Page 141 of Magical Mission
“You won’t come back empty-handed.”
“Will I come back at all?”
“You will,” she said firmly. “Because the magic here is still building around you. The Academy hasn’t finished choosing you. And neither has Stonewick.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine, but it wasn’t fear.
It was truth.
She reached forward and took my hand. Her touch was soft and warm despite the wisdom behind it.
“When you go,” she said, “go with your eyes open. Let it show you what it must. Don’t fight it. But don’t give more than you’re willing to leave behind.”
I nodded slowly as the weight of it all settled in my chest like a stone I’d been carrying for longer than I wanted.
“Did Miora regret it?” I asked.
“No,” she said softly. “But I think part of her still walks that path now and then through dreams, in silence, in the way she pours tea or chooses her words.”
I smiled. “That sounds exactly like her.”
“She’ll be waiting when you’re ready. I suspect she’s known this day was coming.”
I let that thought warm me for a moment longer.
Then I rose, pressing a kiss to Elira’s cheek.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anytime, my darling girl.”
As I stepped back into the hallway, the walls seemed to hum, quiet and steady, like a heartbeat.
The path was still waiting.
But I was almost ready to meet it.
I walked out the door, with Twobble behind, but the path to the cottage felt different now.
Not in the way magic often shifts when you're away for too long. No, this felt deeper. It felt as if the earth had missed me and the roots had remembered me.
The new leaves glittered faintly under a spray of sunlight, catching the last glimmers of morning as we made our way down the winding trail. The birds chirped a spring melody as Twobble walked beside me now.
“All these blasted birds with opinions,” he muttered.
I laughed and shook my head. “What are you talking about? The birds are singing.”
He eyed me with disappointment. “Don’t fool yourself. They’re laughing at us. They’re judging us.”
“Twobble, they are not.”
He stopped and stared at me. “You mean to tell me that you think they’re singing?” He laughed and shook his head. “They’re gossiping about us. About everyone. It’s what they do. They fly from faction to faction, get the deets, and then drop ‘em like bombs.”
“If you say so,” I teased as we started walking again.
My cottage came into view as I soaked in the coziness.
Tucked into the dip of the land, hugged by vine-covered stone walls and fat sun-warmed windows with glass just a little too wavy to be normal.
