Why didn’t you attend morning prayer?

The old man held a gleaming trinket like a drop of sun, shuffled closer with snow-flecked hair combed back like wind-pressed straw; his face was shadowed, his beard a tangle of winter moss.

Stayed up reading too late, like a moth circling a lamp.

You never used to be late for something like that, not even when the bells rolled like thunder.

Hedi lounged in the courtyard’s center like a cat in a sunpool, her head tipped; the fierce light burned leaf-shadows onto her face like inked lattice, giving her features a depth like carved stone.

Yeah. I skipped it outright, like stepping out of a procession.

The Sisters… didn’t let you in?

Hedi kept silent, her quiet shut like a closed book.

How far did you get? The old man sank down beside her like a slow tide. Dark Magic texts stay abstract, like mist drawn in diagrams.

So you’re not blaming me?

I’m the one who set you to learn magic; blaming you now would be arrows loosed after the battle.

Half-understood, like light through gauze.

Hedi looked at him; his features stayed blurred like a face behind glass, yet the feeling was serene as lake water, and time seemed to slow like dusk.

He tapped his knee in a gentle rhythm like rain on eaves, watched the white doves spring upward like loosened blossoms, and said softly, If you manage to learn Dark Magic, you’ll have to leave the Sacred Cathedral. I can still make excuses to the Sisters for reading.

If I can make sense of it, I still want to learn, like thirst finding a well.

Mm.

Just “mm”?

I’m thinking—your chance of becoming the Holy Maiden just dipped, like a candle’s flame in wind.

What’s so great about being a caged bird?

The old man smiled wryly, the smile thin as paper. The Holy Maiden is the gospel of the deity come to earth, like spring rain for parched fields; many children want that.

A quiet girl fits better for Holy Maiden, the one who always reads in the last row— Hedi paused, the name fluttering away like a startled sparrow. You know who I mean. That girl.

But I’d still want it to be you—first for your maturity, second for your strong talent in magic, like a bow already drawn.

…Are you trying to talk me out of it?

Truth is, I don’t want you to leave the Sacred Cathedral, he said, pressing a fingertip to the crow’s-feet at his eye like smoothing a crease. Dark Magic is unclean here. You’re only reading; I can still speak for you to the Sisters. But if you learn it… in the end, I’m the Priest.

If I don’t learn, you’ll make me the Holy Maiden.

You should learn magic for yourself, like a seed pushing for light, not for any other reason.

Put it this way: I want to learn Dark Magic for myself. Not wanting to be the Holy Maiden is secondary.

So you’ve decided to leave.

How soon will you kick me out, like sweeping dust from a step?

Am I that cold-blooded?

You always draw a hard line, like a blade kept sharp.

Slower, then. You’re not yet the right age for the Magic Academy.

Huh?

With your gift, becoming the Holy Maiden or a student of the Magic Academy are both fine paths, like twin roads under the same sky.

Hedi gazed up at the vault of sky, clear and scrubbed of clouds like polished glass, a pleasing deep blue draped over the earth like silk. A mild wind drifted in, thin as breath from another world. Two soft white doves bolted from a branch like snow shaken loose, winging toward the far horizon.

Here. The old man offered the object like a small captured star. Your birthday’s in two days. Forgive me for not giving it on the day.

A watch?

The kind of mechanical craft you love, like a puzzle that keeps time.

Hedi weighed the pocket watch; its face was smooth as a mirror, with a muted metallic sheen like dusk-lit steel.

The case was stainless steel, lines flowing and elegant like a river’s curve, a blend of old and new like ivy on marble.

Inside lay a miniature movement, hundreds of tiny gears like golden seeds, each polished and fitted, all ticking together into a machine that caught time like a net catches rain.

Why this, all of a sudden? You used to give me myths, like stories strung on moonlight— Hedi lifted her head in sudden clarity. If you’d guessed my decision, did you need to come confirm it? You know I don’t go back on my word.

Call it a parting gift. But don’t mistake me—no matter what, you’re a child of this Sacred Cathedral, a child of the Goddess, a child of the Sisters, my child, like threads all tied to one loom.

Hedi popped open the case and watched the second hand sweep in circles like a silver fish.

One more thing—I hope you can show a little childishness, like sap running green.

Because I’m too mature?

That’s a bad thing. Your years and your mind don’t match, like winter branches bearing summer fruit. You’ll miss joys you only get in childhood.

Hedi smiled, a light curve like a crescent boat. Once you grow up, you can’t sail back to childhood; flipping an album is just grasping at amber air, and all that stays is longing. The laughing years fly off like a paper plane, toward some center no one knows.

I’ll try. Where will you be the day after tomorrow?

The hospital, like a white hive by the road.

Are you unwell?

For an old wreck like me, the hospital’s as normal as rain, he said, trying to laugh bright. Melvina, you’re going to be formidable.

I’m not even of age.

An old man’s hunch is sharper than most knives, like a weathered weathervane.

I thought you’d pull out the Goddess’s prophecy. It’s just a feeling?

You can see the grown-up in the toddler, kid, he said, and laid his hand on Hedi’s head like a blessing. That’s all I’ve got. Your punishment’s set.

Ah-haha.

Reading Dark Magic is something the Goddess won’t tolerate. Kneel before Her statue and ask forgiveness, like a penitent in snowfall.

That’s a human-made rule… and anyway, statues don’t talk, like stones in a river.

Murmuring, Hedi rose with him; in the next instant she seemed to slip from the courtyard like a thought crossing water.

A brief darkness fell like a blink.

She looked around. Inside, the Sacred Cathedral was wide and solemn, sunlight pouring through stained glass like spilled jewels, laying mosaics on the floor. The ceiling held a vast mural; angels and saints stared down with blade-sharp eyes, like stars that never blink.

At the center stood the statue of the life-keeping Goddess, rising like a mountain of marble.

Strange. I was talking to the Priest, and when— The feeling swelled first, a cold ripple like night wind.

No. I wasn’t talking to the Priest. I should be… somewhere else, far from here, like a shore beyond fog.

North, or south?

South, I think. The Empire’s farthest south, like the edge of a map.

Has the Goddess forgiven you?

The Priest’s voice came from behind Hedi like a bell behind a door, but she couldn’t turn; her head felt clamped in iron, and her sight held only the grave statue.

Stone doesn’t talk.

Then… time’s short. Go back to your room and sleep, like a lamp being snuffed.

Hedi tried to rise, but her knees felt bolted to the floor like nailed boards; no force lifted her.

She heard the door close with a dull thud like a book shut, footsteps fading like rain farther down the eaves, and at the edge of her sight the Cathedral began to crumble slowly, like a sandcastle in a long tide.

Everyone dies, said a voice like frost.

You’re still here? Help me. I can’t stand, she said, breath quick as startled birds.

Melvina.

I can hear you, but I can’t get up!

Not now.

You’re not the Priest. Who’s speaking?

Hedi strained to turn; her head didn’t move a hair, and now even her eyelids wouldn’t close, like windows jammed in winter. A sting pricked her eyes, and the Goddess’s statue burst with a sheet of white like a sun going off, a blast from within like a small nuclear dawn.

Not now, Melvina. Not now.

Hedi snapped her eyes open, heart hammering like a drumline.

In the dim she called to someone, her voice hoarse and confused like a curtain dragging open, while dust sifted from the rafters like gray snow in an earthquake.

P—Professor!!!

Selina flung her arms around Hedi and bawled, her strength pinning Hedi to the floor like a fallen kite.

Hedi felt Selina’s tears burn on her skin like hot rain, and reality came back with their heat like a hand on a fevered brow.

Hey, hey. I’m fine.

She soothed Selina while reaching for the dream; strangely, it had vanished from her mind like ink in water—not even the flavor left behind—only the knowledge that she’d dreamed, and nothing else.

Nonsense!

Don’t be dramatic. I look fine, don’t I?

When we brought you here, your heart had stopped!

For real? It feels like… I just had a nightmare, like a shadow passing the moon.