Mathematical witchcraft

The rain tapped against the apartment window in a steady rhythm, creating an oddly soothing backdrop to the chaos inside. Owen sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by textbooks, notebooks, and half-empty coffee cups. His face was scrunched in concentration—or maybe frustration—as he flipped through pages of equations, muttering something about "mathematical witchcraft."

Lilith perched on the edge of the couch, watching him with quiet curiosity. She had seen humans study before—back when she'd first arrived and observed them from afar—but there was something different about seeing Owen do it. There was a kind of stubborn determination in the way his brows furrowed, how his pen hovered over the paper as though daring the numbers to misbehave. It wasn't elegant or regal like the scholars of Alaric; it was raw, unpolished, and utterly human.

And yet... it fascinated her.

"You're going to wear a hole in those pages if you keep glaring at them like that," she said finally, breaking the silence.

Owen glanced up, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. "Not all of us can just wave our hands and make problems disappear, Princess. Some of us have to actually work for answers."

She tilted her head—that infuriating bird-like gesture that somehow made Owen feel like he was the alien in this scenario. "Your methods are inefficient. If I could use magic here without consequence, I could solve your equations in moments."

"Yeah, well, good thing you can't," Owen shot back, leaning back on his elbows. "Last time you 'helped,' I got accused of cheating because apparently no one believes I suddenly became a math prodigy overnight."

Lilith smirked, though there was a flicker of guilt behind her eyes. "It's not my fault your teacher lacks imagination."

He rolled his eyes so hard he was pretty sure they might never return to their normal position but didn't argue further. Instead, he stretched, groaning as his joints cracked audibly. "I need a break. My brain feels like it's melting."

"Perhaps you should hydrate," Lilith suggested, gesturing toward the empty coffee cups. "Caffeine isn't exactly known for its restorative properties."

"Coming from someone who thought vending machines were temples?" Owen raised an eyebrow, smirking now. "You're hardly one to lecture me on proper hydration."

Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly—a reaction so subtle that most people might miss it. But Owen noticed. Of course he did. He always seemed to notice the little things about her, even when he pretended not to care.

"I've adapted," she said stiffly, crossing her arms. "Unlike certain individuals who refuse to adapt to anything outside their comfort zone."

"Comfort zone?" Owen snorted. "You mean reality? Because last I checked, interdimensional princesses aren't real."

For a moment, tension crackled in the air between them. Then Lilith let out a soft laugh, surprising both of them. "Touché, future hero."

"Don't call me that," Owen grumbled, but there was no real bite to his words. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists as he studied her. "So, what do you do for fun in your world? When you're not trying to recruit unwilling heroes, I mean."

The question caught her off guard. Fun? Was that what this was? Sitting here, bantering with him while rain painted patterns on the glass?

"We don't have much time for frivolity in Elarion," she admitted after a pause. Her voice softened, tinged with nostalgia—or perhaps sadness. "But sometimes, during rare moments of peace, we would gather under the stars and tell stories. Tales of ancient heroes, forgotten battles… and occasionally, love."

Owen froze, his gaze snapping to hers. "Love?"

She blinked, realizing what she'd said. For once, her composure wavered. "Yes," she murmured, looking away. "Stories of two souls finding each other despite impossible odds. Such tales were meant to inspire hope, though many dismissed them as mere fantasy."

There was a weight to her words, something unspoken lingering beneath the surface. Owen opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. What could he possibly say to that? That he didn't believe in fairy tales? That love sounded as impractical as saving dying worlds?

Instead, he changed the subject. "Well, Earth has plenty of those kinds of stories too. Movies, books, songs—you name it. Maybe someday I'll introduce you to some of them."

Lilith turned back to him, her crimson eyes searching his face. "Perhaps," she said softly. "Though I suspect none compare to the ones told under Alaric's skies."

They fell silent then, the rain filling the void between them. Lilith watched as Owen returned to his studies, his movements deliberate and focused. She found herself wondering what it would be like to sit beside him like this every night—not as a burden or an obligation, but simply because she wanted to.

It was a dangerous thought, one she quickly pushed aside. Emotions like these only complicated matters, and they already had enough complications to deal with. Still, as she gazed at him, she couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading through her chest—a sensation she didn't fully understand but didn't want to let go of either.

"Hey," Owen said suddenly, leaning forward. "You've been here for six months, right? Have you noticed anything… weird? Like, supernatural weird?"

Lilith raised an eyebrow, her composure slipping back into place like a mask. "Define 'weird.'"

"You know what I mean," Owen pressed, gesturing vaguely toward the window. "Hikaru keeps talking about those lights in the sky. People seeing stuff they can't explain. Animals acting strange. That kind of thing."

For a moment, Lilith was silent. Her crimson eyes darkened slightly, as if she were sifting through memories—or perhaps deciding how much to reveal. Finally, she nodded slowly. "Yes," she admitted. "When I first arrived here, there were disturbances. Similar to what you describe."

Owen leaned closer, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "What kind of disturbances?"

"The skies shimmered," Lilith said softly, her gaze distant. "Not unlike the auroras in your polar regions, but… sharper. More deliberate. It wasn't natural—not by Earth's standards, at least."

"And you think it has something to do with dimensions?" Owen asked, though his tone betrayed a flicker of curiosity beneath his skepticism.

"It's likely," Lilith replied, her voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "Travel between dimensions often leaves traces. Ripples in the fabric of reality. When I crossed over from Elarion, I caused such disturbances myself. Though…" She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. "These recent events may not be connected to me."

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose—a gesture that was quickly becoming his signature move. "Then who—or what—is causing them?"

Lilith shook her head. "I don't know. But I suspect someone else might be traveling between worlds. Perhaps a Larian."

"A what now?" Owen blinked, his skepticism returning full force.

"A Larian," Lilith repeated patiently. "They are travelers of the void—beings capable of navigating the spaces between dimensions. In my world, their presence is both feared and revered. If one has come to Earth…"

She trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air like smoke. Owen stared at her, torn between disbelief and a creeping sense of unease. He wanted to laugh it off—to chalk it up to another one of Lilith's bizarre theories—but deep down, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Something bigger than either of them.

"So let me get this straight," Owen said finally, running a hand through his hair. "You're saying some interdimensional hitchhiker might be messing around in our skies, and we have no idea why or what they want?"

"In essence, yes," Lilith confirmed, her expression grim. "Though I doubt they're merely 'messing around.' Traveling between dimensions requires immense power—and intent. Whoever—or whatever—it is, they came here for a reason."

Owen groaned, sinking back against the wall. "Great. Just great. Because apparently, having you crash-land into my life wasn't enough chaos for one semester."

Lilith bristled slightly at his tone. "I didn't choose to come here, Owen. And neither did whoever—or whatever—is responsible for these disturbances."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you guys could coordinate your schedules better," Owen muttered under his breath. Louder, he added, "So what do we do about it? Call NASA? Set up a hotline for cosmic tourists?"

"We observe," Lilith said simply. "And prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Owen demanded. "An alien invasion? A magical apocalypse? Or just more dodgeball games where you bend the laws of physics?"

Lilith ignored his sarcasm, rising gracefully to her feet. "We wait," she said firmly. "And when the time comes, we act. Until then, we gather information. Learn what we can about these phenomena. Understand their patterns."

Owen sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course. Because fighting interdimensional threats is totally within my job description as a high school senior."

Lilith turned to him, her expression softening ever so slightly. "You've already proven yourself capable, Owen. Whether you believe it or not."

Her words hung in the air, quiet but heavy with meaning. Owen looked away, unable to meet her gaze. For all his protests, for all his attempts to distance himself from her world and its problems, he couldn't deny the truth behind her statement. Every encounter with Lilith had pushed him further out of his comfort zone. And every time, he'd risen to the challenge, however reluctantly.

"Fine," he muttered after a long pause. "But if this turns into some kind of cosmic war zone, I'm blaming you."

Lilith smiled faintly, though there was a shadow of worry in her eyes. "Fair enough."