Script #3: An Empty Wish

“Alright, everyone, please write down your wishes. The storymaker will read them and consider whether to fulfill them next semester, or keep them safe as a sign of goodwill,” the teacher said.

The moment the teacher spoke, binders snapped open and paper rustled as students hurried to scribble their wishes. Huang joined in, but a tap on his shoulder made him pause. Turning, he found Ivar, the class president, hand outstretched.

“Can I borrow your paper?” Ivar inquired; his mismatched eyes remained detached.

A jolt of deja vu struck Huang. Had he met Ivar like this before? It was more than a passing feeling—something about the way Ivar stood there, distant yet expectant, tugged at a memory just out of reach, almost as if their paths had crossed in some story Huang couldn’t quite remember. He nodded silently, flipping through his notes and passing over a blank sheet. Ivar took it, pen already poised, and started writing. Huang forced himself to shrug off the odd sensation, even as the edges of a half-formed memory lingered in his thoughts, and bent over his own wish.

The teacher walked across the classroom, scanning the students, making sure they didn't write anything harmful to the storymaker. She noticed that Athalea wasn’t in class, and she turned her attention to Ivar.

“Ivar, where is Athalea?” She asked, and Ivar stayed silent, facing the teacher with a confused look.

“Who’s Athalea?” The teacher facepalmed, groaning in irritation.

Ivar was supposed to know who Athalea is; they’re literally in the same class. Huang, who noticed the teacher’s exasperation, spoke up.

“Athalea is currently in the infirmary after having an injury to the head.” He said, Ivar sighed in relief, thank the seraph, Huang is there to cover for him.

The teacher only nodded in understatement before leaving the two of them alone. Ivar's gaze landed on Huang, putting his fist up.

“Thanks, bro, for covering me,” Ivar muttered, his tone low, yet there was a hint of gratefulness.

Huang only smiles and bumps Ivar’s fist. His red eyes land on the piece of paper that Ivar had written. He notices a scent of dried lemon juice, like some sort of secret message that Ivar wished to convey to the storymaker.

Huang doesn't mutter a word and lets it be. It's probably nothing harmful he needs to worry about. Remembering last semester, though, an unexpected wish had caused days of chaos—still, nothing he couldn’t handle.

Yet, the way Ivar had avoided his gaze and the strange choice of scented ink prick at Huang’s nerves. Even if Ivar did have ill intentions, it wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to twist the rules. Still, a restless churn begins in his stomach, colder and sharper than usual. Was he just being paranoid, or was there more behind Ivar’s silent wish this time?

***

Athalea was inside her dorm room, reading the many wishes she had received from the students in this academy. They were all your typical wishes; some wanted wealth, while others yearned for attention, all the same dull and uninteresting wishes that she deemed childish and naive.

“Nothing interesting to fulfill as usual,” she said with a yawn.

Her hand flipped through the book automatically, mostly not opening all of the envelopes, as she already guessed what was inside it just by the aura that emanated from them. She halted at a page that had an interesting envelope to say the least, one that was quite yellow, the aura gripped onto her mind, sending shivers through her spine as every instinct in her mind told her to throw it away.

Yet, her curiosity won as she pulled out the letter from the picture that had been planted inside the book. A red seal with a signature relic stamp was closing the letter; it brings her memories. This relic stamp had the picture of a prophecy ball glowing with wings covering it. It was Ivar’s stamp.

She could feel the tears that were daring to come out, and her breath was slightly shaky. She took a deep breath, an assumption formed inside her head, and it wasn’t a positive one, especially the fact that this letter was directed to her other identity, which is the Storymaker, the demigod that he severely resented.

With trembling hands, she slowly broke the seal and unfolded the envelope, revealing an empty letter. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Why is the wish letter empty? Have I started hallucinating once more?” She muttered to herself as she took a closer look at the letter.

There was a hint of some citrusy smell that seeps out of the paper, ah, no wonder. The book of wishes became a string of words, getting inside her mind and opening a giant storybook. Her finger landed on the word candle. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. The word candle was pulled from the book with her index finger.

The letters turned slightly bigger, floating in the air before they twirled, finally forming into a real candle. She grabbed the candle, put it on her desk, then lit it up with a snap of her fingers. She hovered the paper above the flame. Words began forming on the paper due to the heat. A surge of negative energy immediately gripped her body like chains that were weighing her down.

Athalea gritted her teeth, bracing herself to endure. She picked up one letter, her eyes tracing the words written in capitals, each line brimming with hatred, resentment, and blame directed at her. Ivar, in contrast, never acts with such hostility when she’s in this mortal body.

“YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO BE OUR DEMIGOD. I WILL MAKE SURE YOU DIE A SHAMEFUL DEATH JUST LIKE THE PROPHECY HAD FORETOLD.”

She stayed silent, her hands dropped to the ground as they still held the letter. Her breath became slower each second as a cackle came out of her lips. Ah, if only her death could come any sooner. Her mind already drifted back to the past, where she had first been placed as a demigod in a place that had once worshipped her as their savior, only for that place to be destroyed by her own hand.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS, DEAR GODDESS?!”

“ISN'T OUR SACRIFICES ENOUGH?! WE HAD GONE INSANE JUST FOR YOUR APPROVAL!”

“Please, dear goddess… do not take my child as well…”

Those voices never once left her mind, even the scent of smoke still lingered in her nostrils, and she stared at her palms as the image of flames burning in the background never faded. Flashes of bloodstains appeared in her hands, dripping from her palms, her breath quickens, and her heart feels like it's slowly ripping itself apart.

The ringing was twisting her eardrums, making her want to scream, yet she couldn’t. Shadow hands appeared from behind, clawing at her shoulders like a parasite that couldn’t leave her mind and stuck itself, sucking on the fear she enveloped from her memories.

“Didn’t expect to see you again, Athy,” a voice called out.

Athalea blinked her eyes and turned around to see Ivar standing in the doorway, holding a suitcase. The once-tranced demigod stayed silent, couldn’t say a word as the voices had vanished completely. What the hell? Why did the seraphs set the scenes like this? She doesn’t want any of this bull-

“What’s with that look? You seemed like you're about to shatter there, dear storyteller.” A mysterious raspy noise said.

She raised her head to see Thaddeus beside Ivar, a slit open smile was drawn on his face that couldn’t quite reach his eyes, tilting his head slightly. Her eyes only squinted slightly at the sight, and she decided to ignore him, even if seeing this…ghost of someone who used to be so powerful in the past only sent shivers down her spine.

The letter that she had read earlier vanished into a thread of words, and seeps into the pages of her other book alongside the candle that was burning, the book shut close and shattered, the pieces got inside her mind. Her body got up from the chair, turning it towards Ivar’s direction, and put her hand on her hips.

“You still have no respect for me, huh? Barging into a woman’s room without knocking first,” she commented with a slightly annoyed tone.

Ivar didn’t respond; he took out a scroll from his suitcase and threw it in her direction. She was startled and immediately caught it in her grasp. She opened up the scroll, and it was a list of this academy’s dorms. She read every placement of the dorm, from the guys' section to even the girls' section.

And then she landed on hers. Her dorm was fit for four people, yet the only ones who were listed were her and Ivar, her eyebrows raised slightly. The hell? Isn’t putting both genders in the same dorm forbidden? Who the heck was in charge of this selection? She read through the many lists of people till her eyes landed on the one who was in charge of the dorm selection. A woman named Circe.

“Oh, no wonder. It’s that foolish seraph’s doing,” she muttered with a loud groan, and the scroll turned back to its original form.

She threw the scroll as it landed perfectly on top of Ivar’s suitcase, and pulled out her pen and book. She began writing about every item that she had put in this place. Ivar, who was still standing at the doorway, rolled his eyes, crossing both of his hands.

“Are you seriously moving out already? I’m not that terrible, ya k-”

“I know, but I’m not risking the possibility of it,” she cut off his words while she was busy forming the items into many words.

There’s no way in many lunar eras that she will stay in a room with a boy; this is not some Wattpad crap that she needs to fulfill just for the sake of entertainment. Ivar couldn’t say anything, only watched as she packed up all her stuff. The words that she had written couldn’t get inside her book.

“What the heck…”

She tried rewriting the words that describe her items, but it wouldn’t get in; a sentence was formed on her book, mocking her almost.

“Dear storymaker, as the seraph of Manipulation, you are not allowed to change how the story should go without my permission, enjoy suffering with your dear ex ;).”

​

-Seraph of Manipulation

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE!” She screamed inside her head. She wanted to throw a tantrum, but that wouldn’t be ethical.

Seeing the frustration that she tried to repress, Ivar got up from leaning on the doorway and opened his mouth.

“The placement of every roommate is mandatory, huh?” he asked.

Athalea didn’t respond and closed her book tightly before heading towards her bed, throwing herself there and immediately scream into the abyss through her pillow. Ivar tried his best to hold out his laughter, covering his mouth as he was amused by this, yet also felt slightly terrible for the fate that had fallen to his best friend, well used to be best friend. It’s going to be quite an interesting academic year for both of them.

A loud laughter similar to a howl could be heard from his side. Ivar turned to Thaddeus, glaring at him, ah great, he forgot he had a childish ghost partner by his side, despite this man being thousand of era’s old.