Page 31 of Magical Mission
“More than ever.”
I couldn’t stop smiling as a newfound euphoria slipped through me.
I’d tried for about three seconds. But it was impossible to keep the grin off my face as I marched back through the Academy’s front corridor with Frank, who trotted in front like he was leading a parade and entirely convinced the gravy fountain was his reward.
The sound of laughter and silverware clinking drifted from the banquet hall ahead, cozy and alive, like a living pulse thrumming through the ancient stone. The Academy was awake. Fully. Vibrantly.
And it wasfull.
I threw the banquet doors wide open, and the room went quiet.
We had barely walked into the banquet hall when I felt my dad freeze beside me.
One second, he was barreling forward like he intended to sample every dish in the room, and the next, still.
Perfectly, utterly still.
“Dad?” I whispered, glancing down.
He wasn’t looking at the feast. He wasn’t looking at the tables or the floating pies or the gravy sprite now riding a ladle as if it were a ship on the high seas.
He was staring across the room, ears perked, tail unmoving, breath caught in his broad chest.
I followed his gaze.
And standing near the far end of the spiral, bathed in the amber light of a floating lantern, was Grandma Elira.
His mother.
Her hand rested lightly on the back of a chair. She was speaking to Ardetia, her profile graceful, the silver threads in her hair shimmering like a crown.
She hadn’t seen him yet.
But he had seen her.
And I saw it, then.
The moment the spell of years cracked open.
My dad gave a low, tremulous huff.
A sound I’d never heard from him before.
Then he moved.
He wasn’t barking or bounding. He had a determined walk with every muscle carrying the weight of decades.
No one noticed at first, too wrapped in their conversations, which started again.
But my grandma must’ve felt it.
She turned just as Frank stepped in front of her, stopped short, and looked up with those wide, dark, too-human eyes.
Her breath caught. I saw it ripple through her shoulders.
“...No,” she whispered, a hand reaching out as if in a dream.
My dad let out a soft whine.
