The upper floors had some kind of theme going on through them, which were murals. Everywhere Xanthy craned her neck up to, it's all murals. Xanthy frowned. Why was it that only the High Priestess and the Rekshais could enjoy these? The lower floors sure weren't this grand.

Xanthy's boots skidded across the polished floor as she followed where the thief was going. She squinted up at the mural depicting some barter trade going on between pale banshees and even paler fairies. The mural shone against the magically conjured light like there was some kind of fixative painted atop it. Xanthy sniffed the air and remembered that smell from the illumination section in the Commons. Wax?

Then again, who cares? Xanthy gritted her teeth and forced her pudding legs to run. Focus.

Her sides hurt; her chest heaved like a dagrine. Sweat gathered in all the uncomfortable places. She'd have to swear off running after this. The air was thick to breathe in and the lack of windows made it worse. Where was this thief going?

A loud crash reverberated across the corridor. Somewhere east and close. Xanthy poured more strength to her legs as she tramped along the corridor. A turn was coming. She took it.

What greeted her forced her brain to go on examination-mode. At first glance, there was nothing that demanded her attention. Then she saw the crystals. Some melted into small puddles, turning spots in the carpet darker than the area adjacent to them. The crystals formed a line leading somewhere. A trail. Leading somewhere.

Xanthy clenched her jaw and followed the trail of crystals. As she ran, the crystals slowly increased in number until at such a point, they were in bunches almost like what Ganaraim had presented to Xanthy. She glanced at the ceiling. Relief flooded her veins upon seeing them murals. No crystals would drop into her head this time.

Farther. Xanthy ran. Then, she saw the root.

A pair of floor-to-ceiling doors appeared from the recent turn Xanthy took. What was left of it guarded a smaller and more intricate room filled with tall shelves filled to the brim with tomes. Their multi-colored spines formed another kind of abstract mural in Xanthy's mind. Ice blossomed around a person-sized hole blown through the door. It was a few notches colder inside, too.

No time to waste. Xanthy plowed into the hole only to catch the thief picking up a dusty tome from a special pedestal at the west end of the room. The Soul Spells.

Xanthy cursed. Why would one decide to put an important book in a special pedestal where it would be easily identifiable by thieves? Why not stack it among the thousands of books in this room?

The thief pried the Soul Spells off the pedestal. Nothing moved. No curse sprang up to turn the thief into a cleret. Xanthy resisted a groan coming to her throat. Seriously, no other guards?

The thief cradled the book under their arm and turned to the door. They froze when they regarded Xanthy standing by the only entrance, an arrow steadily pointed to their heart.

"If I were you, I wouldn't consider running," Xanthy said. "I will shoot."

The thief didn't move. Xanthy tightened her hold on her bow. If her guess was right, she needed to know the reason for all of this. "Why are you doing this? This isn't like you."

"You don't know what I'm like," the thief's feminine yet young voice twisted Xanthy's stomach like a wet washcloth. "I've been different since he died. Get out of my way, Xanthy. You don't want to face me."

Xanthy stepped closer, adjusting her aim on the thief's chest. "You gained a backbone and some silly magic," she narrowed her eyes. "What's that compared to what I have? You've seen it."

The thief threw her head back and laughed. "Still banking on that?" She braced a hand on her hip. "You don't even need to use it after all this is over."

Xanthy stepped closer, eyes trained on the old tome. Its yellowing pages were bound by a rotting spine. It smelled like dust and burnt wood. This was the one she had to save? Xanthy shivered before flicking her eyes back at the thief. "I thought you don't want anything to do with me," Xanthy drew the arrow further back. "Drop the tome. Give me the maximizer. I might let you live."

"What makes you think I'll comply?" the thief challenged. "I could just freeze you and shadowbend away from here."

Xanthy clenched her jaw. "Then you'd have an arrow straight through you," she said. "I don't want to hurt you. Please, drop the tome and give me the maximizer. This isn't you."

For an answer, the thief sent icicles hurtling to Xanthy's direction. The room shook as ice tore through the floor, its pointed ends poised for Xanthy's blood. Xanthy leaped out of the way and swept her bow around, recalibrating her aim.

The thief was gone. Xanthy cursed and whirled to the blasted opening. "Cover! Lock! Reinforce!" she chanted. Magic flashed from her fingertips. The opening was sealed with a glimmering wall of energy. The thief slammed straight into it before falling to her rear with a groan.

Xanthy lunged for the Soul Spells which lay forgotten a few paces from the thief. Her fingers closed around the spine when she was thrown backwards. Xanthy sailed across the room, weightless. A heavy weight pressed against her stomach.

She landed in a roll. The tome flew out of her hands. Dark spots blocked her vision. She lay on the floor as the thief strolled over the Soul Spells and bent down to pick it up.

"Stay down," the thief tucked the tome under her arm once more. "I don't want to kill you either."

Xanthy spat a mouthful of blood. "Your mistake."

She fired the first aggressive spell that came to mind. The floor by the thief's feet exploded. Fog bloomed around them. Xanthy dove into the haze and slammed into a solid object. An arm. A leg.

Xanthy pinned the thief to the ground as the fog dissipated around them. She kicked the Soul Spells as far away from their reach as she could.

"Where's the maximizer?" Xanthy hissed at the thief's ear.

The thief chuckled. "Who's to say the Heiress has it now?"

"Liar," Xanthy narrowed her eyes when the corner of the thief's mouth twitched. "You aren't very good at lying, even then."

"You've known me for, what, five days?" the thief snorted then scoffed. "You impress me."

Xanthy drew the maximizer from the thief's pocket. "I have many impressive capabilities," she held the device up before closing her fingers around it. The edges dug against her palms. Thank the gods for the tricks Lebayou taught her back in the Disfavoreds.

A snarl tore off the thief's throat as she lunged and pushed Xanthy back. The maximizer flew out of Xanthy's fingers before skittering somewhere. The thief stood up and ran towards the two items. No, not on Xanthy's watch. Xanthy fired a snaring spell at the thief's feet. The thief yelped as she crashed into the floor. Go.

The thief drew a flintlock from her belt. Xanthy froze as her stomach churned with the unpleasant memory the sight of the weapon unearthed. She gritted her teeth until she couldn't feel them anymore. How cruel. How dirty.

"Would you use the same thing that killed your father on me?" Xanthy's tone bore the same disgust she felt. "How far have you sunken?"

"Far enough to be listening to cruel voices telling me to steal shadows," the thief hissed, clicking the gun's lock once. "Far enough to be getting blood on my hands for a tome just to bring him back. I don't care if that blood ends up to be yours."

Xanthy shook her head. So be it, then. She nocked an arrow and drew back the string, keeping it pointed to the thief's heart. "Looks like I don't need to care if I get your blood on my hands, either."

"You're not going to kill me," the thief shook her head against her hood. "You can't kill me with that. I know."

"I'm not going to kill you," Xanthy drew the string farther back until her shoulders ached. "I'm going to pierce you hard enough to make you wish for death instead."

"How brave," the thief stepped back once. Twice.

Then the icicles screamed for Xanthy yet again. Spears of ice stuck on walls and knocked bookshelves off as Xanthy ran. The thief extended her hands again and again, spells hardening to ice flying off her fingers. Xanthy cursed as she ducked under an icicle. She needed to end this quickly.

The thief retrieved both the maximizer and the old tome from their place before hopping towards the door Xanthy had locked. The magical snare still shimmered around the thief's ankles. Not yet.

Xanthy ducked one last icicle and lunged. Her leg wrapped around the thief's midsection, pulling the thief down with her. They rolled—more like, flailed—around, each attempting to wrench the tome and the device from the other.

Xanthy slammed a closed fist against the thief's head. A knee found home on Xanthy's gut. With a gasp, Xanthy pinned the thief against the carpeted floor. She grabbed the thief's hood. "Reverse!" she chanted as magic warmed her veins and spread through the cloth.

The thief rolled over, firing a flurry of hail into Xanthy's face. Cold particles seared her skin and pelted her eyes as she stumbled away. The thief scrambled back as the hood fell from her head.

Marin's face tumbled into view.

Xanthy wiped the ice from her cheeks. "Drop the tome," she dragged herself up despite the growing weakness in her knees.

Marin eyed the shimmering exit. Xanthy called her bow back to her. The string stretched. An arrowhead faced forward.

Marin's face was flat as her tone. "No." She darted towards the door with a swift turn. Xanthy shot.

Nothing but the sound of Xanthy's arrow splintering a section of the wooden door as it embedded itself on it. The silence that followed was large enough for Xanthy to hear the thuds of Marin's rich locks falling to the floor.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She cursed. Crying wouldn't solve anything.

"Drop the tome. Hand the maximizer over." Xanthy refused to let her voice crack and swallowed against the lump building on her throat. "The next time an arrow flies off me, it will be more than hair."

Marin turned, slowly. Her eyes were wild, wide, and for once, filled with fear. The Soul Spells with the maximizer atop it slid through a thin film of ice before settling to Xanthy's feet. Xanthy gripped them with her mind and floated them behind her. She nocked another arrow but recalled her spell on the door. "Go," she hissed. "While you still can."

Marin stepped back before turning to disappear out of the room. Xanthy's arm fell to her sides. Her knees shook before hitting the ground in a solid thump. Her bow and arrow clattered against the carpet in a shrill but muffled thud.

At first, small tears dripped from her eyes and sped down her cheeks. Then, the torrent came. Her shoulders shook; her chest heaved with loud sobs as tears stained and blurred her vision.

It's all Xanthy's fault.

Marin had to ally herself to the Heiress, steal the shadows from thousands of innocent fairies, and charge straight into a siege for a tome just because of what happened because of Xanthy.

Marin was after the Soul Spells for one thing—to bring everything she had lost upon meeting Xanthy which to the young half-blood was everything.

It's all Xanthy's fault. For existing. For being clueless while everyone around her scrambled to protect what's inside her from falling into the wrong hands.

Being sorry was not going to bring Jarvik back. Marin's words back at the Temple of Magic bled into Xanthy's mind. Yeah, so was stealing a tome with spells pertaining to souls.

Death was a one-way trip. There was no going back. The Heiress had succeeded in manipulating Marin into thinking there was still a chance of resetting her life to what it once was. There was no going back, even in this magic-infested world.

Jarvik, in his last moment, asked Xanthy to take care of Marin and Malin. Now...Xanthy failed to do both. She lost Marin to a point of no return. There was no going back. Not for Marin. Incidentally, not for Xanthy, either.

So why was she sitting alone in this large room feeling like her chest had just burst?

Guilt. Regret. Anger. Why did Xanthy even have to choose between protecting the world and the ones closest to her? For someone who was promised to be the savior of the island, she sure couldn't save herself nor the people she loved from their destinies. Godsdamned destiny.

Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and her face pressed against a soft, burgundy tunic that smelled of smoke and blood. Long, khaki hair dangled in her blurry vision. Ravalee.

Xanthy's stomach twisted further. She didn't deserve this care, this...love. She had envied Ravalee just for having a better life, had even snapped at her half for trying to help Xanthy reorder her thoughts. Ravalee had been nothing but kind and Xanthy had disregarded all that.

Still, Ravalee was here. With her. For her.

They stayed that way until Xanthy's eyes dried and her heart had started to mend itself. Slowly. Surely.

Xanthy drew away from Ravalee's embrace and wiped her cheeks with her fingers. They came away wet and clammy. "Just so you know," she whispered, her voice sounding strangled in her throat. "I would never steal your life from you. Go and live it. Don't worry about me. I'm going to be fine."

As fine as having the Virtakios would be.

Ravalee smiled and circled her hands like she's forming a ball then she pointed to her chest before drawing a line like she was sealing a sack. Xanthy blinked. Her mind flared with the familiar burst of energy as Ravalee opened the connection between them.

That is a sign meaning reciprocate, Ravalee did the sign again as Xanthy nodded, mum. I use it for empathy, a way of saying I am too. Or we're the same. I say it like that. Reciprocate.

Xanthy pursed her lips. So now she was learning sign language?

Ravalee put her finger to a spot on the middle of her forehead then moved it to her heart before resting it on her other palm. Then, she pointed to Xanthy.

That meant Thank you, Ravalee drew back and sat on the floor beside Xanthy. Cyrdel came up with it because touching the head meant mind, chest meant heart, and palm meant action. When you thank someone, you think with your mind, you feel with your heart, and you work with your palms. It's a show of sincerity. I like it.

Xanthy cracked a small smile. "I like it too."

She touched her forehead, her chest, her palm, and then she pointed to Ravalee. Thank you, she thought long after Ravalee terminated the connection. For everything.

Ravalee regarded her and returned the smile as if she still heard it. Xanthy almost laughed. With that living half of her soul, Xanthy knew that they would always understand each other without speaking or thinking.

Xanthy reached out and laid her hand on top of Ravalee. It didn't matter if they're apart or have led different lives. None of that should have mattered in the first place. Xanthy realized that now.

Even territories and families apart, Xanthy knew. She and Ravalee—they would always be each other.