Asher slowly emerged from a fitful sleep, a throbbing migraine hammering at his temples like a merciless hammer. He sat up on the bed, one hand pressed to his forehead, trying in vain to clear the fog that enveloped his mind. *What happened last night?* he thought, his eyelids heavy, his body still numb from unusual fatigue. A soft sound beside him – a soft sigh, like peaceful breathing – caught his attention. He turned his head, and his heart skipped a beat. Miria was there, asleep beside him, her hair scattered on the pillow, her serene face contrasting with the chaos that invaded her mind. Worse still, when he looked down he realized he was naked, and a furtive glance under the sheets confirmed his fears: she probably was too.
The memories flooded in suddenly, violent and torrid, like a raging torrent. The feverish kisses, the fiery caresses, their bodies intertwined in a passionate and insatiable dance. Asher blushed violently, his cheeks flushing a bright red, and he buried his face in his hands, mortified. *Asher, what have you done????* he blamed himself inwardly, his heart pounding, a mixture of guilt and confusion washing over him like an overwhelming wave. He cast another panicked look at Miria, still peaceful in her sleep.
Across town, at high school, Isolde walked through the crowded hallways, looking thoughtful, her fingers absently playing with the locket that hung from her neck. The jewel felt cold against his skin, a constant reminder of the promise it carried, and his thoughts drifted back to the day before, when Fishlegs had placed it in his open hand with an enigmatic smile.
- With that, he said in a smooth voice, when he is under the spell of the potion, all he has to do is see the medallion and he will come to you of his own free will.
Isolde frowned, clutching the locket in her fist.
- I don't understand... How is he going to become under the spell of a potion?
Fishlegs laughed softly, taking out a small vial containing sparkling white dust, which he placed in his other hand.
- It's a potion of charm. When someone takes it, they become like a drug addict, consumed by a crazy desire for the person they love.
Isolde examined the vial, doubtful.
- But does that mean he could go to Miria? No ?
Léana, who was observing the scene with a knowing smile, intervened:
- Yes, and that's why you have to intercept him first.
- Ok... But how am I supposed to get him to swallow this? Isolde had asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice.
Léana shrugged her shoulders, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
- Come on, Isolde, you are clever. I'm sure you'll find a solution.
The memory faded, leaving Isolde with a bitter taste in her mouth. She shook her head back to the present, just in time to see Ray heading towards the canteen, his confident demeanor drawing stares as always. At that moment, an idea sprouted in his mind, quick and sneaky, like lightning in a stormy sky.