Ep. 28 Don't Trust Part 2

Training started like any other day, with me going through the sword forms Ms. Vera had drilled into me while Maya and Rowan sat cross-legged in the grass, deep in meditation. The familiar routine should have been comforting, but something felt off. Ms. Vera, usually quick with corrections and advice, remained oddly silent.

I caught her staring into the distance more than once, her weathered face creased with worry. Whatever occupied her thoughts seemed to weigh heavily on her shoulders, making her seem older and more fragile than I'd ever seen her.

During our sparring session, she barely seemed to notice our presence. Maya landed a particularly impressive combination of fire spells that would normally have earned either praise or criticism, but Ms. Vera's eyes remained unfocused, lost in some private concern.

"Your guard was too low," I muttered to Rowan after she failed to point out an obvious mistake in his stance. He nodded, throwing me a worried glance. We'd all noticed her unusual behavior, but none of us knew quite what to make of it.

The strangeness followed us inside as we prepared dinner. Ms. Vera, whose cooking had been a source of comfort these past months, burned the stew—something I'd never seen her do before. The acrid smell of scorched vegetables filled the kitchen as she stared into the pot, apparently not even noticing until Maya gently took the spoon from her hand.

Finally, concern overrode my usual hesitation. "Ms. Vera, are you okay?"

She startled at my voice as if she'd forgotten we were there. For a moment, something like pain flashed across her face before she forced it away behind a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, dear, I'm quite alright."

The lie hung heavy in the air between us, but I didn't press further. In all our months here, Ms. Vera had remained largely a mystery. She taught us, fed us, protected us—but shared little about herself. Whatever troubled her now seemed to fall into that same category of carefully guarded secrets.

Dinner was a tense affair, the silence broken only by the quiet clink of spoons against bowls. The anxiety radiating from Ms. Vera was almost tangible, like static before a storm. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a weight I'd never heard before.

"You have all done great work these past few months," she began, her eyes moving from face to face as if trying to memorize our features. "Improved far beyond what I could have hoped."

She turned to me first, and something in her gaze made my chest tighten. "Kai, your swordsmanship has grown exponentially. You have a rare talent—one that may someday let your blade stand equal with magic users everywhere." The pride in her voice was genuine, but underneath it lurked something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like goodbye.

"Rowan," she continued, "you have such a gentle heart, always thinking of others before yourself. Your magic abilities have grown remarkably, and I know you'll become a great mage. Never lose that kindness—it's as much a strength as any spell."

Finally, she faced Maya, and her expression grew more serious. "And Maya... you might be one of the most talented mages I've ever encountered. Your potential exceeds anything I've seen in all my years. I'm confident that one day, you'll become one of the strongest mages this world has ever known." She paused, her next words coming slower, weighted with warning. "But remember, Maya—people fear what they cannot control. With your potential, no one will be able to control you. They will fear you instead, and scared humans are dangerous humans."

Maya nodded, clearly unsettled by both the praise and the ominous warning. The whole speech carried the air of a farewell, though none of us dared voice that observation.

Ms. Vera excused herself shortly after, leaving us to sit in confused silence. The questions hung unspoken between us: Why now? What had changed? What wasn't she telling us?

But we said nothing, each lost in our own thoughts as we cleaned up dinner and prepared for bed. Perhaps we all shared the same desperate hope—that tomorrow morning everything would return to normal, that this strange evening would prove to be nothing more than a momentary melancholy.

As I lay in bed that night, I couldn't shake the feeling that something momentous approached on silent feet. Changes were coming, whether we were ready for them or not.

I had no way of knowing then just how right that feeling was, or that tomorrow would bring a discovery that would shatter our world once again.