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It is an odd feeling. Calming in a way I didn’t expect.

Now comes the real test: how long can I linger in this fragile stillness? Can I feel the tug Ash promised?

Darkness.

Silence.

But the quiet doesn’t last. Thoughts claw their way back in, and I am forced to start again.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

The second time I make it to a hundred comes a little easier. I am getting the hang of it. The quiet returns, and I am determined to stay in it.

That’s when I see it: a faint shimmer of light flickering in the dark. It drifts and dances, gliding like a tiny fish through an endless ocean.

I feel it.

The tug. My magic.

I found it.

With every fiber of my being, I reach for it. My mind weaves vivid imagery to match the pull. I’m not walking through my thoughts. I am swimming through them. The glowing fish drifts just ahead of me, always out of reach.

I push harder, swimming faster.

Suddenly, the water around me darkens, the shimmering fish flickers, and the current shifts.

Memories. My darkest ones. They twist around me, looping without mercy, whispers echo through the space, voices I can’t escape, scenes I don’t want to see.

Panic crawls up my spine.

Don’t look. Don’t listen.

I force myself to keep swimming, to focus on the flickering light. But the memories close in like walls of pain, fear, and everything I want to forget.

The fish, the light, slips further and further away. The memories close in, engulfing me. I fight them, but the panic surges faster.

My chest tightens. I gasp, my lungs burning as if I were truly underwater. I can’t breathe. The pressure of those memories drags me down, suffocating, relentless.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I claw at the darkness, desperate to break the surface of the ocean I have created. My physical body reacts, and I gag, choke, hands flying to my throat, trying to force the air in.

My eyes snap open, and I scream. The sound that tears from my throat is devastating. It shatters the stillness of the forest, rattling the trees. Birds shriek in terror, and creatures bolt from the undergrowth, stampeding past as if fleeing my pain itself. The ground seems to tremble with the force of it.

Ash jolts awake, startled from the light sleep he drifted into while waiting. His eyes widen at the scene before him. “Lyra!” He rushes to me, groggy but alert. Without hesitation, he hoists me to my feet. I am still gasping, clutching at my throat, my lungs refusing to fill.

“Breathe, Lyra! Come on! Look at me!”

I can’t focus. The panic still grips me tight.

“What the hell was that?” he demands.

I finally manage a few words between ragged breaths. “My . . . my magic.”

Ash blinks. For once, his usual grin fades. “Your power is . . . what? Pissing off animals?” he jokes, but the concern in his voice is clear. Then, softer, “Hey, are you okay? What happened?”