Chapter Fourteen: Will and Power

I hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, the breath whooshing out of my lungs before I even had the chance to groan. The sky spun above me for a second before Snow’s voice cut through it like a blade.

“Get up, Charlie.”

Her sword hung at her side, gleaming in the sunlight. Her chest rose and fell with each sharp breath, but her expression was as composed as ever — calm, cold, unrelenting.

“I will,” I wheezed, resting the back of my head against the grass. “Just… give me a sec.”

“Wrong.” Her tone snapped like a whip. “The Wicked won’t give you a ‘sec.’ You hit the ground, you get back up. Instantly. Again. Get up.”

I groaned, dragging myself upright and raising my hands defensively. “When’s lunch, though?”

The smirk that ghosted her face vanished the second she lunged. Her blade came down fast, and I barely had time to block before stumbling backward into the fence.

“You don’t get lunch when our lives are on the line!” she barked.

“Okay, okay, I gotcha.” I swung again, metal clashing against metal in a spark of sound. “Hey, that was a good block, huh?”

Her boot slammed into my chest, sending me sprawling again. “Quit talking and focus!”

“Easier said than done, okay? My ADHD says otherwise!”

She didn’t smile — though I swore I saw the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes before she came at me again. The morning had bled into afternoon by now, the sun high and merciless above us. My arms burned, my legs trembled, and every breath came out ragged.

We’d been clashing blades and trading insults since dawn — and I was starting to think she might actually kill me before the Wicked ever got the chance. I staggered back to my feet, swaying like a reed in the wind. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my sword—again. Snow didn’t wait for me to steady myself. She came at me like a storm, each strike sharper and faster than the last.

“You’re slowing down,” she said, almost casually, like she was commenting on the weather instead of my imminent death.

“Yeah, thanks for noticing,” I wheezed, barely raising my blade in time. Sparks flew as steel met steel, and my arms screamed in protest. “Real helpful, by the way.”

Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly I felt that familiar chill, the one that made it impossible to guess what she was going to do next. She feinted left, then right, and I stumbled again, my chest colliding with the fence. Pain shot through me, sharp and unwelcome, but I forced myself to stand.

“You can’t keep holding back, Charlie,” she said, pressing closer, her movements precise and merciless. “Either you fight like you mean it, or the Wicked will have you before I do.”

I swallowed hard, tasting blood at the back of my throat. “Mean it… right,” I muttered, lifting my sword, though my arms felt like lead. “Let’s do this.”

Snow’s smirk returned, just slightly, the kind that promised trouble and maybe, just maybe, a little satisfaction. She lunged. And I met her head-on, ready or not. This wasn’t practice anymore. This was survival. Adrenaline surged through my veins like wildfire, every heartbeat pounding in rhythm with the clang of steel on steel. The world around me blurred — it was just me, Snow, and the ringing symphony of our swords. Each strike sent sparks flying, each block feeding the rush building inside me.

When our blades collided again, the sound was different — louder, heavier. Thunder cracked through the cloudless blue sky, echoing like the heavens themselves had joined our fight. A violent jolt shot through my chest, stealing my breath. Then—light. Blinding, white-hot light burst from my palms, slamming into Snow and hurling her backward into a pile of hay.

She screamed as she flew through the air, the sound slicing through my shock. I sprinted toward her, panic rising in my throat.

“Are you bleeding?!” I blurted, kneeling beside her.

“What? No, I’m fine,” she said, brushing hay from her tunic, more annoyed than injured.

“But you screamed like you were hurt—”

“That was you, Charlie.”

“Oh.”

I blinked, heat flooding my face. “Right. Yeah. Totally.” I gave a weak laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Oops.”

Snow stood abruptly, her eyes sharp with something new—recognition. “We must tell the Wizard at once.”

“That I scream like a girl?” I offered hopefully.

She didn’t even blink. “No.” She turned to me, her gaze intense, almost reverent. “That your power has awakened.”

Snow didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. She took off running, her boots pounding against the dirt as she headed for the Wizard’s hut. I stumbled after her, my pulse still racing, my palms tingling with faint traces of warmth where the light had burst out of me.

By the time we pushed through the hut’s wooden door, the Wizard was already standing by the hearth, as if he had been expecting us. His eyes, sharp and ancient, flicked from Snow’s flushed face to mine.

“I see it has begun,” he said quietly.

I blinked, still half in disbelief. “You—what? You knew this was going to happen?”

“Not when, but yes.” The Wizard took a slow drag from his pipe, smoke curling around his words. “The mark of the Sun does not lie dormant forever. It only waits for the moment when fire meets fear.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I said quickly. “It just—happened. Like someone else was controlling me.”

“Not someone else,” he said, stepping closer. “Something else. The power that runs in your bloodline. You called to it without even realizing.”

Snow turned to me, eyes wide. “Charlie, that light… It wasn't normal. It was like—like the sun itself exploded out of you.”

The Wizard nodded. “And that is precisely why we must act quickly. The Child of the Sun has awakened. Which means…” He trailed off, his expression darkening as the shadows from the fire danced across his face.

“Which means what?” I demanded.

He looked at me then—really looked at me. “Which means the Wicked will soon awaken fully as well.”

My stomach dropped. The room suddenly felt colder.

“Carter,” I whispered.

The Wizard’s voice was grim. “Yes. And when he does, the bond between you will be tested in ways neither of you are ready for.”

“So what do we do now, Wizard?” I asked, glancing between the two of them. “I’ve already been playing swords with Snow for three days straight—morning to night. I’m pretty sure my arms have declared war on me.”

The Wizard chuckled softly, the sound crackling like the embers in the fireplace. “First off, call me Phineas. ‘Wizard’ makes me sound older than the mountains I was born under. And second—your training begins with me now. Snow, as skilled as she is, cannot teach you what comes next.”

Snow crossed her arms, pretending not to be offended, though I caught the faint roll of her eyes.

I exhaled, tension knotting in my chest. “So what exactly does this training entail? Blasting soda bottles off fences? It’s a my-world thing,” I added quickly when their blank stares lingered.

Phineas’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not here to aim at bottles, boy. You’re here to learn to control what’s already inside you. That light, that fire—it’s not just magic. It’s a part of who you are. If you don’t learn to wield it, it will consume you… or worse, someone else will.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “You make it sound like this power’s alive.”

“It is,” Phineas said gravely, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And right now, it’s waking up. The question is—will it obey you… or burn you from the inside out?”

Phineas extended his hand toward me, his palm glowing faintly gold. “Come,” he said, motioning for me to follow him outside. “If you’re to learn control, you must first meet the heart of your own power.”

Snow and I exchanged a wary glance, but I followed him through the old wooden door, out into the crisp morning air. The mist still clung low to the ground, coiling around my boots as we stepped into the open field.

The air felt charged—like the world itself was holding its breath.

Phineas stopped at the center of the clearing and turned to face me. “Close your eyes, Charlie.”

I hesitated. “Is this the part where you hypnotize me or something?”

“Do as I say,” he said gently, though there was a steel edge beneath his calm.

I sighed and shut my eyes.

“Now breathe,” he continued. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Feel the pulse beneath your skin. That light you felt before—it’s not something you summon. It’s something you become.”

At first, I felt nothing but the thrum of my heartbeat. Then, slowly, a heat stirred in my chest, faint at first, then growing stronger—like a small spark had ignited deep inside me. My fingers tingled, and the air around me seemed to hum.

“Good,” Phineas said quietly. “Now reach for it. Not with your hands—with your will.”

The warmth built rapidly, spreading through my arms until my palms began to burn. I opened my eyes just as light began to pour from my hands—blinding, golden, alive. It twisted and rippled like fire, yet felt smooth and electric, like lightning in my veins.

Snow shielded her eyes, shouting, “Grandfather, do something!”

But the old man didn’t move. He only watched me, his expression unreadable.

“Control it, Charlie!” he called out. “Don’t fight the flame—command it!”

The light crackled, growing hotter, wilder. I clenched my fists, trying to contain it, but the fire roared back in defiance, a living thing demanding to be free. My pulse thundered in my ears as I yelled out, the world around me bursting into golden brilliance—

—and then, everything went white.

———————————————————————————————————————

“Grandfather, I think you’re expecting too much of him.”

“He knows his own limits, dear. If it were too much, he would’ve told me.”

“But—”

“Silence. He’s awake.”

My eyes cracked open to the dim glow of the hearth, the scent of smoke and herbs thick in the air. Snow stood tense in the center of the hut, her arms crossed, while Phineas sat in his rocking chair as if nothing had happened—calm, composed, ancient.

I tried to sit up, but pain surged through my chest like lightning, forcing me to collapse back onto the couch with a groan. “Ugh… what happened?”

Phineas exhaled a cloud of pipe smoke, eyes gleaming beneath his hood. “You lost control.”

I blinked, confusion cutting through the fog in my head. Snow’s gaze flickered past me, and when I followed it, my heart dropped. A gaping, ember-glowing hole was burned clean through the wall of the hut—edges still smoking, air still shimmering with heat.

My stomach twisted. “Oh… oops.”

Snow spun toward me, eyes blazing. “Oops? You nearly blew us to ash, Charlie! You set the hut on fire, knocked yourself out cold, and nearly sent my grandfather to the afterlife, and all you can say is oops?”

Phineas chuckled softly, a low rumble like old thunder. “Be calm, Snow. When you nearly decapitated me with your first sword swing, I didn’t scold you, did I?”

Snow gawked at him. “That’s not the same thing—”

“But it is,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly carrying that quiet authority that silenced the air itself. “He is learning.”

Then his gaze found mine—steady, sharp, and ancient. “Do not be discouraged, Child of the Sun. The flame burns wild when it’s first born. But with time… you will learn to command it.”

Something in his words stirred deep inside me. Despite the ache in my body, I couldn’t help the small grin tugging at my lips. The thought of what that power could become sent a thrill down my spine.

“Guess we should start patching walls then,” I muttered.

Phineas smiled faintly, pipe smoke curling like gold in the firelight. “And perhaps, the world, soon after.”

Phineas stood, setting his pipe aside with deliberate care. The air in the hut shifted—thickening, almost humming with energy—as he turned to face me fully.

“Your power answers to emotion, Charlie,” he said, voice low but commanding. “And right now, it sees fear, doubt, and guilt as its masters. If you want control, you must show it a new one.”

I swallowed hard, pushing myself up despite the ache in my limbs. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Snow’s eyes softened, though her tone was still sharp. “It means stop doubting yourself. You can’t keep fighting the fire if you ever want to control it.”

Phineas nodded once. “Precisely.” He lifted his hand, and a flicker of gold shimmered between his fingers before vanishing. “You are not its prisoner, Child of the Sun. You are its conduit. If you keep denying what you are, it will consume you from the inside out.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking deep into my gut. “And if I stop fighting it?”

He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “Then the fire will stop fighting you.”

He turned toward the door and pushed it open, revealing the glowing fields beyond the hut. The setting sun painted the horizon in streaks of orange and crimson—like the world itself was aflame. “Outside, now. It’s time we see if you can speak to your flame rather than scream with it.”

I hesitated, glancing at Snow. She gave me a small nod, though worry flickered behind her eyes. “Don’t burn down the forest, okay?”

“No promises,” I muttered, stepping outside.

The cool air hit my skin, a sharp contrast to the lingering heat that seemed to cling to me like smoke. I flexed my fingers, the faint glow of ember-light dancing beneath the surface of my veins. Phineas joined me a moment later, staff in hand, eyes glinting like molten gold.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Feel the fire, not as an enemy—but as an extension of yourself.”

I did as he said. The warmth pulsed through me, steady and alive. A heartbeat that wasn’t mine, yet somehow was.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now breathe. Feed it control, not chaos.”

For a moment, the fire flickered quietly under my skin, calm and obedient. But then an image flashed through my mind—Carter’s face, his eyes glowing red and black—and the fire roared back to life, wild and furious.

“Charlie!” Snow’s voice rang out.

Flames exploded around me, spiraling into a vortex of gold and crimson. My eyes shot open as the world blurred. I could barely hear Phineas’s command through the roar of fire and wind.

Do not fight it—command it!

The words hit me like a lightning strike. I forced my breathing to slow, pushed against the storm, and with one final exhale, the flames snapped back—collapsing into nothing but embers swirling in the twilight air.

Silence.

Phineas’s pipe smoke wafted beside me once more as he stepped forward, nodding in quiet approval. “You see? It listens… when you do.”

Snow exhaled shakily, brushing stray ashes from her hair. “You’re insane,” she muttered, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Maybe,” I said, staring down at the faint glow still pulsing in my palm. “But I think I’m starting to understand it.”

I turned my wrist, and the flame followed—coiling and twisting around my hand like it was alive. It licked at my skin but didn’t burn, moving in rhythm with my heartbeat. “It feels… weirdly good,” I admitted, watching the golden light flicker in my palm. “Like a dopamine rush. Uh—my-world term,” I added quickly.

Phineas’s lips curved into a knowing smile, the kind that made him look far too wise for comfort. “Good,” he murmured. “Because when you’ve mastered it—when your will and the flame are one—it won’t just feel alive.”

His gaze flicked to the flame in my hand, then back to me. “It will be alive. A reflection of you in every spark and ember.”

I stared at the fire, my grin spreading as it twisted between my fingers, obeying every subtle motion of my hand. “That’s… actually kind of sick.”

The flame pulsed in response—almost like it agreed.

Phineas leaned back, watching me with that same unsettling calm, as if he’d seen a hundred people do this before—and yet, none of them mattered. “Sick? That’s one word for it,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But don’t let it make you careless. Fire listens, yes…but it can also turn on you faster than you can blink.”

I flexed my fingers, and the flame arched higher, swirling like a living ribbon of gold. “Yeah, yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual while my heart hammered in my chest. “I’m not an idiot… mostly.”

“Mostly?” Phineas raised an eyebrow. “Mostly isn’t enough when the Wicked are out there. You’ll need precision. Control. And instinct.”

I laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. “Got it. Mostly precise, mostly controlled, mostly instinctual. Check, check, check.”

The fire pulsed again, hotter this time, but I didn’t flinch. It hummed almost like it was feeding off my excitement. “Feels… different,” I murmured. “Like it knows me—or at least wants to.”

Phineas’s eyes gleamed. “Good. That’s the first step. Trust it, respect it, and it’ll trust you in return. Cross that line, and…” He let the sentence hang, unspoken, leaving the weight of it in the air.

I tightened my grip, feeling the warmth of the flame seep deeper than my skin. “Yeah, I get it. No playing around. Flame’s boss. Not me.”

“Exactly,” he said. And for the first time, I thought I saw… pride? A faint, fleeting thing, gone before I could be sure. “Now, let’s see if you can make it dance.”

The flame leapt higher, golden sparks spinning like stars as I moved my hand in a slow, careful circle. My pulse synced with the fire, and I could swear it was laughing with me, alive in ways I hadn’t imagined possible.

“This is… insane,” I whispered, grinning like a fool. “I could get used to this.”

Phineas only shook his head, that infuriating mix of amusement and warning still etched in every line of his face. “Don’t get used to it. Get good at it.”

I tilted my hand, and the flame stretched, spiraling upward like a golden serpent. “Okay… let’s see how far we can push this.”

Phineas’s sharp inhale made me pause. “Careful,” he warned. “Too much too fast, and it will test you—maybe more than you can handle.”

“Relax,” I said, though my own voice sounded shaky even to me. “I’ve got this… mostly.”

I thrust my hand forward, and the flame shot out like a living lance, twisting and snapping in the air. Sparks scattered across the floor, sizzling where they landed. My pulse raced. “Oh—wow. That was… intense.”

“Intense is good. But don’t let it get ahead of you,” Phineas said, stepping closer. His eyes flicked between the flame and my grip, sharp and calculating. “It’s testing you, Charlie. Every time you push, it learns. Every mistake, it remembers.”

I clenched my jaw, letting the flame coil tighter around my wrist. It hummed against my skin, warm and insistent, almost like it was challenging me back. “Then I’ll just have to outsmart it,” I muttered, grinning despite the sweat running down my face.

I tried a more complicated movement—twisting my fingers, spinning my wrist—and the flame responded immediately, looping into rings and arcs, growing taller and brighter. My heart thumped so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. “Yes… yes! Look at that!”

Phineas’s lips curved into that faint, knowing smile again.

I swallowed hard. The fire pulsed like it was alive, sensing my excitement, my fear, my heartbeat. And I realized—this wasn’t just a weapon. This was a living thing. And it was mine… if I could survive its lessons.

“Okay,” I whispered, voice low but steady. “Let’s see how far we can go.”

The flame surged, golden and wild, as if it understood every ounce of my determination—and maybe, just maybe, it wanted to match it.

“Now, see if you can shape it,” Phineas said softly, his voice low, almost reverent. The glow in my palm shimmered like liquid starlight, warm but weightless, humming faintly against my skin.

“How do I do that?” I asked, eyes locked on the swirling light that pulsed with every beat of my heart.

“Picture the form you want it to take,” he said. “Send that image through yourself—your will, your intent—and the light will follow.”

I closed my eyes and focused. The warmth in my hand grew, spreading up my arm in a slow, tingling wave. I thought of my favorite animal, pictured it clearly in my mind, and exhaled.

The light stirred, rippling like water before rising from my palm. Threads of radiance twisted and merged, shaping themselves into a fox. It landed softly on the grass, its form translucent and glowing like moonlight trapped in motion. It bounded and leapt through the clearing, scattering motes of gold and silver light that floated upward like tiny stars.

Snow stood still, her arms crossed, but a faint grin touched her lips. Phineas smiled too, his eyes reflecting the fox’s glow. We watched as it circled us, tail leaving glimmering trails through the dusk air, before slowly dissolving into a quiet shower of sparks that faded into the night.

I breathed out, grinning. “It… actually worked.”

Phineas gave a small nod. “Good. Now, test it. See how much your light can take shape.”

I hesitated only for a second before holding out my hand again. The glow reignited, brighter this time—pure, fluid, alive.

I pictured a hawk, wings spread wide. The light surged upward, feathers forming out of thin air, each one a fragment of dawn. It soared above me, circling with silent grace, every beat of its wings scattering silver dust that hung glittering in the air.

“Beautiful,” Snow murmured under her breath.

Next, I imagined a wolf—steady, grounded, loyal. The light descended, reshaping itself into a sleek, luminous creature that prowled the edge of the field. Its paws left glowing prints on the grass, fading slowly with every step.

“Not bad,” Phineas said, the faintest hint of approval in his voice. “Try another.”

I smiled, the thrill coursing through me. “Alright. Let’s see…”

The glow flared again, forming delicate limbs and slender antlers—a deer, shimmering and elegant. It moved like liquid moonlight, leaving faint trails that danced in the air long after it passed.

Finally, I went bigger. I imagined something powerful, something untamed. The light trembled, then exploded outward, taking shape as a bear—towering, radiant, its outline pulsing with waves of soft gold and white. The air hummed with energy, and I could feel the power vibrating through my fingertips.

Phineas and Snow both watched in silence as the luminous bear lifted its head, gave a soundless roar, and slowly dissolved into a cascade of light, scattering like shooting stars.

The clearing dimmed again, leaving only the faint afterglow on my hands. My chest heaved, not from exhaustion, but from wonder.

“It’s… alive,” I whispered, staring at my palms. “It’s light, but it’s alive.”

Phineas smiled faintly. “No. It’s you,” he said. “The light only moves where your heart leads it.”

“What else could I do with this power?” I asked, still half in disbelief that what I’d just done was even real.

Phineas’s gaze flicked to the lingering trails of light fading into the air. “Much more,” he said quietly. “What you’ve made tonight are only echoes—reflections of your imagination. In time, you’ll be able to give the light substance. Form. Life.”

He took a step closer, his voice lowering, steady and sure. “This—” he gestured to the fading glow, “—is only the beginning. One day, that light will obey you completely. You’ll command it, shape it, summon it as your ally… your army.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse still thrumming with the hum of power in my veins. “An army of light,” I murmured.

Phineas nodded. “Yes. But before you can command it, you must learn to command yourself. The light bends to will—and will alone. If yours falters, so will it.”

I stared at my hands, still faintly glowing, the warmth pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. “Command myself,” I echoed under my breath. “Right.”

Phineas’s words echoed through the air, quiet but heavy. If yours falters, so will it.

I lifted my hand again, the familiar shimmer gathering in my palm. It came faster this time, like the light knew me now—trusted me. Threads of brilliance coiled upward, forming a sphere that pulsed softly, waiting for direction.

“Let’s try something new,” I murmured.

I pictured a stallion—strong, graceful, untouchable. The sphere rippled, stretching and unfolding into an elegant mane, long legs, and a proud head. The creature stepped forward, its hooves brushing the ground without a sound. But this time, something was different. Its glow wasn’t steady—it flickered, unsteady, like it was struggling to stay together.

“Good,” Phineas said, watching closely. “Now hold it. Keep your will steady.”

The stallion faltered, its outline blurring as if the air itself was tugging it apart. Sweat beaded at my temple as I clenched my fist, focusing, forcing the light to obey.

“Don’t fight it,” Phineas said sharply. “Guide it.”

I took a breath, lowering my shoulders, letting the tension melt away. The light steadied. The stag lifted its head again, solidifying, its glow spreading outward in a soft wave that illuminated the clearing.

Snow exhaled quietly beside us. “He’s getting faster.”

The stallion turned toward me, eyes like twin stars, and for a brief, impossible moment, I swore it saw me. I reached my hand out, my fingers brushing against his glowing muzzle. Then, as my skin made contact with the warm surface, it dissolved—its body unraveling into a thousand motes that drifted upward, fading into the dusk.

I dropped my hand, chest heaving. “That… felt different.”

Phineas nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Because for the first time, it wasn’t just obeying you. It was listening.”

The air still shimmered faintly, traces of the stag’s light flickering in the grass. I stared at them, a strange awe settling in my chest.

“What happens,” I asked quietly, “when it stops listening?”

Phineas’s eyes darkened just a fraction. “Then the light stops being yours,” he said. “And starts becoming something else entirely.”

———————————————————————————————————————

That evening, the three of us sat around the small wooden table in Phineas’s hut, the quiet clinking of spoons against bowls filling the air. The stew was warm but heavy, the kind that sat in your stomach and made silence feel thicker than it should’ve been.

I looked up at Phineas, who was calmly puffing on his pipe between bites. “When are we going to look for Carter?”

For a moment, he said nothing—just chewed, his gaze lost somewhere in the smoke curling around his head.

Finally, he set his spoon down with a soft clink. “When you are ready to fight.”

A muscle twitched in my jaw. “And when will that be? Because last I checked, I can already conjure full forms.”

Phineas didn’t even flinch. “Conjuring animals will not win the fight you seek to win.” The way he sidestepped my question made my chest tighten. I forced a steady breath through my nose, trying to keep my voice even.

“Then what else do I need to do?”

My grip on the spoon tightened until my knuckles turned white. Control. Clarity. Easy for him to say when he wasn’t the one who had lost his best friend to a monster wearing his face.

I dropped the spoon, the clatter echoing in the tense air. “You talk about control like it’s some light switch I can just flip on. Carter is out there, and every second we sit here eating stew and breathing smoke, he’s getting closer to being gone for good.”

Phineas didn’t so much as blink. “If you rush into battle unprepared, you’ll lose him anyway. And you’ll lose yourself, too.”

I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping against the floorboards. “You think I care what happens to me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his tone sharper now. “Because he does. The Carter you’re trying to save would never forgive himself if your life was the cost of his.”

That silenced me. The fire that had been building in my chest flickered—anger replaced by something heavier.

Guilt.

Snow reached across the table, her voice softer. “Charlie… Grandfather is right. You can’t save him if you’re broken too.”

I turned my gaze toward the dim window, watching rain begin to patter softly against the glass. Somewhere out there, Carter was fighting the darkness inside him. And here I was—fighting myself.

“Fine,” I muttered at last. “Then teach me how to stop being broken.”

Phineas leaned forward, eyes glinting like embers through the haze of pipe smoke. “Then listen closely, Child of the Sun. Because what comes next will test more than your power—it will test the very core of who you are.”

Phineas met my eyes, his expression calm—too calm. “You need more than strength, Charlie. You need control. Clarity. The anger you hold in this moment—” his gaze sharpened “—is exactly what will destroy you before the Wicked ever has the chance.”

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true.

A sharp, heavy bang rattled the door, echoing through the small hut and sending every muscle in my body on edge. My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my blade. Snow’s eyes darted to mine—wide, alert, questioning—while Phineas simply exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his calm composure doing little to ease the tension crawling under my skin.

Snow moved first. Her footsteps were cautious, deliberate, the wood creaking under each step as she crept toward the door. She glanced back at us once before her fingers brushed the handle.

The door had barely cracked open when a blur of frantic movement shoved its way inside. The Oracle stumbled forward, eyes wild and unfocused, her breaths coming fast and shallow.

“Oracle—what’s going on—” Snow began, but her words were sliced short by Beatrice’s piercing voice.

“Phineas!” she cried, voice trembling like a struck chord. “I must speak with you—now!”

The Wizard rose slowly from his chair, pipe forgotten, his expression shifting from calm to something grimly intent. “Beatrice,” he said, tone low and steady, “breathe, child. What’s the matter?”

She shook her head furiously, clutching the folds of her robes. “Not here. Not with them listening.” Her eyes darted to me and Snow—haunted, accusing, terrified.

Snow and I exchanged a glance before she grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room. The door shut behind us with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than thunder.

“What the hell is she doing here?” I whispered, lowering my voice to a rasp. “You don’t think—”

“Shut it,” Snow hissed, leaning close to the door, her silver hair falling forward as she cracked it open just enough to listen.

The muffled sound of hurried voices spilled through the gap—the Oracle’s tone sharp, urgent; Phineas’s voice a deep rumble beneath it. The words she was saying made my pulse quicken.

Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t just another prophecy.

Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Phineas, I had a terrible vision,” she gasped, her voice trembling as her milky-white and emerald green eyes darted wildly around the room. “A terrible, terrible vision.”

I pressed closer to the door, pulse hammering in my ears. Every possible scenario flashed through my mind—each one darker than the last.

Phineas’s voice came calm and low, though I could hear the tension buried beneath it. “What did you see, Beatrice?”

She swallowed hard. “Of them.”

My stomach dropped like a stone. The way she said it—like the word itself carried a curse—told me everything I needed to know. She meant us. Me and Carter.

Snow’s hand found the edge of the door, knuckles white. I leaned against her shoulder, straining to hear every syllable that followed.

Phineas guided the Oracle to the couch, his voice gentle. “Start from the beginning. Tell me exactly what you saw.”

The Oracle’s breathing hitched. She clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned pale. “I saw a red sky,” she whispered. “Red like spilled blood. The air was thick with smoke and ash. Fire—everywhere. Whole cities burning. Screams.” Her voice cracked. “So much death, Phineas. It was endless.”

A cold shiver raced down my spine. My throat felt dry as bone, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

I looked at Snow. Her eyes were wide, glassy with fear, her trembling fingers gripping the wood of the door like

it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And for a moment, neither of us breathed—because we both knew, deep down, that whatever the Oracle had seen… it wasn’t just a warning.

It was a glimpse of what was coming.

Phineas’s voice, though steady, had taken on a sharp edge. “Did you see who caused it?”

The Oracle’s lips quivered. Her gaze drifted toward the fire crackling in the hearth as if the flames themselves reminded her of the horror she’d witnessed. “Yes,” she whispered. “Two figures stood at the heart of it all. One cloaked in light, the other in shadow. They faced each other beneath that crimson sky… and the world burned around them.”

I felt my pulse stop for half a beat. Light and shadow. There was no mistaking it.

Snow slowly turned toward me, her voice barely audible. “Charlie… she’s talking about you and Carter.”

I shook my head in disbelief, though my chest tightened painfully. “That doesn’t make sense,” I muttered. “I—I wouldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t now,” Snow interrupted, her tone trembling but firm. “But she saw something that will happen, not what is.”

Inside the other room, Beatrice continued, her voice growing shakier with every word. “The two powers collided—light against dark. And when they did… there was nothing left. Not the earth, not the sky, not life itself. The world was torn in two.”

Phineas didn’t answer at first. The only sound was the low, steady hum of the fire, and then his voice—quiet, heavy, and grim. “The prophecy of the Twin Suns…”

The Oracle nodded weakly. “It has begun.”

Snow’s fingers went cold against mine. And for the first time in a long while, I wished I hadn’t listened at all.