Unruly Allies

[Next day]

I sit cross-legged in the quiet of the room, the faint glow of the lantern casting flickering shadows on the walls. My breathing steadies, slow and deliberate, as I close my eyes and focus inward.

Collect the mana. Little by little.

It starts as a faint hum, like a distant whisper beneath my skin. Mana isn’t loud or forceful—not at first. It’s subtle, almost shy, like a thread waiting to be pulled. I concentrate, drawing it carefully, slowly, from the depths of my body.

The energy pools in my chest, light and fragile, as if the slightest misstep could scatter it. My focus sharpens. There’s no room for error.

Now shape it.

I imagine the mana as a thin, delicate string, thinner than a strand of hair. It resists at first, shifting and curling unpredictably, but I keep pulling it taut, stretching it into the form I need. My mind wraps around the image, coaxing the string into a perfect circle.

One step at a time. Breathe.

The string begins to curve, trembling as it loops around my heart. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I tighten my focus, pushing everything else out of my mind. Slowly, the ends of the string meet, completing the circle.

Don’t rush. Connect it. Hold steady.

For a moment, nothing happens. The string hovers in place, fragile and motionless, as if testing my resolve.

“Move,” I whisper under my breath, willing it into action.

I nudge the string gently, giving it a small push of angular momentum. At first, it wobbles, unsteady, but then it begins to spin. The motion starts slow, like a wheel catching its first turn, then builds steadily, gaining strength.

As the string rotates, I feel it—a faint presence around my heart. It’s like a barrier, an invisible thread of energy wrapping itself protectively around me.

The mana circle.

I open my eyes, my breath hitching as exhilaration floods through me. “Finally,” I mutter, a small smile tugging at my lips.

But the process isn’t done. Not even close.

I reach out with my mind, feeling the rotation of the thin string. It’s stable now, steady in its path, but it’s not enough. A single layer of mana won’t make a true circle. It’s just the foundation.

Time to thicken it.

I close my eyes again, reaching for more mana. This time, I move faster, pulling another thread from the depths of my core. My movements are smoother now, more confident. The second string takes shape quicker, curving into a circle that mimics the first.

Now comes the tricky part.

Carefully, I guide the second string toward the spinning circle, feeling the faint resistance as the two energies interact. The first circle shimmers, its rotation slowing slightly as it adjusts to the new presence.

“Hold steady,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

The second string aligns itself with the first, merging seamlessly into the rotation. The mana circle thickens, its presence growing stronger, more defined.

The process takes time—too much time. By the time the second layer is fully integrated, my chest aches from the effort. My body feels drained, but I know this is only the beginning.

Five hundred more times.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Five hundred more,” I say aloud, the corners of my mouth lifting into a wry smile. “Easy.”

But the truth is, it’s not easy. Every layer added to the mana circle demands more precision; more focus. One wrong move and the delicate balance could collapse, forcing me to start over.

Still, I can’t help the excitement building in my chest. Each rotation, each added thread, brings me closer to mastery.

“A mana circle with a mana heart,” I whisper to myself, the words feeling heavier than they should.

It’s not just a technique. It’s a foundation—a power that will shape the future.

I close my eyes again, my focus sharpening as I reach for the next thread of mana. The process repeats, and though my body protests, my resolve doesn’t waver.

This is the path I’ve chosen. And I will see it through.

After a few more rotations of the mana string, the ache in my chest grows sharper, like a dull knife pressing against my ribs. I exhale slowly, placing a hand over my heart.

“It’s enough for the day,” I mutter, my voice low but resolute.

Opening my eyes, I’m immediately struck by how heavy my body feels. My limbs are sluggish, my breathing labored, and when I look down, I see the sheen of sweat clinging to my skin. My clothes stick uncomfortably, damp and heavy.

I push myself to my feet, my legs wobbling slightly as I find my balance. “Bath,” I mutter to no one in particular, heading toward the washroom.

The cool water washes away the sweat and fatigue, leaving me feeling lighter, clearer. By the time I step out and dry off, I feel like a new person. I dress quickly, pulling on a clean tunic and cloak, tying the belt tightly around my waist.

“Mom, I’m ready. Can I go to the church now?” I call out, stepping into the main room.

Anara turns from where she’s stirring a pot over the hearth, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Church? Why now?”

I hesitate for a moment, then shrug. “Huh… just to play with friends,” I reply casually, avoiding her gaze.

“Play?”

The voice doesn’t come from Anara—it’s Elara. She pokes her head out from behind the table, her wide eyes brimming with excitement. “You’re going to play?”

Before I can answer, Anara steps in. “Alright then,” she says, her tone firm but kind. “Take Elara with you too.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Elara?”

“Yay!” Elara shouts, already spinning around to dash toward her room. “Wait! I’ll get my cloak!”

I stand there in silence, watching her disappear into the other room. I didn’t expect this.

“Remember,” Anara says, her voice calm but pointed, “you have a sister.”

I nod slowly, her words sinking in. Bound. I suppose she’s right.

Elara returns moments later, her cloak slightly crooked but her grin as bright as the sun. “I’m ready!”

“Alright,” I say, stepping toward the door.

Anara follows us to the threshold, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Be safe,” she says, her tone softening as she waves us off. “And don’t be late!”

“We won’t!” Elara shouts, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. “Come on, Ori! Let’s go!”

“Wait,” I say, planting my feet to resist her pull. “We need to do something first.”

She stops, tilting her head up at me with a confused expression. “What is it?”

“Treats,” I reply simply.

Her eyes light up immediately. “Treats? What kind of treats? Are we getting candies?”

I smirk faintly. “You’ll see. But if you want them, you have to behave.”

She pouts for a moment but quickly nods, her excitement too overwhelming to let her argue. “Okay, okay! Let’s go!”

The two of us head toward the market, Elara skipping alongside me, her small hand occasionally brushing against mine. Her energy is endless, her chatter constant as she asks a hundred questions about where we’re going and what we’re getting.

We make our way to the market, Elara skipping along beside me, her excitement bubbling over. The vendors are already busy, their colorful stalls lined with fruits, breads, and sweets.

I stop at a familiar stall, the smell of baked goods wafting through the air. The vendor, a kind-looking woman with silver-streaked hair, greets me with a warm smile.

“Back again?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply, pulling out a small pouch of coins. “I need enough for a group of children.”

The woman chuckles softly, already reaching for a tray of colorful candies. “Big group, huh? Are you spoiling them, or are they spoiling you?”

“Let’s just say it’s mutual,” I reply, placing the coins on the counter.

As she wraps the candies in a cloth, Elara stands on her tiptoes, peering eagerly at the treats. “So many!” she whispers, her eyes wide.

I glance down at her. “It’s not just for you. We’re sharing.”

She pouts for a moment but quickly nods, her excitement undimmed. “Okay, but I get to pick first!”

“Fair,” I reply, taking the bundle from the vendor. “Thank you.”

The vendor waves us off with a knowing smile.

By the time we reach the church, the children are already gathered in the garden, their laughter ringing through the air like bells. The afternoon sun filters through the crooked branches of the old tree that leans over the back fence, casting swaying patterns across the grass.

The garden is small but lively—patches of clover, worn stepping stones, and crooked benches scattered here and there.

When they notice me, some wave, while others eye the bundle in my hands with clear curiosity. Elara, predictably, wastes no time running ahead, her short legs pumping fast.

“Guess what we brought!” she calls out, spinning once on the spot like a stage performer. Her voice cuts through the hum of play, and heads turn.

The mere mention of treats is enough to pull them in. Oliver is the first to bound over, practically a golden retriever in human form. His wild hair bounces with every step. “Is that candy?!” he yells, already leaning in.

Callen follows more slowly, hands buried in his pockets, the faintest flicker of interest behind his usual scowl. Ethan and Lila linger in the background, quiet as always. Ethan taps Lila gently on the shoulder and signs something. Her sharp gaze darts to the bundle in my hands, but she remains seated, legs tucked beneath her like a cat preparing to spring.

Mina toddles over next, her small shoes pattering across the stone path, arms flailing with joy. “Candy!” she squeals, clapping her hands. Her face practically glows with delight.

Liam stays where he is, leaning against the far wall with one boot braced against the stone. His arms are crossed, his posture casual, but those eyes—dark and alert—miss nothing.

I raise the bundle and untie the knot, revealing the colorful wrappers inside. Sunlight glints off the foil like treasure. “Alright,” I say, letting my voice project just enough. “If we’re playing, everyone gets a share. But you only get more if you win.”

The garden erupts. Cheers echo off the church walls, laughter rising like smoke. Oliver pumps a fist in the air. “Let’s start now!”

Elara tugs on my sleeve, her eyes shining as she beams up at me. “See? They like you, Ori!”

I glance down at her, smirking faintly, my tone colder than she expects. “It’s not about them liking me. It’s about them following me.”

She tilts her head, not quite understanding. But she giggles anyway and hugs the candy to her chest.

I hand her the first piece—simple but deliberate. One piece at a time, I think, stepping forward as the others begin to gather.

Elara clings to my cloak again, her small hand tightening slightly. Her wide eyes scan the unfamiliar faces, some shy, some excited, all curious.

“Come on,” I say, giving her a gentle nudge. “Let’s introduce you.”

She hesitates, swallowing hard. Then, slowly, she takes a step forward. Her grip on my cloak loosens but doesn’t fall away.

I stop near the center and raise my voice again. “Guys,” I call out. The chatter dies down. Eyes swivel to me, expectant. “This is Elara.”

Elara gives a shy wave, her fingers barely lifting. But that nervous smile? It works.

“Hi, Elara!” Mina chirps immediately, rushing up without hesitation. Her dress is crooked, her candy-sticky hands already reaching out. She peers up at Elara. “Do you like candy?”

Elara nods quickly. “I love candy!” Her voice is still soft, but the smile blooming on her face says more than her words.

“Well, you’re in the right place,” Oliver says, stepping forward with that same grin that thinks it can win the world over by sheer enthusiasm. He throws an arm wide like he’s presenting the kingdom itself. “I’m Oliver, but you can call me Ollie. Everyone does.”

“Because you never stop talking,” Callen mutters from behind, arms crossed, tone dry as sand.

Oliver ignores him completely and leans toward Elara, whispering conspiratorially, “Stick with me, and you’ll win every game.”

Ethan and Lila approach next, just as I expect. Ethan gives a small wave, calm and steady. “I’m Ethan,” he says—measured, polite. “This is my sister, Lila.”

Lila doesn’t speak. Instead, she lifts her slate, fingers working quickly as chalk scratches across the surface. She turns it toward Elara with a soft rustle of cloth.

Hi, it says.

Elara’s eyes light up like lanterns. “Hi!” she says, waving both hands now. Her joy spills over, warm and infectious.

Liam doesn’t move. Still parked in his usual spot against the far garden wall, arms crossed, legs relaxed but firm. When Elara glances his way, he offers her the smallest nod—acknowledgement, not invitation. It’s enough for now.

“She’s already winning them over,” I think, watching as Mina grabs Elara’s hand and Oliver leans in like she’s just been elected team captain. I expected as much. Elara’s too bright for them to ignore. A spark in a room full of dry straw.

I clap once, loud enough to command attention. “Alright. Today, we’re going to play—”

“Tag!” Elara blurts, her voice high and confident, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

I turn to her slowly, raising a single brow. “Tag?” I echo, my voice low and dry.

She nods like it’s the best idea in the world. “Yes! Tag!”

Before I can veto the suggestion, she lunges at me, throwing her arms around my neck. Her legs dangle off the ground like she’s some tiny, overexcited primate. “Tag, tag, tag!” she chants, swinging back and forth with no intention of letting go.

I give her a look—flat and pointed. Really? I don’t even need to speak it.

Her grip tightens. She knows she’s won.

“Tag, tag, tag!” Mina joins in, voice shrill with joy as she spins in dizzy circles. The rhythm of her chanting clashes with the peaceful stillness of the church garden.

Oliver throws a fist in the air like he’s charging into battle. “Yes! Let’s play tag!”

I glance around the circle. There’s no stopping it now. Even Callen—stoic, guarded Callen—looks vaguely intrigued, though he pretends otherwise by flexing his fingers in his crossed arms.

So much for strategic training. There goes the plan.

I sigh under my breath, more to myself than anyone. “Fine. We’ll play tag.”

Elara squeals and releases me at last, landing lightly and spinning to face the others with commanding energy. “I’ll start!” she shouts, fire in her voice. “You all run, now!”

“Wait!” Oliver counters, rushing forward, indignant. “I want to be the chaser!”

“Nope!” Elara barks, planting her hands on her hips with authority. “I said it first! I’m the chaser, so you better run!”

And just like that, chaos.

Oliver sputters a protest, but it’s too late. The group scatters like startled birds.

Ethan quickly grabs Lila’s wrist, signing something with quick, clean movements before leading her toward the shade of the old oak.

Mina squeals with laughter, running in panicked zigzags.

Oliver dashes toward the far side of the yard, arms pumping wildly. “You’ll never catch me!” he howls, practically vibrating with energy.

Elara barrels after them, her short legs moving at double time. “Tag, tag, tag!” she shouts, breathless and beaming as she zeroes in on Mina.

I stay at the edge of the garden, arms crossed as I watch the pandemonium unfold. The laughter, the shouting, the pure chaos of it—it’s not what I planned. But it’s something.

My gaze drifts back to the wall—Liam still hasn’t moved. His eyes track every player, calm and calculated. Silent.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you watching,” I mutter under my breath, already filing away what I’ve learned.

The dust still swirls in lazy spirals where the children had trampled the earth. Laughter echoes faintly behind me as the others scatter toward the church steps, flushed with victory and sweat. But Liam hasn't moved. Still rooted at the edge of the makeshift field, arms folded, eyes sharp beneath a messy fringe of hair.

I turn slowly, adjusting my tone just enough—warmth, casual charm. Not too interested. Not yet.

"You don’t like games?" I ask, brushing invisible dirt from my tunic.

Liam’s jaw tenses. He looks at me without speaking, like he’s measuring weight instead of words. Then, finally, a shrug. “I like watching.”

Good. He’s honest. But guarded.

I take a few steps toward him, unhurried. Let the silence stretch. Let him think he holds some kind of high ground here. The moment he gets comfortable, that’s when people start showing their cracks.

“Elara always wins,” I say lightly, nodding toward my little sister, who’s now wrestling Oliver over some broken stick they’ve declared a ‘scepter.’ “But you saw it, didn’t you? Callen was faster. Ethan played defense. Oliver just made noise.”

His eyes flick to me. Just a flick. But it’s enough.

“You see people,” I continue, lowering my voice, “the way they really are. That’s rare.”

He says nothing. But there’s a shift in his posture—barely noticeable unless you’re hunting for it. Shoulders straighten. Chin lifts a degree. He’s heard me.

I smile, slow and calculated. “That’s why I want you to help me.”

Now his silence becomes a wall. He doesn’t understand yet. Doesn’t trust. But he’s listening.

“There’s more going on here than tag and bedtime prayers,” I murmur, stepping past him, just enough to make him turn. “You feel it, don’t you?”

He frowns. It’s not denial—it’s hesitation.

“Think about it, Liam. While the others are playing king and fool…” I glance over my shoulder, “we could build something real.”

He doesn’t respond. Not now. But I don’t need a yes today.

I walk away, slow and certain, letting the weight of my words sink into him like a hook just under the skin. I’ll reel him in later.

Behind me, the children’s laughter fades into idle chatter. The wind picks up—dry, dusty, carrying the faint scent of smoke from Morgana’s cooking fire.

Inside my head, the pyramid hums. I feel them stir.

“You’re planting seeds in dirt you haven’t tested,” Logic murmurs from the stairs, detached and precise.

“He’s like me,” Pride says, voice cold. “But weaker.”

“He’s broken,” Love whispers. “Don’t turn him into another pawn.”

They talk, they judge, they argue. But none of them are sitting on the throne.

I am.

And Liam?

He’s just my next investment.