Tista had recovered enough to sit up and speak in soft, breathy words by the time Nana emerged from behind the curtain. Her robes were a dark moss green, patched with stains from countless herbs, and she moved with the surety of someone who had walked between life and death more times than most dared to think about. Her silver-white hair was bound into a long braid, streaked with earthy colors that seemed to blend with the natural tones of her home.
Elina rose the moment Nana appeared, relief flooding her face.
"Bring her in," Nana said simply, her voice gravelly but kind. She turned and vanished behind the curtain without waiting for a reply.
Elina followed, gently cradling Tista, and disappeared into the back. Lucian and Laila were left behind in the waiting area once more, sitting side by side on the wooden bench. The room around them had grown quieter as more patients had come and gone. The scent of burning herbs still hung heavy in the air, calming yet vaguely disorienting.
Laila glanced toward the curtain but said nothing. She knew what was behind it—both literally and figuratively. She had already seen the book. Already read from it.
Lucian, on the other hand, was fidgeting beside her.
"Something wrong?" she asked in a whisper.
He shook his head. "I just… I want to see more of this place."
Laila smirked but didn't stop him as he slid off the bench and made his way toward the small cabinet that had drawn her attention earlier. He reached it with tentative steps, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure their mother was still with Tista and Nana.
Then he opened the cabinet.
There it was—the same plain brown book that Laila had read. The Basics of Magic.
He stared at it for a long moment before pulling it free and flipping open the cover. The pages were yellowed and soft at the corners, but the ink was clear and neat. He crouched behind the curtain's edge—not going too far, just enough to be hidden—and began to read.
Unlike Laila, Lucian didn't skip the introduction. He absorbed every word, every phrase. It wasn't just curiosity that pushed him forward—it was longing. The feeling that something inside him was missing, and this book might be the first real clue.
The opening pages were philosophical: "Magic is not merely energy—it is the memory of creation. The breath of fire, the flow of water, the silence of shadow. To master the elements is to remember the language of the world."
Lucian read each passage slowly, letting it settle into him like warm tea.
He turned the pages to reach the elemental chapters. Fire came first, described as passion given form, unpredictable and raw. Earth was the root of strength, dependable but slow. Water was life and change—flexible, subtle, dangerous when ignored.
But it was air that caught his attention.
Air magic, it said, wasn't just about gusts and breezes. True wind mages could influence pressure, speed, even the breath in a person's lungs. Beginners could produce small bursts or enhance their own agility. Adepts could lift themselves from the ground, stir tempests, or summon lightning through sheer manipulation of charge.
Lucian's fingers tingled as he imagined it. Not throwing fireballs or lifting rocks—but flying. Floating above the farm. Whispering to the sky. Carrying sound and secrets.
Maybe air magic was his path.
Then he reached the final chapter—Light and Darkness. It was poetic, almost somber in tone. "Light reveals. Darkness conceals. But both speak truth, in their own language."
Lucian frowned at the descriptions. Light was more than just healing—it was clarity, willpower, the strengthening of life. Darkness wasn't just destructive—it was memory, silence, concealment, and the stripping away of illusion. Neither was good or evil. They were tools, as powerful as the heart that used them.
As he turned the final page, a voice startled him.
"You like that one, don't you?"
Lucian jumped, clutching the book tightly. He turned to see Nana standing just outside the curtain. She had emerged quietly, and now regarded him with a thoughtful, unreadable expression.
"I—I was just—" he stammered, unsure if he was about to be scolded.
She waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, boy. You have good instincts. That book was meant to be read."
Lucian looked down at it again, then slowly stood. "Did you write it?"
"No," she said, her smile thin but real. "But I copied it from an older version years ago. Most children in this county don't care for such things. They'd rather run through fields or throw rocks at chickens. But you…"
She walked over and crouched so they were eye level.
"…you're not like the others."
Lucian blinked. "Neither is Laila."
Nana chuckled. "No. She isn't."
There was a pause. In the silence, Lucian could hear the faint sound of Tista coughing again behind the curtain.
"When you're both six," Nana said softly, "I want you to come study under me."
Lucian's heart skipped a beat.
"You mean… instead of going to the village school?"
"Yes. School will teach you numbers and stories. It will make you tame. I have no interest in taming you. You need to remember who you are—and magic will help with that."
Lucian didn't know how to respond. Part of him wanted to run to Laila and tell her right away. Another part felt like he was being entrusted with a secret too big to share.
"What about our parents?" he asked cautiously.
"They don't need to know now," Nana replied. "When the time comes, I'll handle them."
Lucian stared at her, searching her wrinkled face for a sign of deceit. But there was none. Only quiet determination.
"I've been watching you two for a long time," Nana continued. "Long before you knew my name. There's something inside both of you. A hunger. You see the world differently. You feel it."
Lucian slowly nodded. He didn't have words for it, but she wasn't wrong.
"Keep reading," Nana said, standing again. "Keep asking questions. And when your sixth name day comes, you come back to me—and we'll begin for real."
She turned and vanished behind the curtain, just as Elina emerged carrying a sleeping Tista. Laila followed behind her, eyes sharp and knowing.
Lucian met his sister's gaze. They didn't say a word.
But later, when they were tucked into bed and the house had gone quiet, Laila whispered into the dark:
"So… she made you the offer too?"
Lucian smiled. "She did."
"And?"
"We're going."
Laila nodded, satisfied. "Good."
Together, in the silence, the twins drifted to sleep—not just children anymore, but students of something older than school, older than rules.
They had seen a crack in the surface of the world, and now they would not rest until they pulled it open and stepped through.