Whisper of Magic

The rhythmic sound. Of rain drumming. Against the ancient stained glass windows. Each drop sliding down. As if drawing secret paths. Across the colored surface of the glass. Inside the room. Illuminated by the flickering glow of the fireplace. The woody scent. Of burning logs. Mixed with the slightly sweet aroma. Of incenses. That danced in the air. The crackling of the flames. Created an intimate melody. But none of that could calm. The turmoil within Lya.

Although Aerya has an appearance. Of peace and harmony. A nation without hunger or poverty. Its internal relations are complex. Aerya's territory is marked. By vast forests. Isolated mountains. And fortified cities. Each city is protected. By a magical aura. Keeping the nation safe. But also suspicious. Of external influences.

She felt out of place. Like a piece. Out of the board. A shadow. Trying to adjust. To a scenario. That didn't belong to her. She had always felt that way. It was one of the reasons. For traveling so much. As if she were looking for her home.

Since she arrived. In that city shrouded in mysteries. An almost imperceptible vibration. Like a constant shiver on her skin. Whispered secrets to her. That she couldn't decipher. An unsettling energy. Seemed to call her. Something subtle and invisible. But that ran through her skin. Like an undecipherable whisper. The cobblestone streets. The ancestral buildings of dark stone. The magic lanterns. That hovered in the air... everything carried. An inexplicable magnetism. As if the city spoke. An ancient language. That only part of her understood. — "But how can I understand?" — she wondered in thought. One of several mysteries. That haunted her mind.

The door creaked open. And Eren entered. Bringing with him. A dress carefully folded. Over his arm. His gray eyes gleamed. With a contained amusement. As he leaned. Against the door frame.

"The Council wants to see you. But they can't receive you. Like this, dressed as a lost traveler."

He approached. And held out the garment to her. The fabric was of a deep blue. Embroidered with silver threads. That seemed to capture and reflect. The light of the fire. It was light. As the night breeze. And soft to the touch. Sliding between her fingers. Like enchanted silk. The long sleeves. Fluttered gently. And a belt fastened. With small shiny stones. Adjusted around her waist. Lya ran her hand. Over the delicate texture. And felt a shiver. Run down her spine. It had been made for her.

She dressed in silence. The fabric settling. On her skin. As if it had always belonged to her. Looking at herself. In the silver-framed mirror. She recognized herself. But at the same time. Saw a new version of herself. Someone who belonged. To this world.

"Not bad, huh?" Eren commented. Leaning over. To observe her. With a mischievous smile. "You're going to impress them."

Lya hesitated. But the truth was. That the questions grew inside her. Suffocating any reluctance.

Eren watched her. With a playful glint in his eyes.

"I think I've never seen you. So well dressed."

Lya rolled her eyes. But felt an unexpected warmth. In her face. The dress was not only beautiful. It was perfect. On her body. It enhanced her beauty. Elegantly and sensually. It made her feel beautiful and confident. As if she had just put on a shield. However irrational that might seem. But feelings are indeed irrational.

Walking beside Eren. They crossed the cobbled streets. To the imposing Tower of the Aether. A monument of black stone. That stood. Like a silent guardian. In the heart of the city. Statues of ancient sorcerers. Flanked the entrance. Figures sculpted. With expressions of wisdom and severity. Their stone eyes. Seeming to follow. Every step of the visitors.

Inside, the air was dense and solemn. Impregnated with an ancient magic. That intertwined. With the environment itself. The Council hall was vast. With a vaulted ceiling. Where magical constellations. Shone faintly. As if they were pieces of sky. Imprisoned. The low murmur of the enchanted torches. And the rustling of the sorcerers' long robes. Filled the space.

Seated in chairs of carved wood. The Council members watched. The newcomer. Their gazes were cold and inquisitive. As if they were trying to see. Beyond the surface. Among them, Arwen maintained. Her usual rigid posture. Her features impassive. But her eyes gleamed. With a cautious interest.

"Here is the foreigner. We spoke of," Eren announced. His voice echoing. With an unusual solemnity. In the vast hall. "We want to know. If there is... something in her."

One of the elders. A figure with a silver beard. And a dark blue cloak.

Approached slowly. In his hands. Rested a peculiar object. A crystalline orb. Surrounded by golden runes. That pulsed. As if they had a life of their own.

"This is the Eye of Ithar," he said. His grave voice. Resounding in the hall. "It reveals. The true essence. Of whoever touches it."

The crystal was extended. To Lya. Her heart pounded. In her chest. As her trembling hands. Closed around the cold, smooth object. At first, nothing happened. But then, a flash of light. Erupted from the orb. Projecting arcane symbols. Through the air. The hall filled. With surprised murmurs. As the runes shone. Around Lya. Spinning in a golden spiral. That enveloped her completely.

Arwen narrowed her eyes.

"She... is a sorceress." Arwen pretended to be surprised. Because she doesn't want to reveal everything she knows. Not everyone on the council is trustworthy. And Arwen cannot put Lya in more danger.

The ground seemed to disappear. Beneath Lya's feet. What did that mean? How could it be? Her mind swirled. With questions. But the truth presented itself. Before her. With a frightening clarity. The energy she had felt. Since she arrived. Did not come. From something external. From an enchanted artifact. Or from someone else's spell. It came from herself.

Eren took a step forward. Surprise still etched on his face.

"Lya... you are one of us."

The impact of the words. Reverberated within her. Like a piece of a puzzle. Fitting into the right place. The feeling of displacement. The sensation of being a foreigner... all of that began to dissolve. She was not a stranger. In that world.

She was part of it.