their matching grins spread across their faces like a pair of cats who’ve found the same mouse. I push the scarf off, not caring for the moment. We’re alone here anyway. I grab a lock of my patchy hair, the strands dark as a raven’s wing. It’s been slowly growing longer again, but the length is still no more than a few centimeters. I thrust it toward them. “This? This is black! Like night! Like coal! Have you both gone blind? Her hair glows like the moon!”

  “It’s unique though.” Calum points out, his earlier anxiety melting away into a teasing smirk.

  “Uhuh,” Mairi nods vigorously, suddenly all too happy to align herself with him.

  I glance between their matching grins, my jaw dropping slightly. When did these two become a united front? The tension from moments ago has evaporated as quickly as morning frost in sunlight.

  “Ugh, lets just go talk to the others.” I mutter. Stepping past them while ignoring their grinning faces. There’s no fixing these kids. A small smile plays on my face as soon as I turn away though. It’s true I don’t talk to them in a patronizing way, but… I keep getting the feeling that’s because I get dragged down to their level instead. What does it say about my maturity that I argue with an 8 year old like we’re equals?

  I glance back at Mairi, who’s following and has already launched into a retelling of everything that happened to Calum. She does somehow see me as a role model though, so I must be doing something right.

  A few minutes later, the all the kids that are there are gathered around in a circle. I carefully pull the little chest out of my sack. I’m really going to need to get a proper backpack at some point. Maybe I can ask Mairi if she knows a good place?

  Calum, Iain, Rhona and the kids have gotten a short assurance from Calum and us that Eilidh is fine, and that being the case, everyone is more interested in the fruits we brought back than what happened to her for the moment. Poor girl.

  I lift the lid, and sapphire waves dance across our faces. The six fruits lie cupped in their hollows, pulsing with the same otherworldly shine they had on the tree. Around me, tiny mouths drop open with soft “ooohs,” and I catch their awestruck expressions turning blue in the glow. Damn, even after seeing them, even eating them so many times, these things still make my hands tremble.

  Six chances at divinity. Not literally, of course, but that’s how these children perceive it. I don’t know where the magic comes from though, it may as well be the gods.

  I slide back as Rhona lurches forward, her hands already reaching. “Can I?” The words tumble from her lips in a rush.

  “Go ahead,” I say, watching her fingers hover over the pulsing light.

  I try to reassure her. “It’s entirely like you said, just normal fruit.” Her eyes dart to mine, one eyebrow raised. I chuckle, “Aside from, you know, the fact they glow with that divine blue light.”

  The moment Rhona’s fingers close around one of the glowing fruits, the spell of hesitation breaks. Small hands reach forward from all directions, eager to touch, to hold, to experience the strange warmth that emanates from within. The blue light dances across their faces, casting otherworldly shadows that make them look like spirits themselves. They pass the fruits between them with a mix of reverence and barely contained excitement, whispering and giggling as the light pulses brighter with each touch.

  Then comes a heart-stopping moment—young Aileen, always a bit too enthusiastic when it doesn’t come to stealing, fumbles her grip as he tries to toss one of the fruits to Aileas. The precious cargo tumbles through the air in slow motion, its glow trailing behind like a falling star. Several gasps pierce the air, but before anyone else can react, Mairi darts forward with near supernatural speed and precision. She slides across the dirty ground on her knees, small hands cupped, and catches the fruit mere inches from disaster. The blue light flares briefly as it settles into her palms, as if relieved at its narrow escape.

  “Careful!” she scolds, cradling the fruit protectively against her chest. Her brown eyes flash with intensity as she glares at Aileen, who shrinks back with an appropriately sheepish expression. “These aren’t turnips to be tossing about!”

  I stare at her in surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak so sharply to one of the younger children.

  Iain looks at the fruit he’s holding. “Could we all just… take a single bite?”

  I see eyes light up at that prospect all around. That way there would be more than enough for everyone. I don’t expect it’ll be so easy though. Mairi only started to feel the effect after nearly finishing her fruit. I can’t really say how it worked for me, given I gobbled up three of the things before I even considered any effects.

  “Only one way to find out.” Rhona looks around at everyone, clearly anxious to take a bite, but needing the nods of permission she gets. If anyone deserves one it’s Rhona. And it’s not like these are the last fruits they’ll see. It’s a pain we need to travel so far, but at least we can get them. Couldn’t we find one of those trees in a forest closer by?

  Before I can think more on that, Rhona takes a large bite from the fruit, its juice splashing everywhere. Right, forgot to tell her that. Mairi has an equally sheepish expression on her face. Rhona looks like a smurf, her face all splashed with glowing blue juice. It takes her all of ten seconds to gobble up the whole thing, leaving her hands and face positively streaming with juice.

  “I… I don’t feel any different,” she says with a tone of worry in her face.

  I’m not worried. Mairi ate quickly too, but it took nearly a minute before Mairi felt anything, so it stands to reason that even if Rhona ate bit faster she’s going to have to wait for a while.

  After roughly a minute, she looks at her hands, in a hilarious imitation of what Mairi did as well. “What… what is happening?” she mutters, the sound of wonder in her voice clear to everyone. Mairi has a shit-eating grin on her face. “The best part comes next,” she enthuses.

  A moment later, Rhona goes silent, and seems to stare off into space. I’m starting to wonder if the same thing happens to everyone. I’m fairly certain there was nothing like this for me. I’ll be the first to admit I was a bit out of it at the time, but not enought to miss whatever this seems to be.

  A moment later Rhona comes back to herself, just like Mairi did before she suddenly decided to tackle me. Happily, Rhona doesn’t have any such urges. There is wonder in her eyes. She tries to speak, but her voice is distorted and hardly understandable. It’s the first time she’s fallen into the time distortion caused by the juice. For a wonder, when she tries to move, she stumbles, and crashes to the ground. It looked really funny to us, but I remember the frustration and fear of seeing the ground slowly coming towards me, while my arms strained like they were digging through molasses to stop myself. I’m sure it was much less fun for her.

  I find myself pleased with the outcome. Somehow I feel like a huge disaster was averted. I’m also happy to see that not everyone seems to be a natural. I’ll actually be able to help Rhona get used to moving while under the time distortion, as opposed to feeling cheated by Mairi just magically know how to do so. It feels slightly unfair, but I find myself hoping the same thing is true for the others.

  We’ll soon find out if it’s all the little brats that magically know how to deal with it, or whether Mairi is just unique.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  About ten minutes later, we have a verdict. Everyone else has just as many issues with movement under the distortion as I did: Iain, Rhona, Calum, the three lucky kids that won the draw. They were all awakened and could hardly move until they figured out how to turn it off.

  Should I call it awakened? I guess, why the hell not. We already have juice. It’s not like our naming scheme can get any worse.

  Anyway, yeah, Mairi is the only to whom moving under time dillation somehow comes naturally. I feel betrayed. Wasn’t I supposed to be the special one? I don’t know why I got transported to a different world just so I can see the rise of the hero, but… Yeah. I guess that feeling is not exactly new, and I should just be satisfied with having found the tree, and being the protagonists adopted mother.

  The lucky little ones are adorable though. It doesn’t matter how often they drop. It doesn’t matter they have no clue what they’re doing. It’s just, drop, stand, reactivate and try again. One of them got the bright idea to try it from atop a barrel, and all the others have followed, I’m half convinced they just enjoy the experience of slowly falling to the floor, and they’re not actually trying to do better. I think it’s ironic that Aileen was one of the ones that got the fruit, given she almost dropped it earlier.

  Rhona, Iain, Calum, Mairi and me leave the kids to it, without runes, there’s very little that can go wrong. I learned from my experience with Mairi, and I’ve decided that there will be no runes under 10. I’m not quite sure how Mairi fits into that, since I doubt she’d listen and she’ll just sneak out to study the pieces of bark by herself. No, we’ll just have to let her have access, and let her try things out under strict supervision. There’s no handy master apothecary around to save her if something goes wrong this time.

  With that thought begins our conversation, because everyone is dying to know what happened to Eilidh.

  I speak up “So, Eilidh is currently staying at a village that is located closest to the magic fruit tree.” there’s hesitant nods, acknowledging what I said, but still not sure why Eilidh is staying there. “When I passed through there in the past, I met a boy, an apothecary in training.” I gesture at my hair, which is properly covered with the scarf again. “Last time I had a lot of trouble getting into the village due to my, uh… unique situation.”

  I pat my scarf. “With this handy tool,” I say as I do so, and snickers erupt from all around, “I was able to finally meet his teacher, and that teacher turned out to be a century old master apothecary.”

  “We had to come up with an excuse for why we were there.” I continue.

  Rhona mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear “Not if you just walked around the village.”

  I grin, and point my finger at her, inclining my head, “Point. Mairi and Eilidh kinda made the decision for me though.”

  Mairi frowns at me, and says with just the right amount of hurt in her voice, “Don’t blame me. Eilidh was just so happy to see all those hovels, she couldn’t stop herself.”

  She’s probably gotten too used to playing pranks in said village, where they don’t yet know to take everything she says with a grain of salt. In the presence of her friends, what happens is that all four turn unamused gazes towards her, and she laughs nervously.

  Since Mairi is silenced, I continue. “Anyhow, Eilidh had the inspired idea to say that she head about him from me, and that she was interested in herbcraft.” I scan the faces around me, searching for confirmation. “Did she ever show an interest in that before? You should’ve seen her eyes light up when she was talking about herbs and healing. That wasn’t just some story she cooked up purely as an excuse.”

  The looks I get back tell me none of them had any idea, so I get to the important bit. “Anyhow, when it was time to leave, she asked me if she could stay instead. I didn’t think it was my place to refuse.”

  Mairi apparently has not had enough of her favorite joke, because she says, “She also got a boyfriend.” I look at her sharply, tempted to rap her on the head once again. “I really should ask master Fergus how he managed to make you listen.”

  I turn back to the others, and explain “What she wants to say, is that master Fergus has a different disciple, the boy that I met, and they’re now studying together.”

  “Wasn’t he around 10 years old? Ronain right?” Iain asks. I give him a nod, I’m not sure when I told them, but I’m surprised he remembers.

  Rhona leans back against the wall, her lips quirking into a slight smile. “Can’t be more than a year or two between them, right?”

  Iain’s face softens at that, and he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “A bit of normalcy would do her good,” he says, his voice warm with approval.

  Calum looks like he swallowed something bitter “Yeah, good for her,” he eventually says.

  Iain’s hand crashes onto Calum’s shoulder with a loud smack. “Hey man, I kept telling you.” He swings around to face Rhona, who’s picking at her nails with studied nonchalance. “You saw it too right? The way she’d stare at him during meals? When he was practicing?” Iain questions her.

  I press my lips together and find something fascinating to examine on the rafters of the buildings around. I’m not stupid enough to wade into whatever this is.

  “Bah,” Calum’s shoulders slump as he drags a hand across his face. His next words come out barely above a whisper. “I just, I just didn’t want to ruin things. The way she looked at me…” He trails off, staring at his boots. “Thought it’d make things harder.”

  I’m reminded that as much as these kids have the reponsibility for this whole group of little ones, they’re still a bunch of teenagers full of hormones. I don’t think Calum is wrong exactly. If he got together with Eilidh, that’d leave… I look from Rhona to Iain, and I just don’t see it. They work very well together, but there’s zero chemistry there. Hell, there’s more chemistry between Rhona and me.

  I cross my arms and watch the dance of unspoken words. Calum and Rhona’s eyes meet, and something passes between them that makes my stomach clench. Four hearts tangled up in leadership would leave the little ones caught in the crossfire. Still, my fingers twitch with the urge to smack some sense into them all—they deserve their stupid crushes and fumbling kisses like any other teenager.

  Rhona’s steady voice cuts through my thoughts. “I don’t think you are wrong Calum, which is why I think we should be happy for Eilidh now.”

  Calum’s shoulders loosen as he meets her gaze, and his breath escapes in a long exhale. “Yeah, you are probably right.”

  I still feel the need to point out that literally nothing has happened. Sure, Ronain trails after Eilidh like a lost puppy during their daily lessons, but what else would you expect from a ten-year-old boy spending hours with a pretty thirteen-year-old girl? I catch myself opening my mouth to burst their bubble, but snap it shut instead. Let them imagine their little romance. The truth will sort itself out.

  Out of nowhere, Mairi chirps at me. “So, who do you like?”

  I choke on my own spit, whipping my head around to gawk at her with what must be the dumbest expression.

  Who do I like? I count the years between us on my fingers, shaking my head at the absurdity. The oldest of these kids is barely half my age—might as well ask if I fancy Master Fergus, and he’s got one foot in the grave already.

  My mind races through the few adults I know, ticking off a mental list. Unbidden, an image flashes through my head—sweat-slicked skin stretched over rippling muscle, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal… I shove the thought away with a snarl. Sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but the fucker thinks women shouldn’t work. He could be the final male in existence and I’d still rather die alone.

  The smirk playing across Rhona’s face makes my stomach drop. She’s latched onto Mairi’s question like a dog with a bone, and I can already tell she won’t let this go easily.

  “Come on now,” she drawls, her voice sweet enough to rot teeth, “surely there must be someone.” She leans forward, her blonde hair falling in a curtain around her face.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Calum’s subtle head tilt toward Iain. The boys exchange a look that screams ‘retreat,’ and I don’t blame them one bit.

  Their attempted escape only draws Rhona’s attention, and her grin widens wickedly. “Oh no, you have to stay! Don’t you want to hear about our dear Emma’s love life?”

  I lean back against the rough wooden wall, a wry smile tugging at my lips as I consider their eager faces. How exactly do I explain that my dating history belongs to another world entirely? That before two months ago, I didn’t even exist here? I could tell them about Mark from accounting, who always brought me coffee just the way I liked it, or James from that coding bootcamp who just wouldn’t take a hint. But somehow, tales of office romances and awkward first dates over sushi don’t quite translate to a world where the height of culinary sophistication is putting herbs in your stew.

  Besides, trying to explain modern dating would be like trying to teach calculus to a fish. How do you describe Tinder to someone who’s never seen a phone? Or speed dating to people who think courtship means chaperoned walks and meaningful glances across the village square?

  Not to say that that’s the process these kids will go through. No parents means no rules. They’ll never have anything like a chaperone looming over them.

  There’s a peculiar ache in my chest at the realization that I’ve not yet told them the full truth about my arrival here. They’ve become my family, and yet they don’t know this most basic fact about me—“From elsewhere,” I’d told them when I stumbled into their lives, and it wasn’t a lie. But it’s like calling the ocean “some water.”

  I watch as Rhona’s expression shifts from playful predator to something more calculating. She settles back slightly, crossing her legs beneath her, and I can practically see her changing tactics. “Alright then, let me ask something else,” she says. “What sort of person catches your eye? Surely you must have a…” she pauses, searching for the right words, “a type you prefer?”

  Huh. It’s been a while since I’ve thought about this sort of thing—survival tends to push romance pretty far down the priority list. I actually consider it, trying to translate my modern preferences into something that would make sense here. Tall? Principled? Kind to animals? ‘Must know Rust and have a good GitHub profile’ probably wouldn’t mean much to them. I let out a short laugh at my own joke, earning curious looks from my audience.

  “I suppose,” I say, “That I like people that create things?”

  I give them a moment to process my answer, then decide it’s high time to redirect this interrogation. With practiced nonchalance, I turn to Rhona, mirroring her earlier posture. As I do so, I realize I don’t have hair to fall in front of my face any more, making it look rather sillly. Well, whatever.

  “But what about you?” I ask, letting a healthy dose of teasing creep into my voice. “A beautiful young woman like yourself must have quite particular tastes.” I watch with satisfaction as her confident smirk falters slightly. The tables have turned, and now it’s her turn to squirm.

  Calum and Iain, who moments ago were plotting their escape, suddenly seem very interested in the conversation again, though they’re trying hard not to show it. Rhona’s cheeks flush just enough to be visible beneath the dirt, and I almost feel bad for putting her on the spot. Almost.

  Rhona’s eyes dart around the room searching for an ally, but she finds only attentive faces. Even Mairi, usually so quick to create a distraction when things get uncomfortable, is too caught up in her own curiosity.

  Our usually so composed leader looks decidedly less assured. Her fingers fidget with a lock of her hair, and she clears her throat once, twice.

  “I… well, I suppose I…” she starts, then straightens her spine, some of her usual confidence returning. “Someone who can take care of themselves,” she finally manages, lifting her chin defiantly.

  The moment of vulnerability passes quickly, and her eyes narrow as she fixes me with a look that promises revenge. “Though I notice you didn’t actually answer the question, Emma. ‘People who make things?’ That’s rather vague, isn’t it?” She spreads her hand in front of her. “I mean, Fergus makes things, and I’m fairly certain you’re not pining after him.”

  I can’t help the grin that slowly spreads across my face. “Well, no, I’m not pining after Fergus,” I say, drawing out the words. “But I’d sooner fancy him than those idiots at the gates who thinks their muscles make up for their personality.” I mime flexing, pulling an exaggerated grimace that sets Mairi giggling.

  Calum’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, his light brown hair falling across his eyes as he tilts his head. “But… isn’t being strong important?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. “I mean, how else would someone protect…” He trails off, clearly wrestling with the concept that I might not care about physical strength all that much. I imagine it’s a lot more relevant to live here in general, and their lives in particular. It’s endearing, really, how he’s trying to reconcile his own protective nature with what I’ve just said.

  “Being strong is definitely nice, but it doesn’t make up for acting like a lecher every time a pretty girl walks by.” I smile at him sweetly.

  Calum’s eyes light up with understanding, and his posture shifts as he processes this distinction. “Like Domnall at the fishmonger’s,” he says with clear distaste. “Always making those… comments about the girls who come to buy fish.” His face darkens, and I can tell he’s remembering specific incidents.

  I figure it’s my turn again, and look back at Rhona, picking up where I left of. “Now, I think it’s your turn again. ‘Someone who can take care of themselves,’ you say?” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “That’s awfully specific. Almost like you might have someone in mind?” The way her shoulders tense tells me I’ve hit a nerve, and I’m not above enjoying this small victory. After all the teasing I’ve endured, turnabout seems only fair.

  Rhona’s eyes dart toward the entrance of the hideout, as if contemplating a strategic retreat. The confident leader who’d been grilling me moments ago seems to have vanished, replaced by someone who looks very much her actual age—just sixteen and caught in an uncomfortable conversation. Her fingers twist her hair almost to the breaking point before she finally takes a deep breath, and says, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Sìneag,” she says, and the name hangs in the air like smoke. “The baker’s daughter.”

  The silence that follows is absolute. Mairi’s mouth forms a perfect ‘O’, while Calum and Iain exchange wide-eyed looks that suggest they’re completely recalibrating everything they thought they knew about their leader. I freeze for a moment, this whole thing was a joke, and she…

  Just how much does she trust everyone here that she feels, well, clearly not comfortable, but safe enough to say that? Is it even a thing in this day and era? I immediately feel a fierce protectiveness for this young woman who’s just made herself incredibly vulnerable.

  Mairi breaks the tension first, bouncing on her heels with characteristic enthusiasm. “Oh! Sìneag is so pretty!” she chirps, seemingly oblivious to the weight of the moment. “She always gives me bread when I go by, and her hands are really strong from kneading dough all day!” Her innocent observation draws a soft, almost wistful smile from Rhona.

  Calum, still wrestling with this revelation, jumps on something he can understand. “But… how is she someone who can take care of herself?” he asks slowly, genuine confusion written across his features. “I mean, she just… bakes bread?” He looks between Rhona and me, clearly trying to reconcile his image of self-sufficiency—probably involving swords and street fights—with the quiet girl who works in her father’s bakery.

  I catch Rhona’s expression and have to bite back a laugh. Oh, you sweet summer child, I think, watching Calum struggle to put the pieces together. Before I can formulate a diplomatic response, though, Rhona’s composure cracks.

  “Are you joking?” she bursts out, her voice rising with each word. “Have you seen her handle drunk soldiers who try to steal from the shop? She once knocked out a man twice her size with a rolling pin!” She leans forward, jabbing her finger for emphasis. ”And do you have any idea how much strength it takes to knead dough for hours every day? To haul those hundred pound sacks of flour of the delivery cart. One wrong move near that beast of an oven and you’ll be nursing burns for weeks.” Her cheeks are flushed now, not with embarrassment but with passionate defense, and her eyes are bright with something that looks very much like pride. “She runs that whole shop when her father’s laid up with his bad back, keeps the books better than any merchant in the lower market, and still finds time to help feed half the street kids who come begging!”

  I can see Calum trying to process all of this, his face scrunching up in that way it does when he’s dealing with something completely outside his experience. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again before finally managing to speak. “But… how would that work…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “I mean, you’re both girls?” His voice cracks slightly on the last word, and I can see him cringe at how young it makes him sound. There’s no malice in his question, just the pure bewilderment of a fifteen-year-old boy whose world view is being expanded in real time. His eyes dart between Rhona and me, clearly hoping one of us will explain this in a way that makes sense to him, while simultaneously looking like he might bolt if we actually try to do so.

  “Well, Calum,” I say, keeping my voice deliberately casual while fixing him with an innocent stare, “since you’re so interested in how it works, why don’t you explain to all of us, in detail, how a boy and a girl get together?” Rhona’s head snaps up, a flash of relief crossing her features as she realizes what I’m doing. But Calum, bless his heart, completely misses the point I’m trying to make. His face lights up with the earnest determination of someone who thinks they’re about to be helpful.

  “Oh! Well, you see,” he begins, sitting up straighter, “first the boy notices the girl, and then he’s supposed to…” He gets about three sentences in before the implications of what he’s about to explain to an audience full of girls finally catches up with his brain. His words screech to a halt, and I watch with amusement as the color drains from his face, only to come rushing back with a vengeance. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and I swear I can actually see the moment his soul tries to leave his body.

  “Listen,” I say gently, taking pity on poor Calum, “it’s really not that complicated. You know how you might look at a girl and your heart does this little flutter thing?” I press a hand to my chest, mimicking the sensation. “And maybe you get nervous around her, or you can’t stop thinking about her smile?”

  Calum gives a tiny nod, and he looks like he knows very well. I wonder if he’s thinking about Eilidh? He’s still red-faced but listening. “Well, that’s just… that’s just how people feel when they like someone. And sometimes, a girl might feel that way about another girl, or a boy about another boy. The feelings aren’t any different, really. It’s just… who you feel them for.” I glance at Rhona, who’s watching me with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. “Love is love, Calum. It doesn’t always follow the rules people think it should.”

  Rhona leans forward, her eyes searching my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But there’s something in her expression that keeps me still. “How…” she starts, then swallows hard. “How do you speak of it so easily? Like it’s… normal?” Her voice catches on the last word, and I can hear years of hidden fears and quiet doubts beneath the question. “I’ve never heard anyone talk about it like that before. Like it’s just… another way to be.” Her fingers have found their way back to her hair, twisting nervously, but her gaze remains steady on mine, hungry for understanding.

  I let out a slow breath, weighing my words carefully. “I suppose… that’s just how I was raised,” I say, feeling the inadequacy of the answer even as I speak it. I pause, watching Rhona’s face as she processes this. There’s a flicker of something there—longing, maybe, or disbelief. Her lips curve into a sad, almost bitter smile.

  “Sounds like you come from some kind of fairytale land,” she says softly, and I catch the edge in her voice—not quite accusatory, but tinged with a painful sort of wonder. “Where people can speak of it as easily as discussing the weather.” She looks down at her hands, which have finally stilled in her lap. “Must be nice,” she adds, barely above a whisper, and I feel the weight of everything she’s not saying.

  My throat constricts, my fists clenching at my sides. “That’s because it is!” The words burst out before I can stop them. I force my shoulders to relax and my breathing to slow. “A fairytale land, that is…” Every eye in the room fixes on me now. “I… I don’t know how to say this.”

  Damn, Emma, get yourself together. If Rhona can admit to being the devils daughter in this era, you can damn well open your mouth about stumbling in from another reality.

  “I’m not from this world.” I just blurt out. “I… I just suddenly appeared here barely a month and half ago. Plop, from one to the other with nothing in between.”

  If the silence after Rhona’s announcement was deafening, the one now may have have just removed sound from existence. My eyes lock onto Rhona, pleading silently. I can practically see the doubt swirling in her eyes, unvoiced only because reflected in her eyes is also the pathetic state I’m in. How uttering those words affected me.

  I’m lost between hope and fear. They won’t believe me. I hardly believe it myself. But I so very much want them to. I need someone, anyone, and they are my best bet. If anyone here is ever going to believe me, it must be these children.

  “Okay…” Rhona says slowly, the expression in her slowly shifting from disbelief to pity, as if worried she’s going to spook a cat.

  I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the doubt I can see written across their faces. “I know it sounds crazy,” I say, managing a weak smile. “But the entire world, it’s different. My world looked somewhat like this one in the past, if I can believe the history books I read. But nothing is the same.” I gesture at the sky. “We had vehicles that could fly through the sky. Skyscrapers taller than the city is wide.” I pause, contemplating the size of the city. “Okay, maybe not quite as big as that, but certainly half a tall as the city is wide.”

  I watch their expressions shift from skepticism to fascination, though I can tell they’re still not sure whether to believe me or if I’ve just lost my mind. Mairi leans forward, her eyes wide with wonder, while Calum’s brow furrows in that way it does when he’s trying to work something out.

  “But how did you get here?” Rhona asks, her voice careful, measured. She’s trying to hide it, but I can see the spark of curiosity breaking through her earlier doubt. “Did someone send you? Was it magic?”

  The question makes me laugh, but it comes out sounding more bitter than I intended. “I wish I knew. One minute I was standing in a bookshop reading a book, the next…” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. “I just appeared in the middle of a massive forest. No warning, no explanation. Nothing but my bare skin and a whole lot of questions.”

  Calum’s eyes go wide, and I can practically see his teenage brain short-circuiting as he processes that particular detail. Oops. I think he’s had his quota of shocks for today. His mouth works silently for a moment before he manages to squeak out, “You mean… completely…?” He can’t quite finish the sentence, his face turning a shade of red that would make a sunset jealous. I notice him very deliberately looking anywhere but at me.

  “Yes, Calum,” I say, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. “Completely. No clothes, no shoes, not even a hair ribbon.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Trust me, it wasn’t exactly my proudest moment, stumbling around the forest like that.” I can’t help but chuckle at the memory now. “It’s actually quite terrifying how quickly you can get used to something like that if you have no other choice.”

  “Actually,” I say, my mind drifting back to those first confusing days, “the lack of clothes wasn’t even the worst part. What I missed most was my phone.” The word feels strange on my tongue here, like speaking about a mythical creature. I catch myself absently patting the place where it should be in my pocket, but no phone or pocket exists.

  “Your… phone?” Mairi tests the unfamiliar word, her nose scrunching up in confusion. “What’s that then?”

  I look at their expectant faces and feel a familiar wave of frustration. How do you explain something so fundamental to your daily life? “It’s like…” I start, then stop, searching for the right words. “Imagine having a tiny window in your pocket that could show you anything in the world. You could talk to anyone, anywhere, instantly. See their faces even if they’re on the other side of the earth. Have every book ever written at your fingertips. Find the answer to any question in seconds.” I pause, remembering all the mundane ways I used to rely on it. “Or just… know what time it is without having to look at the sun.”

  Their expressions are a mixture of awe and disbelief, and I can’t blame them. It sounds like magic even to my own ears.

  Rhona’s eyes sweep across our makeshift home, with its collection of salvaged blankets, improvised kitchen, mismatched… everything, and the lingering smell of damp wood. Near the far wall, a group of younger children are playing with carved wooden figures, while others huddle around the small fire pit, sharing stories with amused voices.

  “Aye,” she says softly. “I can see why you’d be missing your magical window now.” She gestures at their surroundings with a slight tilt of her head. “Must be quite the change, going from having all the world’s knowledge at your fingertips to…” she pauses, watching as little Dòmhnall attempts to patch a hole in his worn sock with a piece of string, “to teaching wee ones how to tie their shoes and hoping we’ve enough food to last the morning.” There’s no bitterness in her voice, just a quiet understanding of the contrast between the little bit of the world I’ve just described and the one we’re currently sitting in.

  I barely hear her over my brain shouting that she’s somehow accepted what I said.

  “Yeah, well, anyway.” I stammer out, “That’s why it’s easy for me to think different.”

  Rhona looks at me like she can’t quite remember what I’m talking about for a moment. Finally she smiles, almost ruefully. “Thank you Emma.”

  The rest of the day is not spent with practicing magic as I had expected. It’s spent explaining to them exactly how my world differs from theirs, and to Mairi, what ice cream is, and how it tastes. It’s exhausting, but having that secret finally out there is…

  I didn’t realize how much that was weighing on me.

  As I fall asleep, Mairi once more clinging to my back, I hope tomorrow involves less difficult conversations. After this long trip, it’d be nice to just… be, for a bit.

  Needs a bit more editing to be honest.

  For those that have been asking for it, here is a table of the English and the original language of everything that was said.

  There was an alternative version of this chapter, that diverges right after Rhona eats the fruit. The magic in this story doesn't actually work like that, but it was still fun to write.

  A few minutes later, the all the kids that are there are gathered around in a circle. I carefully pull the little chest out of my sack. I’m really going to need to get a proper backpack at some point. Maybe I can ask Mairi if she knows a good place?

  Calum, Iain, Rhona and the kids have gotten a short assurance from Calum and us that Eilidh is fine, and that being the case, everyone is more interested in the fruits we brought back than what happened to her for the moment. Poor girl.

  I lift the lid, and sapphire waves dance across our faces. The six fruits lie cupped in their wooden hollow, pulsing with the same otherworldly shine they had on the tree. Around me, tiny mouths drop open with soft “ooohs,” and I catch their awestruck expressions turning blue in the glow. Damn, even after seeing them, and even eating them so many times, these things still make my hands tremble.

  Six chances at divinity. Well, not really, but from the perspective of these kids it’s like they become gods. I don’t know where the magic comes from though, it may as well be gods.

  I slide back as Rhona lurches forward, her hands already reaching. “Can I?” The words tumble from her lips in a rush. “Sure,” I say, watching her fingers hover over the pulsing light. “It’s entirely like you said, just normal fruit.” Her eyes dart to mine, one eyebrow raised. “Aside from, you know, the fact they glow with that divine blue light.”

  The moment Rhona’s fingers close around one of the glowing fruits, the spell of hesitation breaks. Small hands reach forward from all directions, eager to touch, to hold, to experience the strange warmth that emanates from within. The blue light dances across their faces, casting otherworldly shadows that make them look like spirits themselves. They pass the fruits between them with a mix of reverence and barely contained excitement, whispering and giggling as the light pulses brighter with each touch.

  Then comes a heart-stopping moment—young Aileen, always a bit too enthusiastic when it doesn’t come to stealing, fumbles her grip as he tries to toss one of the fruits to Aileas. The precious cargo tumbles through the air in slow motion, its blue glow trailing like a falling star. Several gasps pierce the air, but before anyone else can react, Mairi darts forward with near supernatural speed and precision. She slides across the dirty floor on her knees, small hands cupped, and catches the fruit mere inches from disaster. The blue light flares briefly as it settles into her palms, as if acknowledging its narrow escape.

  “Careful!” she scolds, cradling the fruit protectively against her chest. Her brown eyes flash with intensity as she glares at Aileen, who shrinks back with an appropriately sheepish expression. “These aren’t turnips to be tossing about!”

  It’s pretty out-of-character for the otherwise so happy-go-lucky Mairi, but I guess she’s the only one here that can properly appreciate how precious these fruits are, having experienced their effect for herself.

  Iain looks at the fruit he’s holding. “Could we… all just take one bite?” I see eyes light up at the prospect all around. That way there would be more than enough for everyone. I don’t expect it’ll be so easy though. Mairi only started to feel the effect after nearly finishing her fruit. I can’t really say how it worked for me, given I gobbled up three of the things before I even considered any effects.

  “Only one way to find out.” Rhona looks around at everyone, clearly hoping to take a bite, but not before everyone agrees. There’s nods all around though. If anyone deserves one it’s Rhona. And it’s not like these are the last fruits they’ll see. It’s a pain we need to travel so far get them though. Couldn’t we find one of those trees in a forest closer by?

  Before I can think more on that, Rhona takes a large bite from the fruit, it’s juice splashing everywhere, right, forgot to tell her that. Mairi has an equally sheepish expression on her face. Rhona looks like a smurf, her face covered in glowing blue juice. It takes her all of ten seconds to gobble up the whole thing, leaving her hands and face positively covered in it’s juice.

  “I… I don’t feel any different,” she says with a tone of worry in her face. That’s… strange. I didn’t expect the fruits to have a different effect on people. Everything I’ve seen or heard of it seems to indicate that eat one and do magic.

  The words have barely left Rhona’s lips when her face contorts in pain. She doubles over, clutching her stomach, and the blue glow from the fruit’s juice seems to intensify across her skin, spreading like ink through water. The children draw back, their earlier excitement replaced by terror as Rhona collapses to her knees. Through gritted teeth, she tries to smile, to reassure them, but the gesture turns into a grimace. The juice isn’t just glowing anymore – it’s pulsing, sending waves of light across her skin in time with her racing heartbeat, and I can see thin, luminous lines beginning to trace themselves beneath her skin like glowing veins.

  “Mo chlann,” she gasps in Gaelic, reaching out toward Dòmhnall who’s frozen in place, tears welling in his eyes. Her hand trembles violently in the air between them. The light beneath her skin flares painfully bright, and she curls inward, pressing her forehead to the ground as a strangled sound escapes her throat. This isn’t how the fruit is supposed to work. This isn’t right at all.

  I slip into juice mode, desperately searching for answers, and notice Mairi has done the same - her small face scrunched in concentration beside me. Together we see it: Rhona’s second body, the ethereal overlay that should mirror her physical form perfectly, is violently distorting. It stretches and contracts like a reflection in troubled waters, threatening to tear itself apart. The sight sends a jolt of recognition through me. This violent internal struggle, this self-destructive turmoil - I’d felt it myself, that moment when Rhona had revealed Mairi’s past. The horror of it had nearly torn me apart inside until…

  Until I’d realized it was my own reaction causing the damage. My eyes widen with sudden understanding. Rhona isn’t being attacked by the fruit’s power - she’s fighting herself. But why? What truth could be so devastating that it would cause her to reject the very essence of magic itself? I look at the children gathered around her, at their terrified faces illuminated by the pulsing blue light, and it hits me. Rhona, their fierce protector, their substitute mother, has spent years building walls around herself, constructing a persona strong enough to carry their burdens. And now the fruit’s magic is forcing her to confront every crack in that facade, every doubt she’s buried, every fear that she’s not enough to keep them safe.

  I watch helplessly as Rhona struggles, my mind racing. Why didn’t Mairi and I react this way? The thought nags at me as I observe the violent ethereal distortions wracking Rhona’s form. Sure, I’m far from perfect - god knows I’m a cynical mess most days - but I’ve never pretended to be anything else. Even Mairi, young as she is, owns every scrap of her fierce, scrappy nature. But Rhona… Rhona has made herself into something larger than life for these kids. A shield, a provider, a mother figure at sixteen. The weight of that facade must be crushing. I can’t help but wonder if it’s easier being fundamentally flawed but honest about it, than trying to maintain an impossible ideal. The irony isn’t lost on me - that someone like me, who gave up on humanity long ago, might actually be more at peace with herself than this girl who’s dedicated her life to protecting others.

  I lunge forward, reaching for Rhona as the ethereal distortions around her grow more violent. “It’s okay!” I call out, my voice breaking with desperation. “You don’t have to be perfect. None of us are!” But even as the words leave my mouth, I can see they’re not reaching her. Rhona’s eyes are squeezed shut, her face a mask of determination and pain as she battles against herself. The blue glow pulses stronger, more erratic, like a heart beating out of rhythm.

  “I can’t…” she gasps between ragged breaths, “I have to be… They need me to be…” The words dissolve into a groan as another wave of energy ripples through her. The other children hover uncertainly nearby, their small faces painted in shifting shadows by the supernatural light. Little Dòmhnall clutches at his sister’s skirt, his eyes wide with fear.

  A memory flashes through my mind - the feeling of being torn apart from within, of fighting against a truth that threatened to shatter everything. But where I had eventually surrendered to it, Rhona is still fighting, still trying to maintain that perfect image she’s built. The cost of her resistance is written in every line of agony on her face, in every violent distortion of her ethereal form.

  The familiar sensation hits me like a thunderbolt - that same building pressure I felt before my own transformation, but magnified tenfold by Rhona’s resistance. The air itself seems to vibrate, heavy with potential energy, and I can see the ethereal distortions around her beginning to spiral outward, threatening to break free of any control. My heart pounds against my ribs as I recognize the signs - this isn’t just going to be bad, it’s going to be catastrophic.

  “Everyone out! NOW!” I scream, my voice cracking with urgency. The children stand frozen, torn between fear and loyalty to their protector. Rhona, even in her agony, seems to understand. She raises her head, her face streaked with glowing tears, and manages to gasp out, “Go… please… mo chlann… run!” The love in her voice, even now, makes my chest ache.

  The children finally break from their stupor, scrambling toward the exit. All except Mairi, who stands rooted beside me, her small hands raised uselessly in front of her. I can feel her desperately trying to shape the juice, to do something, anything to help, but we both know it’s futile. Whatever’s happening to Rhona is beyond our meager abilities to control. The magical energies are too wild, too primal, and our understanding too limited.

  I reach for Mairi’s hand, but my eyes stay fixed on Rhona. The ethereal distortions are reaching a fever pitch now, the blue light so intense it hurts to look at. Yet I can’t look away. Rhona’s face, through all the pain and terror, holds a trace of relief - as if some part of her welcomes the coming release, the end of having to be strong for everyone else. The realization hits me like a physical blow: we’re about to watch her tear herself apart, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

  My fingers close around Mairi’s small wrist, and I yank her backwards with more force than I’ve ever used on her. “We have to go!” The words tear from my throat as she struggles against my grip, her feet scrabbling against the dirt floor. I hate myself for doing this, for dragging her away when every fiber of her being wants to help Rhona, but there’s no choice. Not anymore.

  We’re barely halfway to the exit when I feel it - a surge of power that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I risk a glance over my shoulder just as Rhona’s form becomes a blinding column of blue light. Time seems to stretch like molasses as I watch the energy explode outward, a wall of raw magical force rushing toward us faster than any natural explosion should move.

  Pure instinct drives me to slip into juice mode, the world slowing to a crawl around us. But even with the temporal distortion, I can see we won’t make it to the exit in time. In that crystallized moment, I do the only thing I can think of - I pull Mairi against my chest and throw every last drop of juice I have into effecting the single rune I know, right in front of our faces, causing a pulse to form between us and the blast. The absurd heap of juice tears through me like lightning, forcing its way out from all the pores in my second body, streaking towards the rune. Activating it with a buzz like a thousand bees.

  The opposing forces meet in a noiseless crash of energy, both moving faster than the sound that’d allow me to hear them. My makeshift shield holds the explosion for a fraction of a second before the explosion’s momentum breaks through. However, the pulse doesn’t only move away from us, it moves towards us with the speed of lightning too, hurling us backward like leaves in a storm. Mairi clutched protectively against me, the last thing I know is the crack of wood against my back, as we explode straight through the wall of one of the buildings surrounding the hideout. Then everything goes dark.

  Consciousness returns like a slow tide, each wave bringing with it new sensations of pain. My head throbs in time with my pulse, and every breath feels like someone’s taken a cheese grater to my lungs. I’m alive though, which is… honestly shocking. I blink several times, trying to clear my vision of the dark spots that dance across it. Mairi’s weight still rests against my chest, and I can feel her shallow breathing. Thank god.

  When I finally manage to push myself up to my elbows, the scene before me steals what little breath I have left. Where our hideout once stood, there’s nothing but a massive crater, its edges smooth as glass and still radiating a faint blue luminescence. Thirty meters across at least, maybe more. The buildings that once surrounded it - the cramped homes and workshops that made up our little sanctuary - they’re just… gone. Flattened like dominos, their walls reduced to kindling and scattered across the ground like pick-up sticks. Some still smolder, trailing thin wisps of smoke into the evening air.

  The screams hit me next. They come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a cacophony of pain and fear that makes my stomach turn. High-pitched wails of children mix with the deeper groans of adults, creating a symphony of suffering that I know will haunt my dreams for years to come. The dust hasn’t even settled yet, hanging in the air like a funeral shroud, gilded copper by the setting sun. And somewhere in that crater… somewhere in there is what’s left of Rhona. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

  A low moan draws my attention to the left. Through the settling debris, I can make out an arm protruding from beneath a collapsed beam. The fingers twitch weakly, and I stumble toward it, my throat tight. But before I can reach it, the movement stops. Just… stops. I stand there, frozen, waiting for another sign of life that doesn’t come. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. The pain helps keep me grounded, keeps me from floating away on a tide of hysteria that’s threatening to overwhelm me.

  “Oh god,” I whisper, the words inadequate against the scale of destruction before me. “What have we done?”