#I drew this in class and one of my classmates said the duckling looked like melted ice cream ☠️

[skipblebee]

Like a million bajillion years ago @sludgemetalsnufkin asked me to draw snufkin adopting baby ducks and I need you to know that this idea lived in my head for soooo long but I just never got around to doing it cuz I have no idea how to draw ducklings and I still don't but this is for u Sludge :]

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Twelve: Bookwyrm

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

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"All of Caelus’ notes are on these shelves," Sulaer said, waving to a bookcase brimming with old books and older scrolls. Some laid sideways, still open, while others had free pages poking out of them. "I tried to organize them, but they just never seem to stay put. You can blame Ristau for that."

Syra pulled one with roughened edges from a shelf and leafed through it. Her jaw tensed, overwhelmed by the mass of messy script and sketches smiling up at her.

"I know it looks daunting," Sulaer said. "Believe me, I've spent decades pouring over these things and I'm still puzzled by some of his spelling."

"And you expect me to find something you haven't?"

Sulaer grinned and took the book from her hands, sliding it back in its place, "I expect Valen's apprentice to give it her best shot."

"You know him?" Syra knew her mentor had a reputation, but was surprised by its reach.

"All the Kesh Raza know him. But he was also a study partner of mine back in Sylvani."

"You went there, too?" Syra broke into a whine. "I am so jealous."

Sulaer laughed and patted her on the shoulder, "Well, there's plenty to learn here!"

"If I can even understand any of it."

To say there were many tomes would be an insult. Sulaer’s lab might as well have been a library with the occasional bench and cabinet. One with writing’s Syra had never seen, on subjects she had never seen, and most all of them were written in Talian.

"Don't you worry. I took notes on Caelus’ notes, and they're much more organized."

Syra forced her unease down and took a long look about the room, steeling herself, "So, where do we start?"

Sulaer guided her through the makings of the spell first. Its foundations and procedure, and why this was added with that. Over the next couple days she gave demonstrations, showing how the different ingredients interacted under different conditions, and translating along the way. Syra was relieved that her room was adjacent to the lab as they rarely left, even for sleep. After days of introduction and mental drilling, Syra had a rudimentary hold on the language and was able to read and deduce for herself with the use of Sulaer’s notes.

"Now, the experiments start," Sulaer said, gathering her notes.

"Experiments?"

Sulaer grinned, "Today, I take you to the shard."

Further into the academy, where wooden walls became carved from stone, the shard slept in an iron case within a room stained, charred, and fractured by the years of failed trials. The cabinets were stocked, but the shelf-lined walls were bare, their contents moved to a safer location—which would explain the lab’s overabundance—and the acrid air stung Syra’s nose hairs.

“You’ll get used to it,” Sulaer said, seeing her crinkled nose, “but do make sure to take a break now and again.”

Peering into the box, Syra could feel the pressure pulsing from the shard. Such a puny thing, she thought, seeing how it took up little space in the box.

“Take it,” said Sulaer, “It won’t burn you. Surprisingly.”

The green-and-purple shard fit neatly in Syra’s palm and was warm. Very warm. Like a fire before you got too close. And Syra could feel her body gulping down the mana it radiated, to the point of becoming dizzy.

“Be careful not to drink too much,” Sulaer said, placing the crystal back into its box and latching it, “You’ll overload yourself and end up with a horrible headache.”

Syra nodded and stepped back from the box, its heat fading from her skin, “What should I do now?”

A wide grin cracked across Sulaer’s face and she handed Syra a notebook, freshly bound, “Play with it.”

“Play with it?” Syra repeated, “Isn’t that what caused this whole mess in the first place?”

“And it’s the only way to get us out of it. Like you said, work backwards. You have the notes, supplies, and now the power source. I expect an update every other day, and do try not to blow anything up—this is the last room left. I’ll keep my study door open if you have any questions, and I’ll update you if I find anything new.”

And like that, Syra was left to wilds of alchemical discovery, with a hurried vocabulary list and 150-year-old ramblings of a Talian hermit. If there was ever a magical exam to be passed, it was this one.

A week passed with Syra mired nose-deep in parchment and potions, but book after book, trial after trial, she still hadn't made any leeway outside of singing her eyebrows. And other than at mealtimes, she hadn’t seen nor spoken to Aidan or the twins. Any attempts were met with, “How’s the cure coming?”, “Find anything?”, or the more common, “Just focus on getting the shard so we can go.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have minded being left to her devices in solitude, but normally she’d have someone to turn to for help, be it a teacher or classmate. Even Aidan had clever solutions sometimes. But despite her original promise, Sulaer busied herself in her own readings and research, many times disappearing for hours all together. It was that sort of day when Syra went to her balcony for a quick rest.

The balcony off her hallway faced over the terrace towards the city’s center. She could see the Playhouse with its patrons, and beyond that a training field, and a flower garden with a small pond. She watched from this spot as Cassius and Petra trained one-on-one in combat—Wyn had insisted that if they were to stay until a cure was found, they might as well learn to be useful. They were getting better, and Syra found it a relaxing distraction from the dim cave and strong smells and words that blurred together. But there was something off about that scene that day. An uneasiness that drew her attention from the twins to the small bench by the pond. A bench where Aidan sat, too comfortably, next to Sulaer in her satin dress with her big books.

Syra’s stomach dropped. They were laughing. She waved the thought away as quickly as it came, but the cold knot in her gut told her to keep watching. Sulaer pointed to the book Aidan was reading—Syra’s book—and he smiled. He smiled that smile where his forehead creased and his eyes glinted from behind that mask of smart sensibility he always wore—a smile she had not seen since the festival. But this time it wasn’t for her.

There were more laughs, more smiles, more flicks of the hair. There was always more, and Syra had to break away from the balcony before she broke herself. She returned to the lab, in its quiet, dim solitude, but her mind was now a blur and she felt the prodding of nausea. Just ignore it, she thought. We’ve all been stressed and he deserves a nice break. Even if something did come of it, halflings weren’t all that rare—there was one in her Runes class after all.

She forced herself to continue working, throwing herself into the scripts and charts and diagrams of old, looking for any missing piece or glint of hidden meanings. But nothing helped. Her mind kept returning to the image of Aidan smiling with Sulaer, and she continued to return to the balcony where any sight of him numbed the grief left to fester.

More days went by like this. And the more she looked for evidence of their relations, the more she found: more hours in the garden, more exchanged gazes at meetings, more whispered giggles at the dinner table. Many times she started to tell Cassius of her troubles. Hoping that, perhaps by purging them, she could lessen the ache that gnawed away at her and made her world dim and gray. But she never could.

She'd watch from her balcony as he and Petra found confidence in their two-legged fighting skills: their weapons becoming lighter and swifter, until a swing and twirl were second nature. No, he had his own problems to deal with. Certainly, he had dealt with hers far too much at this point. This was something she had to bare on her own. And that just made the ache deeper.

She was returning from her time on the balcony—which had become a bit of a habit—when a low rattle came from one of the rooms a few doors down from the lab. The door stood slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Ristau slumbering wide-mouthed at his desk. She went to walk onwards down that hall, but the mortar and pestle atop his desk called her back. Ristau had those at the Playhouse, she thought, recalling their first meeting. She had been curious about this "Down" they spoke of, but never found the chance to ask.

Please don't squeak, she begged the door as she pushed it open with a fingertip. She took a step into the room and paused, watching Ristau for any movement, but he snored on with his head rested back against his chair. Padding over to the desk, she examined the dusty bowl and the small bag sitting open next to it. Again, she glanced over at Ristau, but he continued to dream with a slight grin on his ruddy face. He looked so calm and happy. Did Down affect dragons the same way it did Tal?

Then she reached for it, plucking it by the drawstrings. It was the swift, heavy hand that made her jump.

"Careful, milady," Ristau said, fully awake and gripping both her hand and the bag in one large hand, "That's a slippery slope you're treading on."

Syra looked down at the bag, but didn't move, "Does it help?" she asked in a small voice, "Will it make the pain go away?"

"No," he said, empathy softening the edges of his face, "but it will dull it."

He lifted his hand and she took the bag, clutching it to her chest, before turning to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, "Why are you—"

"The only thing that clouds the mind better than rage," he said with a solemn face, "is grief. And I need your mind to save my people."

She nodded, shut the door, and returned to her quarters where she drowned herself in pages, and the ache slid into its box and waited.

It was Cassius who found her.

"Syra!" he exclaimed in a whisper when he entered later that night to find her dazed and lopsided in her chair. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sitting her up straight.

She mumbled something about a potion and needing to get back to work, and that's when he saw the dust specks under her nose.

"You're kidding me." He looked to her desk to find the bag open with dusting around its brim.

"It helps," Syra said, pulling out of her stupor and smiling up at him. "Well, at least until this groggy part. I think I might finally be on to something. I think I can—"

"Oh no," Cassius interrupted, putting a finger to her lips, "You're not telling me anything until you've sobered up." He picked her up from her chair and set her on the bed.

"But I'm fine, really!"

"Bashta!" he cursed, taking Syra aback by his sudden harsh tone, "You're pale, wobbly, and slurring your words, all things completely not you."

"I'll be fine so enough," she shooed his hand away from her forehead, "just...let me enjoy not feeling like shit for a moment."

Cassius stared down at her, his own face reddening, "How do you think Aidan would feel if he saw you like this?"

The mention of his name woke the monster inside the box, and Syra grimaced at the pin prick in her chest, "He has someone else to worry about now."

Genuine surprise flashed across Cassius’ face, “Who?!”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s sickeningly obvious.” She rested her head back against the headboard, tired of faking her cheeriness.

Cassius’ eyes searched his memories of the past few days before scoffing, “Well, it’s not Petra, I can tell you that right n—”

“No, you blind lizard. Sulaer!” She wriggled farther down into the bed and clutched at a pillow, “With her silky hair and library and big…womanly-ness.”

“You’re being silly.”

“I can’t compete with that, Cas,” Syra said, the sparkle gone from her eyes.

He sighed and looked away, unable to put his thoughts into words she would care to understand.

In the quiet, her grip on the pillow loosened and a wry smile bubbled to the surface as her mask slipped off.

“Though, I can’t really blame him. I’d squat for her if I were in his shoes.”

She chuckled and looked over at her brother who appeared a tad embarrassed by the subject.

“We’re all messed up, you know?” she said, gaining a raised eyebrow from him, “all three of us. Petra keeps pining after Tarys, who wouldn’t know she existed if she weren’t Vayguard. I’m going bat-shit over a human boy. And you…” She looked Cassius over with a slow, critical eye, and sneered when they landed at his neck. With a sly finger, she flicked the strands of hair away and slid it down across the light bruising just under his ear. “You go sneaking off to have a little fun with fairy boy when nobody’s looking.”

Cassius smacked her hand away and snarled, baring his teeth. But that didn’t stop him from flushing, or Syra from snickering.

“Hold your fire, I meant no harm. Hell, I might as well join you next time. First round’s free, right?”

For the first time since their reunion, she took a moment to study his human form: his slender face, toned shoulders, and firm chest that was just visible behind his unbuttoned collar. Her eyes stopped at the black marks that peeked out from under his shirt.

“Actually, while you’re here,” she leapt from the bed and snatched up a blank strip of parchment from her desk, “hold still for a second.”

“W-what are you doing?” He fidgeted as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I said, hold still.” She balled a fist and light shimmered around him, yanking him down onto the bed.

Running down the middle of his chest were black runes left from Valen’s spelltag. She pressed the parchment overtop.

“Just relax,” she cooed and traced the markings with smooth strokes of a finger until they burned onto the paper. “Perfect,” she said, admiring her work.

“What’s that for?” Cassius asked, scooting away and buttoning his shirt.

“I told you, making progress.”

The two stood there silent and Syra looked from him to the door, “You may go now. I’m sure fairy boy is waiting for you.”

“What is with you?!” Cassius growled with true, but scorned, concern. “I’d expect this kind of attitude from Petra, but not from you!”

“Then you obviously haven’t been in my head long enough.”

“I think I’ve been there too long,” he said, standing from the bed. “Come find me when you’re not such a graga.”

He left her side but stopped in the doorway, “Sulaer’s already engaged, by the way. But you would know that if you got your head out of your ass and actually listened to people.”

The next morning brought Syra a splitting headache and a visitor.

“So, did you hit the books, or did the books hit you?” asked Ristau from her desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“That’s not funny,” Syra said, massaging her temples.

“Yes, it is. And what’s even funnier, is that I was woken up by your brother lecturing me about keeping you sober.”

“He told you?!”

“Of course, he did. Who else does he know with access to this?”

He snatched the bag of Down from her desk.

“Hey, wait, don’t!” She sprang upwards and gripped at the air towards the bag, “I need that.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking a finger, “One: this is mine. Two: it was my mistake for giving it to you in the first place.”

“But you use it all the time.”

“Yes, and I know how to keep my head up and my mouth shut. Not spitting venom at anyone who shows the least bit of concern.” Grief softened his eyes, “He’s your brother, Syra. And the only one you’ll ever have. Never take that for granted.”

She would have retorted, but the Down had left her system and the words she spoke last night burned her tongue worse than the dry-mouth. She groaned and hung her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said, riffling through her papers, “I certainly wouldn’t believe you.”

His words hit hard, and she remained silent.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” He paused his shuffling to look right at her, “You knew better. And I know you knew better because you wouldn’t have said those things otherwise.”

Syra had no excuse to give. Every one that popped into her head she could reason away as being callous, petty, and downright pitiful. A bitter, self-centered brat wallowing in self-pity, that’s what she had shown herself to be. So this is what Aidan meant by ‘mopiness’.

“What is this?” Ristau broke Syra out of her self-reflection as he looked down on a spelltag similar to the one she had copied from Cassius last night. The runes were different and more complicated, but the structure was the same.

“Progress.”

“No-no,” he said, pounding a finger on it, “this isn’t a counter-spell. This is a shapechanging spell.” He leered over at Syra who met his gaze with confidence, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious, and all I need now is a power source,” she said. “Plus, it made me realize something about Caelus’ spell, and why our attempts keep failing.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That we’ve been going about it all wrong, for starters. But I can’t really get dressed and to go tell everyone with you standing here, now can I?”

Ristau begrudgingly put the spelltag back on the desk.

“Thank you. Now, shoo-shoo. Go and bring everyone to the lab.”

The seats around the lab table were filled by the time Syra arrived, and all waited anxiously for her news. To her disappointment—but of no surprise—Aidan took the seat next to Sulaer, who watched her enter with both nervousness and excitement.

“So, what did you find?” Sulaer asked, almost bouncing in her chair, “What’s this ‘realization’ Ristau was talking about?”

Syra pushed her insecurities aside and plopped a thick notebook on the table, opening to Sulaer’s cliff notes on the powering of Caelus’ spell and its general make-up.

“Lanis,” she said, looking to the king who was deep in thought, “when we first got here, you said that Kor Lahru’s mana spring ran down here, right?”

“Correct, it does.”

“You then said that you believed this to be a reason why the disease isn’t progressing—why the Lower Tal aren’t getting any worse.”

“Yes—”

“You’re wrong,” she said, inciting tension around the table, “At least, I think you’re wrong.” She pointed at little Leimia who sat quiet by his side, “You are getting worse. Every generation is getting worse. You said that children born here suffer worse deformities if they survived at all.”

“Again, correct, but what is your point?”

“I think it’s the mana spring that’s making them worse, and why we can’t find a cure.”

Sulaer looked confused, but intrigued and motioned for her to continue.

“We thought all the conditions had to be the same for the spell to be reversed. But you can’t counter a curse using something that it draws power from. You’ll only be feeding it,” Syra explained. “Caelus’ spell was powered by the shard—a huge source of mana—so would it not make sense that the disease is also powered by mana?”

“The mana spring is feeding the disease,” Sulaer hushed, growing pale.

“Yes, just like using the shard in our trials stops any counter-spell from working. We’ve been trying to swim upstream.”

“So, we do what, exactly?” Aidan asked.

“Stop using the shard, for one,” said Ristau.

“Not just that,” Syra said, setting a second book on the table and flipping to a sketch of an Arrun tree. “We have to starve it.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aidan asked Syra as she devoured tome after tome searching for any instructions on how to create a mana-draining potion. “Don’t Tal need mana to survive?”

“Not necessarily,” said Ristau, who also joined in on the search party. “Unlike Fae or dragons, we’ve separated from the Mana Flow over time. So, while draining our reserves will severely weaken us, it will not kill us.”

“But you could run the risk of the disease killing us while our bodies are too weak to fight off the infection,” said Lanis. He and Leimia had a tower of books each to themselves that had already been looked through.

“So, we’ll just have to kill the infection before it kills the patient,” said Syra. “Do you have any information on any known cures?”

“Before we get to that, let’s focus on weakening the infection first,” Sulaer said, nose-deep in her own stack.

Aidan looked around at everyone sitting in a sea of parchment, their eyes red from hours of scouring—even Petra was making progress.

He sighed, “I think I know how to make one.”

All heads looked up from their pages.

“You tell us this now?” Petra yelled.

“I wasn’t sure if it fit what you were looking for, and I’m honestly not proud of it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Syra.

“Dragonlances,” he said, meeting her gaze, “they’re tipped with a poison made from the bark of the Arrun tree. If concentrated enough, it can kill any magical creature…even dragons. That’s why we use them.”

Syra bit her lip, “And you know how to make this poison?”

“I helped invent it.”

Syra, Petra, and Cassius all stared at him shock.

“Those arrows were made by you?!” Petra growled.

“By my alchemists, yes.”

“We lost clan members because of you!” Petra screamed and Cassius had to hold her back from lunging at him.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flown so close!” Aidan spat back, “Just stayed way up in the mountains where you belong!”

Tension grew with the silence, and Aidan lowered his head, “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say.”

“No, you meant what you said.” Tears formed in Petra’s eyes and she shot to her feet, knocking over her stack of books, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you along! You’re no different than Marrak, or Larson, or any of the other Black Thorn members! Only caring to act when it suits you best. And to think I was starting to trust you.”

“Petra, I’m sorry. I take it ba—”

“Bashta!” she cried, spitting at him, “You’re just a lowly pink worm. Altaira’s doomed with a king like you.”

With that, she stormed off, leaving the rest to sit and simmer in her wake. Cassius went to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look at Aidan. And the four Tal could only watch on as outsiders.

“Where we belong?” Syra finally asked, looking to him, “After what you’ve seen your own people do, you still see us as monsters? Even as we sit here trying to help another race?”

“It’s a hard habit to break, Syra,” Aidan admitted, “Those roots run deep and I…I just need time to let them die.”

“More time, huh?” She shook her head and closed her book, standing, “Unfortunately, time is something we don’t have. Marrak is moving, and we don’t have time to wait for your scars to fade. We need to know that we can still trust you.”

“Of course, you can!”

“Good. Now, get to making that vile poison of yours and I’ll look into killing the infection for good. Sulaer?” she asked, turning her attention away from Aidan, “Are these all the books you have?”

“No, just the ones we know with relevant information. There’s also the Grand Library below the academy.”

“A Grand Library?” asked Cassius.

“Yes,” Sulaer nodded, “Omei has the largest library in all the realms and, to be honest, there are scrolls there that even I haven’t read yet.”

“Take me there,” Syra said, her face steeled against the screams and tears that begged to burst out. “We might be able to find more clues on how to kill this thing.”

“Sure. There’s a whole section on all our medicinal advances.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Syra went to follow Sulaer out of the lab, but stopped abruptly, “And Aidan?”

Aidan looked up at her, guilt plastered on his face.

“Where I belong, is my choice.”

Down into the depths of the mountain they went, spiraling down the main staircase. The roots of Mother Tree still reached even this far down, and lit their way past floor after floor. The Medicinal Section was located on the seventh floor and took up most of the sixth wing that branched off of the main staircase.  

“So, this is even bigger than the Sylvani library?” Syra asked in amazement.

“Just by a floor, but I still like to brag about it,” said Sulaer.

“Just looking at all these books makes me want to fall asleep,” said Petra. She and Cassius had joined Syra after Petra decided that she’d much rather read than be stuck in a room with Aidan.

“We can’t nap now,” Syra said. “Not until we have a solid plan, at least.”

“Here,” Sulaer said, leading them to sit around a wide, round table off in a cozy nook with a small plant as its centerpiece, “have a seat. I’ll warm us up.”

Carved from stone and far from the warmth of the city, the Grand Library held a chill. The siblings sat about the table while Sulaer fiddled with the plant. She peeled back the cone of leathery leaves to reveal a rather plump bulb. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them, as if they were cold. Faint green light appeared between them and she wrapped them around the bulb. In seconds the bulb glowed and then unfurled, releasing a wave of warmth into the nook.

“Much better,” said Sulaer, turning back to the bookshelves, “now where to start?”

Book after book they read until their stomachs growled, but still they did not find a solution.

“What about this one?” Petra asked, sliding the open book over to Syra.

“Nope, not that one, either.”

“Ugh!” Petra groaned and laid her head on the table, exhausted and hungry, “I thought you said we could find cures down here.”

“These are cures,” said Sulaer, “they just all require some addition of mana, and that’s the opposite of what we need.”

“Well, we can’t stay here forever. Even you said you haven’t read all of these. How are we supposed to?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wonderful.” Petra closed her book and left to return it back to the shelf. As she slid it back into place she screamed, dropping the book and making Syra and Cassius run to her.

“What is it? What happened?”

“What is that?” Petra pointed an accusing finger and grimaced at the fat grub waving its pincers at them from the shelf.

“It’s…it’s a worm,” Syra said, puzzled. “Sulaer, why is there a worm down here?”

“You are underground, remember?” said Cassius.

“That’s a bookworm,” Sulaer answered, laughing.

“Like, the kind that eat books?” Syra recalled hearing talk of them in Altaira, but had never actually seen one.

“No, not exactly.” Sulaer reached over and scooted the worm into her palm, and Petra quivered in disgust. “They eat their memories.”

“Come again?” Cassius asked.

“All the memories of all the people that ever read it, even the author. It takes a lot of energy to write a book, and even more is invested by those who pour themselves over one. And it’s these little fellas that hold on to that energy in the form of memories.”

“So, you’re saying these worms hold the memories of all the books in here?” Syra asked.

Sulaer took a moment to answer, “Depends on their age, but yes, it wouldn’t surprise at all.”

“Can I see it?” Syra asked, taking the worm from her hand and running back to the table.

“Don’t put that thing over there!” cried Petra, “I sit there!”

“It’s not going to bite you, Petra,” Syra said, setting it down on the table, “I don’t think.”

Syra took out a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag on the table and began writing.

“A locator spell?” asked Sulaer surprised, looking over her shoulder.

“If that worm has memories of the information we need, then maybe I can find the book it got it from.”

Sulaer watched her hands fly over the paper, her strokes a tad sloppy in her hurry.

“Don’t rush,” she said, stopping her hands a moment, “it won’t work as well.”

Syra nodded and continued with slower, more precise marks. The script wound around the borders and spiraled inward until only a blank spot was left in the center.

“Now you just need a purpose,” said Sulaer.

Syra hesitated. This was always the hardest part. She could learn spells fine, but creating one had always been a hurdle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted and hoped the words would come. And then she wrote.

 Locate the tome,

your only quest.

And bring me thither,

At my behest.

 The bane of plagues,

it acts alone

To restore the body

And make it whole.

 “Not bad for your first try,” Sulaer said. “Now what?”

Syra picked up the worm and placed it on the page. She balled a fist, charging it.

“Sorry about this,” she said, pointing a finger. She tapped her fingertip to the worm and a spark of electricity jolted the worm, causing it to seize and spit up the juices from its gut onto the paper.

“That’s just disgusting,” said Petra.

“It’s magic,” Syra replied, scooting the poor grub off to the side.

“Nothing’s happening,” Cassius said, watching the paper.

“I’m not done.”

Sulaer took a pin from her pouch and handed it to Syra, who pricked her finger and pressed it to the page. The words shimmered as light traced along the spiral of ink until it came to the center. Please, work, she thought, but nothing happened. The page still glimmered, but did not move. Syra bent over the paper, analyzing it to see what she could have done wrong, stopping at the small glob of blue liquid just outside the center lines. She blew on it, flicking the glob over into the center.

It sparked, and glowed, and the page twitched and ruffled. Then it started folding itself. Over and over, folding and twisting until it formed itself into a bird that flapped its wings and hopped about the table.

“You did it!” Sulaer rejoiced, gripping her shoulders.

“Well, look at that, you did!” Petra said, laughing at the paper bird, “What’s it supposed to do?”

Syra bent over the table and the bird stared up at her, beak to nose.

“Go,” she said, and the bird flew from the table into the air, fluttering on its tiny wings in circles above them.

“Where’s it going?” Cassius asked.

“To find the cure.”