Standing over the dead body of her classmate, she clutched a spear in her hand, not knowing how to wield it. Staring at the light blue ribbon that was tied to its grip, drooping in the stillness of the night. Wishing she had more time. Wishing it could all rewind.

  Guilt stabbed at her chest as she found herself unable to look at her friend, turning instead to the fires in the far distance. She had to go. To the fires, that was where she had to go. For those who had fallen, for those who fought on.

  Everyone she could not save.

  Despite the haze of regret and indecision clouding her mind, she turned her head to the side when she heard some rustling in the grass.

  A figure was heading toward her, limping, blood seeping through their bandages, their face partially covered by their matted hair. Yet they continued to walk toward her, blade in hand.

  She recognized who it was.

  “I’m so sorry,” she started to say once they were within earshot.

  “You let her die.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that it?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll be swift, then.”

  Dropping the spear, she looked at the merciful figure, their face painted with blood and tears, and felt the cold blade of their sword tearing through her chest as she whispered the only words she could find:

  “I loved her, too.”

  * * *

  Ty woke up in an unknown room, a light blanket over her as she lay beside a crackling hearth. She yanked it away immediately, sitting up on the plush couch, feeling lightheaded for a second before noticing something.

  “Hi there,” she spoke to the other person present.

  A short, dark-haired boy was engrossed in a book on a chair near her, not even looking up as he echoed, “Hi there.”

  I’m confused, she didn’t say.

  A part of her expected him to explain if she kept quiet, but he didn’t. He just kept reading as if she didn’t exist.

  “Where is this?” she eventually asked, getting up and folding the blanket before spotting her schoolbag and class cloak on a long table nearby. Bookshelves lined the walls, which were an ornate, blood red to match the lush carpet.

  She checked her timepiece. She had lost three hours.

  “A private study in the library.”

  Ty nodded to appear less confused than she felt to the unknown boy, hastily putting on her cloak before slinging her bag over her shoulder.

  It was then that the boy looked up from his book and observed her dully, as if wondering to himself if it was worth the effort to speak, making up his mind when she started walking toward the entrance.

  “Sit down, the Headmistress is coming.”

  She froze, letting her hand drop as she considered the implications of his words and her own actions earlier that evening.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she whispered apprehensively, turning around to watch the boy’s reaction to her question before snapping wide awake.

  He had put away his book without a sound and was now standing in front of the fire in what also looked like a class cloak, except she could now see that a line of gold circled the bottom edge.

  This is not a student.

  The boy took his time to reply. “No, but you caused trouble for me,” he articulated slowly, voice devoid of emotion.

  Ty was not afraid, however. “The Headmistress needs to be called for a simple nuisance?”

  “You are far from simple, Tych—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snapped loudly and reflexively, not knowing how the stranger had discovered her name but also unable to inquire further as her attention turned toward the opening door.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Hello? Nate?” a high-pitched voice sung, peeking through an opening in the door before spotting the on-guard Ty. “Oh my, you’re awake!” she exclaimed, taking that as her cue to barge in and set a paper bag on the table, where the boy had noiselessly moved to while she wasn’t looking.

  “Your cheeriness is irritating, Headmistress,” mumbled the boy, unceremoniously dumping the contents of the bag onto the table and inspecting them; four other smaller brown bags fell out, along with a neat stack of pristine white papers.

  “Ah, Nate, starting fresh,” the Headmistress chirped. “New year, new us. Maybe this time’s the one, hm?”

  Stoic and stony-eyed, Nate ignored the comment and counted the papers before staring at the four other bags. “And your memory is getting worse,” he said in a quiet voice, inspecting the contents of the smaller bags and pulling out a pen.

  The Headmistress looked drained for a moment before noticing Ty’s gaze and perking back up. “Hi there, Ty. Sorry for getting straight into business—busy day, busy day.” She held out her hand. “It’s been a while. I’m so, so glad you’re here.”

  Reaching out to reciprocate the friendly gesture, Ty finally took her first good look of the Headmistress since her arrival a week ago: her long ashen hair was messily tied up in a deceivingly intricate bun, she was wearing a standard white blouse and navy pants, and, to top it all off, her dark heels were a grossly impractical height.

  Her cloak was the biggest eye-catcher, however. Draped effortlessly on her shoulders, it was a deep black with the same line of gold at the bottom like Nate’s, except a red line ran through the middle. It was breathtaking.

  And she was the real deal—young, probably in her late thirties, her light-brown eyes were bright and alert, eyes filled with fire, determination, and…Ty faltered. There was something else she could not put her finger on.

  Something deep in the pit of her stomach gnawed at her. There was a likeness she saw in the Headmistress that she had seen before, but the feeling was far too vague to form any coherent meaning.

  Remember, it said to her.

  “We spoke during the entrance exam,” Ty managed to reply, trying her best to stifle the mixture of confusion, awe, and admiration she felt for the Headmistress at that very moment as she shook the outstretched hand.

  The Headmistress offered her a kind smile. “Yes. You were with your mother. Quite unforgettable.” She looked away to Nate, who continued to write, her smile fading as she continued measuredly, “You may want to refrain from depleting your anima at such a rapid rate in the future.”

  I am in trouble.

  “Though it is likely your class will eventually find out, you must understand the weight of the burden you carry,” she continued. “It is not to be used lightly, and perilous should the wrong people find out.”

  For a moment, Ty considered defending herself, explaining why she had done what she did, what had happened, but they all sounded like hollow excuses in her mind. The duel with Theo should not have ended that way. There were a thousand other things she could have done, so many other choices. She should not have gotten angry.

  Weak, so weak.

  The Headmistress’s eyes were distant when they returned to Ty, as if looking through her. Her lips still intent on maintaining her cover of agreeableness, lacking the severity of the weight of her words. “Though it has been years, I suppose it remains true: you are more than your heritage, Ty. You are a person, not a weapon. Remember.”

  Ty slowly tilted her head, thinking.

  “Sometimes a weapon is what you need,” interrupted Nate, unperturbed as he turned away from the table, shooting Ty a knowing look in the process. “I’ll find out, anyway.”

  Shrugging helplessly, the Headmistress sighed. “Well, regardless, I procured some Ancient herbs for Nate to make into medicine for you—they should help with your fatigue. Try to dissolve it in some warm water for best effects.” She smiled again, sincerely this time. “Anyway, you can both chat—I’ve got some other matters to attend to.”

  “Thank you, Headmistress,” Ty replied hesitantly, suddenly realizing the absurdity of the situation: blacking out in the courtyard, waking up in the library, being lectured on how she shouldn’t consider herself a weapon of all things, then given medicine for all the trouble she had caused in the first place. Her head hurt.

  Sighing again, the Headmistress looked like she was about to say something else but decided against it, turning away abruptly, only the click clack of her heels left in her wake.

  “What do you mean you’ll find out?” Ty asked immediately once the harsh sound disappeared, walking to Nate by the fireplace.

  “I have a knack for finding trouble and for remembering where it is,” he murmured while taking a seat in front of the fire and propping up his arm on his leg, and then his head on his hand. “You can take your medicine and leave now.”

  But she stood beside him, watching. “How do you know my name?” she asked, towering over the boy but still feeling infinitesimal.

  “I’ve been around a long time.”

  “I didn’t even register at the Academy under that name.”

  “You’re a memorable person.”

  Ty knitted her brows in frustration, wondering if he was messing with her. “I don’t know you, though.”

  Nate shrugged, continuing to speak cryptically. “Yes, I get that a lot.”

  Getting nowhere, Ty decided to change the topic. “You’re very young to be a professor.”

  At this, she saw just the smallest hints of a smile playing on his lips for the first time, as if he was channeling a completely different person. “Youngest ever, in fact.” He gave Ty a sidelong glance, his lips a wide, undeniable smirk as he boasted, “Technically, this is my fifth year.”

  Within the span of a second, she watched the professor’s smirk fall from his face as he returned to the fire, withdrawn and distant.

  “You must be carrying your own burden,” she finally spoke, ashamed gaze falling to the medicine on the table.

  If he heard her words, he did not show it.

  Taking his continued silence as her cue to leave, Ty quietly thanked him and gently took the bag without even inspecting its contents, looking back one more time at the stranger by the hearth. She should have been glad to finally return to her own world, yet there was a nagging feeling that gave her pause again, that urged her to say something to him even though they had met only minutes ago.

  She opened her mouth, head blank.

  “You are a person, not a weapon,” she heard herself saying.

  For all his measured replies, and for all the silence he kept, Nate’s reply this time was swift and automatic, as if clockwork:

  “I am a weapon, not a person.”