Becoming a Male Witch

Ru stood slowly.

The card was still in his hand. The whispers in his ear had quieted, but Amunet's presence lingered—smirking at the edges of his thoughts like a ghost in velvet.

He stared blankly at the card, then laughed under his breath. Short. Hollow.

"I should get rid of you," he muttered, twirling the card between two fingers like a coin. "But not now. When I need a clever enemy."

He tossed it onto the dresser with a flick of his wrist and turned toward the mirror.

His reflection greeted him: disheveled hair, puffy eyes, torn pink pajamas.

Too soft. Too pathetic. Too... prey.

He frowned. His shoulders curled inward, and his gaze darkened.

But Amunet's words still echoed.

"You need Killian."

Ru reached out and traced his finger down the mirror, as if trying to peel away the surface and touch something older, truer beneath.

"She's right. I woke up Jazz. So I should wake up Killian too."