Chapter Sixteen: Preparation

Snow circled me like a wolf with patience to spare. Her steps were light, ghosting over the moss-covered ground, but her eyes were sharp—calculating, assessing every twitch in my posture.

“Again,” she ordered.

My arms trembled. Sweat slid down the back of my neck despite the cold. I forced my fingers to uncurl and lifted my hands, aiming them toward the boulder she’d placed in front of me—a jagged, towering thing covered in patches of lichen.

I inhaled, trying to remember what Phineas had said. Magic is not something you push. It’s something you listen to.

Easy for him to say.

I exhaled—and a pulse of silvery light shot out, slamming into the boulder. It cracked down the middle, stone dust erupting like smoke.

Snow shook her head. “Too much force. You’re treating your magic like a weapon.”

“It is a weapon,” I snapped before I could stop myself. My muscles ached, my lungs burned, and the image of Carter’s new midnight-black hair with those red ends flashed across my mind like a warning flare. “If I don’t use enough force, he’s dead. Or worse.”

Snow’s eyes softened—not with pity, but something fiercer. A belief I wasn’t sure I deserved.

“You’re not meant to destroy, Charlie. You’re meant to stop destruction,” she said. “Your strength comes from control… not power.”

I let out a shaky breath and nodded, though frustration pressed like iron behind my ribs. “So what? I just have to… chill out? While Carter is out there possibly turning into some ancient weapon?”

For a moment, Snow said nothing. The wind rustled the trees, carrying the faint scent of smoke from earlier—my smoke, my flames.

Then she held out her hand. “Come on. Phineas wants you to attempt the next technique.”

I hesitated. “The what?”

Her lips pulled into a tight, almost mischievous smile. “The part where you learn to fight without using your hands.”

Before I could ask what the hell she meant, she snapped her fingers—and the ground vanished beneath me.

I dropped straight down, landing in a pit I was certain hadn’t existed seconds ago. Dirt walls rose around me like a natural cage, ten feet high and lined with roots thick as rope.

“Hey!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “What is this?!”

Snow peered down at me, her white hair glowing like a halo above. “Lesson two,” she called. “Control isn’t only about your power. It’s about your mind.”

The wall shifted. A boulder embedded in the earth groaned, then began to break free, sliding toward me.

“You’re kidding,” I breathed.

Snow didn’t blink. “Stop it—without attacking it. Without panicking. And without burning half the forest again.”

The boulder lurched forward. My heartbeat exploded into my throat.

“Snow—!”

“Focus!” she snapped.

The boulder picked up speed. I threw out my hands on instinct—then froze, remembering exactly what she’d said. No hands. No force. No panic.

I clenched my jaw, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to reach for that same shimmering place inside me that had cracked the first rock—only this time without letting it surge like a storm.

The rumble grew louder. The ground trembled. The boulder was seconds away from crushing me—

And suddenly, everything went quiet. I opened my eyes. The boulder hung inches from my chest, perfectly still, suspended in midair by a silvery glow radiating from… me. But not my hands. The light rippled from my entire body, as if I’d become a pulse of quiet energy.

Snow smiled. Not smug—proud.

“Good,” she said. “Now that you’re finally listening, we can begin.”

“You’re psychotic,” I muttered under my breath.

Snow just shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just helpful. Now get out.”

I rolled my eyes, mid-motion, before my gaze snapped upward. “Um, I’m in a ten-foot hole! How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?”

Snow shrugged again. “You’ll figure it out.”

And with that, she walked away.

“Hey, hey!” I shouted after her. “Dammit, Snow, get back here and help me out!”

No response. Great.

I let out a long, defeated sigh and scanned the walls of dirt around me. Nothing. Just a vertical prison of dust and soil. Maybe I could wait it out.

I sat cross-legged against the wall, folding my arms, trying to appear calm. “I’ll just… wait.”

An hour—or what felt like an hour—passed. The sun shifted, shadows creeping across the ground, and it became painfully obvious: no one was coming to save me. It was up to me.

I rose, brushing off my clothes, eyeing the walls again. Nothing useful. I jumped. Failed. I jumped again. Still failed. Frustration curled in my chest, growing sharper with every attempt.

After another hour of repeated, fruitless efforts, I slammed a fist into the dirt wall. “What the hell am I supposed to do?!” I growled, forcing myself to take several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing mind.

You’ll figure it out.

Figure. Figure. And then it hit me.

I focused, picturing a bear in my mind. Light gathered in my palm, swirling, shimmering—but the moment I reached for it, the image vanished like smoke. I tried again. Vanished. And again. Come on! I hissed under my breath, jaw tight with frustration. Finally, taking a deep breath, I tried something different. I didn’t reach out. I concentrated harder, imagining every detail: thick fur, deep eyes, the steady heartbeat of a real, living bear. I poured all my focus into it, willing it to stay, to exist.

The light wavered, flickered, threatening to collapse. My pulse hammered in my ears, and I almost gave up…

Then it solidified.

A massive grizzly stood before me, golden light streaming along its fur like sunlight trapped in motion. My heart nearly stopped. I froze, expecting it to swipe, to roar—but instead, it lowered its massive paw, snagged the hem of my cloak, and lifted me with ease. The wind rushed past as I dangled, then landed safely on the ground outside the hole. The bear followed, clambering out after me. It paused, bowed its head once, and dissolved into a cascade of sparkling light, leaving only a faint glow where it had stood.

I stared, mouth slightly agape, heartbeat still racing. I had actually done it. It worked.

I wasn’t done—not even close.

I held out my hands again, feeling that hum of power surge up my arms, brighter and sharper than before. If I could make one real creature… why not more? Why not test the edges of what I could do?

I pictured a hawk first. Sleek, fierce, untouchable.

Light gathered in spiraling ribbons, but this time I pushed harder—imagining bones, feathers, the weight of a real creature. The light thickened, condensed, shimmered… and then burst outward.

A real hawk exploded into existence with a sharp cry, wings beating the air as it soared above me. Actual wind brushed my face from the force of it. Its feathers were golden-tipped, but everything else—every sound, every motion—was unmistakably real. I held out my arm in a hook, and the majestic bird swooped down and grabbed my limb with its sharp talons, perching right on me.

My chest tightened with exhilaration as I flung my arm upward, sending the hawk back into the air. I tried again.

A fox. My favorite.

The glow pooled at my feet, swirling like mist before tightening into shape. A heartbeat later, an actual fox shook itself free from the light—fur russet and soft, paws silent on the earth. It circled me once, tail flicking, then bounded through the grass with living agility.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

I pressed on.

A turtle materialized next—slow, solid, warm against my fingertips when I touched its shell. It blinked at me like it had always belonged in this world.

Then a lynx, muscular and graceful, stepping forward with predatory fluidity. Its breath came out in soft puffs, ears twitching as it observed the fox zipping around it.

And then—because I wanted to know if I could—something enormous.

I focused all the energy I could muster, shaping broad shoulders, wrinkled skin, a massive form. The air vibrated. Light thickened like clay under my will.

The elephant emerged with a low rumble that shook the ground. Dust scattered from the force of its breath.

Its eyes—warm, intelligent—settled on me before it lowered its trunk in something like greeting. I held my hand out, and the lynx pressed his cheek to my fingertips. Soft fur and warm skin flooded my skin.

I stumbled back, overwhelmed.

There they all stood.

Five real animals—breathing, moving, alive—because I had willed them into existence.

“Impressive,” a voice murmured—smooth, quiet, and close enough to make my heart jolt against my ribs.

I spun around, breath catching in my throat.

Snow and the Wizard stood framed in the hut’s entrance. Firelight flickered behind them, casting shifting shadows that made Phineas look older, wiser… and a little proud. His eyes settled on me with a soft gleam, the kind that said he’d expected this long before I had.

But Snow—Snow looked like she’d just seen a ghost rip its way out of the earth.

Her lips parted. Her hands trembled at her sides. “W-what… what were those things?” she choked out, stumbling a step forward. “Charlie, those… those weren’t illusions. They were alive.”

Only then did it hit me fully—my heart still racing as my mind replayed the moment I’d summoned them: the wolf padding out of the light, the hawk spiraling up into the air, the stag’s antlers glinting like polished bone.

Not creatures of this world. Not spirits. Flesh and breath and heartbeat.

I exhaled slowly, heat prickling the back of my neck. “Right. Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck, offering a crooked, awkward grin. “They’re… um… animals from my world. I kinda forgot you’ve never seen them.”

Snow didn’t blink. She just stared at me like she wasn’t sure whether to reach out—or run.

Snow tore her gaze from the place the stag had stood moments ago, eyes darting back to me like she was trying to reconcile two versions of who I was—the Charlie she’d dragged through the forest, and the one who’d just pulled living creatures out of raw light and air.

“That wasn’t just magic,” she whispered. “That was creation.”

The word hit me like a stone dropped into deep water—ripples spreading through my chest, unsettling something that had only just begun to surface.

The Wizard stepped forward, pipe clasped loosely in his fingers. His shadow stretched across the grass, long and deliberate.

“You’ve crossed a threshold today,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made the night seem to still around us. “One most do not reach until decades of discipline. And even then…” His gaze drifted toward the charred-but-not-charred treeline. “Not like this.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t want to be special. Not like this. Not when every new ability felt like a reminder that something inside me was stretching, shifting—becoming something I didn’t fully understand.

Snow swallowed hard. “Charlie… if you can make things like that, what else are you capable of?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t even afraid. It was searching—like she needed to understand whether I was becoming their last hope, or their newest threat.

I shoved my hands deep into my pockets to hide the faint glow still pulsing beneath my skin. “Honestly? I’m still figuring that out myself.”

Phineas hummed thoughtfully, smoke curling around him like a lazy serpent. “Then let us begin before the Prophecy begins without us.”

Snow stiffened. I did too. The Oracle’s words whispered through my mind—blood sky, ash, destruction.

Carter.

Everything tightened inside me.

The Wizard gestured toward the clearing, his eyes sharpening with an intensity I rarely saw in him. “Your training starts now, Charlie Harpley. And this time…” His gaze flicked to my glowing hands.  “…we will not hold anything back.”

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and something electric—something waiting.

For the first time, I wasn’t sure if it was the world trembling.

Or me.

Phineas stepped into the center of the clearing, the grass bending around him as if the earth itself knew who he was. Snow hung back at the edge, arms wrapped around herself, still watching me like she wasn’t sure whether to be proud or terrified.

The Wizard planted the end of his staff into the dirt. The air shifted. Hummed. Thickened.

“Lesson one,” he said calmly. “Power without intention is destruction. Power with intention becomes purpose. Show me you can tell the difference.”

Before I could ask what that meant, the ground cracked open beneath his feet.

A shadow surged upward—dark, swirling, reaching—forming some kind of massive creature with a jagged outline and hollow eyes. It towered over Phineas, snarling without a mouth, its smoky limbs writhing like tentacles in a storm.

Snow gasped. “Grandfather—!”

“It’s a construct,” he said, unbothered. “It cannot kill me. But it can kill you.”

My pulse spiked. “Okay hold on—maybe start with a smaller—”

The creature lunged.

Instinct—not training, not thought, not reason—ripped through me. Light shot from my hands, wild and blinding. It hit the creature’s chest, exploding on contact, ripping a hole straight through it—

—but the shadow simply folded in on itself and healed, reforming like my attack meant nothing. Panic clawed at my throat.

Phineas’s voice cut through the chaos. “Your power reacts with emotion. But emotion alone cannot defeat darkness. Focus, Charlie!”

Easy for him to say when he wasn’t the one being hunted by a nightmare. The creature dove toward me again. I threw myself backward, rolling across the dirt. Light flared from my palms, scattered, uncontrolled, cracking the air with heat but hitting nothing.

“Charlie!” Snow cried. “Center yourself!”

“I WOULD IF I KNEW HOW!”

The creature’s shadowy limbs slammed down inches from my feet, sending a wave of cold surging through the ground. I stumbled to my knees, heart battering my ribs. Then I remembered the treeline. I remembered the fire I’d created without meaning to harm. How the forest came out untouched.

Intention.

I forced myself to breathe—one ragged inhale, one shaky exhale. This time, I didn’t think about destroying the creature. I thought about stopping it. Containing it.

Ending its purpose, not its form.

The light rose again—slowly, this time, like an obedient tide instead of a storm. It wrapped around my hands, warm but controlled, no longer trying to tear its way out of me. The creature lunged again.

I raised my palms.

The light didn’t blast out—it flowed, spiraled, coiled around the shadow’s limbs like golden chains. The creature shrieked, its form flickering, collapsing inward as the light tightened around it. For a moment, the clearing glowed bright enough to blind—

And then the creature shattered into dust that vanished into the air.

Silence crashed back instantly.

My shoulders slumped. My knees nearly buckled. My breathing came hard and fast. Phineas watched me, his face unreadable.

Snow stared, mouth slightly open.

The Wizard stepped forward slowly, his staff tapping the ground.

“Lesson one,” he murmured, “passed.”

My hands still glowed faintly. And somewhere deep within me… something else glowed too. Something waking up. Snow rushed toward me first, boots pounding across the clearing. Her hands hovered like she wanted to grab my shoulders but wasn’t sure if touching me would burn her alive.

“Are you—are you okay?” she breathed.

“I…” I swallowed, trying to steady my pulse. “Yeah. I think so.”

Phineas approached more slowly, his staff tapping once, twice, like a judge preparing his verdict. He looked me over—not searching for injuries, but for something deeper. Something he had been waiting to see.

“You are changing,” he said softly. “Faster than I anticipated.”

A chill crept up my spine.

Snow shot the Wizard a worried look. “Grandfather… you don’t mean—”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “The Prophecy quickens.”

My stomach knotted. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t make it sound like I’m some… ticking bomb.”

“Charles,” Phineas said, voice dipping low with gravity, “you are not the bomb. You are the one meant to stop it.”

My breath caught. I knew who the ‘bomb’ was. I didn’t need him to say Carter’s name out loud to feel the truth of it slice through me.

Phineas placed a heavy, steadying hand on my shoulder. “You have three days. Three days to master what most take years to understand. And if you fail—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Snow looked between us, her face pale, fear flickering behind her eyes. “Come on,” she said softly, touching my arm. “Let’s go inside. You need rest.”

I glanced back at the clearing—still humming faintly with leftover magic. The dirt still bore the shape of the shadow creature’s weight. The air still felt heavy, charged, waiting.

“Rest,” I echoed, though the word tasted wrong in my mouth. “Right.”

Phineas turned toward the hut, the ends of his cloak dragging across the grass. “The lessons ahead will test every part of you,” he called back. “Your strength. Your mind. Your heart.”

He paused at the doorway. “And before this ends, Charlie… you will have to choose which one breaks.”

A cold shiver ripped down my spine. Snow pushed open the door, giving me a look that was half comfort, half fear. I followed her inside. And as the door shut behind us, sealing out the night, one truth pressed into my bones with a weight I couldn’t shake: Training wasn’t preparing me for the fight. It was preparing me for

Carter.

And whether I wanted to or not…

The countdown had already begun.