The room smells like old books, strong coffee, and just a whisper of looming chaos. Elara sits cross-legged on the floor of her childhood home, four shards tucked into a hidden pocket deep inside her coat. They pulse gently beneath the fabric…like polite toddlers waiting for snack time, but trying very hard not to fuss.
Around her, the group assembles in various states of early-morning readiness.
Valen lounges on the stair rail, flipping a coin with such bored flair it could out-charm a cat. Cass leans against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes darting between Elara and the others like a hawk auditioning for drama school. Fenwick paces nearby, murmuring about "counterfeit starlight" and how "time itself might be staging a coup." Moony perches on the mantel, tail flicking, eyes sharp and sceptical as ever.
Elara rubs her temples. "So…next stop: the battlefield where Rowan's brother died. Supposedly that's where the Shard of Power is hiding."
Valen's immediate perk‑up causes him to drop his coin with a dramatic clang. "A battlefield! Just what every morning needs…dirt, history and maybe imminent peril."
She rolls her eyes. "Spice up? I'm thinking more 'risk imminent death' and 'prepare for mud-caked boots.'"
Fenwick nods theatrically. "Mud is the battlefield's true ruler…more so than honour or glory."
Cass merely smirks. "If you say so."
Moony clears his throat—feline body language for "urgent alert." "Does anyone notice Rowan's...off?"
Silence crashes in. Even Fenwick ceases pacing, staring at Moony like he's blurted out that the sky has turned plaid.
Elara follows his gaze to Mimic-Rowan, who stands near the door, hands loosely clasped, eyes distant as he watches dust motes drift in the sunbeam. "Off how?" she asks softly.
Moony flicks his tail. "Not blinking enough, for starters. And he hasn't even smirked…let alone cracked a proper smile. Suspicious."
Valen moves in close, smooth as silk. "Maybe he's brooding over how lucky he is to stand next to me."
Elara shoots Valen a pointed look. "Flirting again?"
His shrug is theatrical. "Strategic enthusiasm."
She allows a little smile. Mimic-Rowan shifts subtly, a shadow slipping across his expression before he masks it…smooth, controlled.
He steps forward, voice low, measuring: "Let's stay focused. The battlefield isn't just any ruin…it's a graveyard of promises and ghosts. We can't afford any slip‑ups."
The words are true. The delivery was cold. Elara feels the shift in her chest…a gentle but undeniable chill.
Valen sidles up, nudging her elbow. "Don't get too gloomy. I can keep things lively."
She murmurs, "Lively...is one word for it."
Moony hisses in her ear. "If fabulous flirty tension is your version of lively, fine. But I'd rather avoid flirting with disaster."
Elara stands, smoothing her coat over the secret pocket. "Okay. Plan done. Now, how do we get there?"
Valen arches an eyebrow, coin flipping in the air. "Magic carpet? Flying broom? Enchanted scooter with Bluetooth?"
Fenwick rolls his eyes. "We're in the 21st century…phones, cars, coffee chains galore…but no magical Ubers, no teleport‑to-your-bed‑instantly app. The Council rules magic out of mundane travel."
Cass snorts approvingly. "Welcome to the modern world, Valen. We've got gadgets everywhere…except for anything that makes magic convenient. Then it's back to walking or waiting for a bus."
Valen pouts. "It's unfair. We've got ancient spells, magical creatures, historical curses and yet no shortcuts. My phone gets better reception in a haunted forest than I do in some of these enchanted places."
Elara laughs. "Patience, gadget‑boy. The old school bus will get us there. Eventually."
Moony flicks his tail, lounging across the window sill. "If it arrives on time, isn't plagued by pixies, and doesn't wander off chasing shiny objects."
Valen grins. "I'd pay extra for a bus driver who sings ballads about legendary heroes instead of playing endless pop songs."
Fenwick sardonically mutters, "Auditory endurance does not equal heroism."
Cass chuckles. "At least we don't need to charge a cursed smartphone with dragon fire. That's something to appreciate."
Elara glances at Mimic-Rowan. He remains stiff, eyes downcast, lips pressed tight…no teasing grin, no casual ease.
Valen leans in. "He's...distant. Are you alright?"
Elara forces a gentle smile. "That's what worries me."
Moony flicks his tail, lowering his voice. "Something's in the air. A shift. Subtle…but there."
Valen smirks, shoulder against the wall. "Well, at least we've got each other and the bus. And maybe in a pinch, that enchanted scooter will show up."
Their playful banter softens the tension…like sun filtering through gathering clouds.
The group gathers their satchels and bags. They exit toward the bus stop: an old cobblestone circle that looks innocent enough…unless watched at midnight.
Elara pauses. She glances back at Mimic-Rowan, stepping just behind them, avoiding her eyes, expression distant. She grips her coat pocket with the shards and thinks: Something's not right. But for now, they walk forward, wrapped in light-hearted plans, flirty exchanges, and quiet alarm.
Mimic‑Rowan's POV
He buries the frustration that flares when Elara glances past him. The smile he wears…Rowan's careful, practiced smile…cannot slip. Not now. Though every interaction with Valen…every touch to Elara…presses on his mask, threatening to crack the illusion.
He remembers the warmth between Elara and Rowan, the soft affection. The tender touch. The kiss he dare not imitate…intimacy he cannot mimic without risking ruin.
He cannot replicate that. Not without shattering everything.
So he keeps his distance. Smiles. Speaks. But hides. Let her find uncertainty…but not the truth.
He senses something shifts inside Elara. Something unsettled. And he cannot let her run from what he is. Or perhaps...what he might become.
Soon…soon this ends.
By then, she'll stop watching him. She'll stop noticing.
By then...they won't know.
And maybe...that will be enough.
At the bus stop, the air smells faintly of rain and something like old cinnamon sticks. Valen hums an annoyingly cheerful tune and casually flicks his coin into the air.
"I swear, if this bus is late again, I'm petitioning for teleportation rights," Valen grumbles, scanning the cobblestones like they owe him punctuality.
Cass arches an eyebrow. "You do realize this is a bus, not an express line."
Valen frowns. "No offense, but express trains aren't exactly efficient. I remember the last time I rode one? Demonic delays, pixie protests..."
Elara smirks. "You sound like you miss technology."
"Absolutely," Valen agrees, voice thick with mock misery. "I mean, who wants to fly on enchanted broomsticks when you can binge-watch your favourite shows uninterrupted?"
Moony flicks his tail. "Binge-watching? Is that the spell that makes humans stare at glowing rectangles for hours?"
Valen nods solemnly. "It's an addiction. Very dangerous."
Fenwick mutters, "And utterly useless when you're running from ancient curses."
Elara laughs softly, but her eyes catch Mimic-Rowan's again. He stands still, unusually silent, a ghost of tension lingering around him.
Moony lowers his voice. "We should keep an eye on him. Quiet isn't his style."
Elara nods, voice equally hushed. "I know."
The bus arrives with a soft shimmer, a wheeze of enchanted gears and whispered promises. The door creaks open.
Valen steps forward, flashing a grin. "After you, Dreamkeeper."
Elara steps on, heart tight. The shards pulse like a heartbeat in her pocket.
The journey continues.