The rest of the day passed pleasantly as we talked about lighter matters, played a brief round of cards which slowly morphed into a laughing fest, and caught up on some well-needed sleep. Perhaps a little too pleasantly, like the calm before a great storm, but then again, we were going in with a plan in mind. At least I hoped we were.

Albert had collapsed on the table, gentle snores rocking him to sleep as he rested his head in the soft cradle of his arms.

Matilda lolled her head against the back of the chair, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders like beautiful waves as she settled snugly. She tucked her wrinkled trousers against her chest and hugged them like a forgotten comfort toy lost in the ever-changing tides of time.

But as I closed my eyes to get some shut-eye, an unsettling feeling churned in my stomach. Slowly at first, just letting me know it was there, but gradually growing to a pounding stir that burst open my eyes. Like taking a deep gulp of air, the feeling receded, replaced with my ragged breathing as I slunk back against the chair.

"Ken? Are you awake?" I asked but almost immediately recoiled, wishing to take back my selfish words out of the air.

He stirred, lifting his head from his shoulder, and straightened in the chair. A ripple of gentle cracks bounced off the walls as he arched his sore back before slumping back to stifle a yawn.

"I'm awake now," Ken said.

"Oh, I'm sorry for disturbing you," I stammered, scrambling to apologize but stopped when I noticed the slight smirk on his face. "I just... I couldn't fall asleep."

He nodded understandingly. "Are you feeling alright?"

Alright? Breaking my legs running away from the police, having the harsh realities of Wynnille slapped in my face, and losing the familiar clench of talons on my shoulder was far from comforting. But I put on a smile, not to burden Ken with my troubles, but also to let a little light illuminate the swirling darkness in my mind.

"I'm managing."

Ken returned the smile, his eyes crinkling but perhaps they were still watery from his slumber. "Yep, gotta stay cool in spite of what comes your way." He paused and looked away. "If anything, I'm the one who should be sorry. I promised to teach you magic, yet I didn't make an effort for it to happen."

"It's fine," I muttered and stared at my bandage-ridden hands. "It's not like I can learn anything with these bloody hands."

He chuckled, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Pun intended?"

When I looked at him strangely, he waved it off. Probably capital jargon or something of that sort, I thought.

"Anyways," He said. "The physical part of magic—the engulfing flames, whirlwinds of air, rapid-fire water droplets, and twisting spikes, they're not all that matters for the mage. Some say they are only the product of one's mind, capable of being killing machines or just a candle light, for example."

The product of one's mind? I thought, my mind reeling the more I tried to digest the tangled words. "What do you mean? Didn't you say to clear your mind for a path to the mana pool, and then just let the magic do its work?"

"Yes, that is essentially what all mages do—or try to do, at least—when using their magic," Ken pursed his lips as if contemplating how to word it. "And in order to become familiar with this, one must meditate often, an effective tool to train the mind without the stress of being in the heat of the moment. Yet that alone does not make for a successful mage."

He continued after studying my perplexed expression. "Tell you what, maybe this teaching will make a bit more sense. To be big is to let loose, to be small is to hold back. To do both is to control."

To control... "So one has to be able to bend their magic to their will." I said. "But how am I supposed to do that if I can't make even a small candle light?!"

I looked up at Ken, his eyes closed and chest rising and falling in time with his gentle breathing.

"You're... meditating," I whispered, and he nodded.

"And you should too," He said. "Join me, and let my voice be your guide in the darkness. Tell me when you're ready."

I shut my eyes, not to sleep this time, but to find peace within the raging thunderstorm of questions in my mind. The gentle buzz of footsteps outside hummed along with the flickering lightbulb, whispering seductively in my ear as if to lure me from finding solace. The whip of flipping paper punctured the air like the ticking of a disdainful clock, but I didn't scream inwardly to rid the sounds that poked and prodded at me.

To do so would be succumbing to their lust of distraction. So I let them in cheerily, settling the prickling bumps on my skin and loosening the knot in my stomach, as if by doing so they would find their stay to have no effect, that their efforts were pushing right back at their intentions.

And so I waited. Waited until silence pounded against my ears, and the faint thump of my heart and steady breathing was all that remained.

"I'm ready," I said, my voice flowing through the silence seamlessly, a part of it instead of an unnatural intrusion.

"Alright, now do what you explained to me before. Clear the path to the mana pool, let the magic course through your veins, but don't let out. Control it."

I took a deep breath, tickling my lungs with the scent of wood, and plunged into the darkness. I swam around for a while, weaving through clouds black and white and every shade in between before my arm sunk into the familiar squishy, gooey substance. A coolness that coated my hand sent tingles up my arm, gradually replaced by a fiery sensation that boiled my blood, yearning to be sent free.

It raced through my veins, snaking just under my grasp until it reached my hands. Burning with a startling intensity, I forced myself to take a few breaths, to calm the heat that threatened to split my already scarred hands apart.

"You're almost at your hands, right?" Ken asked, and I muttered a small "yes", as if anything louder would shatter the fragile barrier keeping the fire at bay. "Now, slowly let a little through. Just a trickle through a small crack, or else it will overwhelm your raw exits to the outside and split open your hand again."

I shuddered, reminded of the searing pain that slammed into my hands when I had tried to throw my anger onto the tattooed man. Just a little. With trembling hands, I snuck a crack open in the floodgates and a rush of fire surged into my hands, a jarring sensation racking them as every muscle in my body clenched.

Fire scraped horrifyingly against my raw flesh, but a hand wrapped around the pain, the cool touch hushing the fire to a gentle smolder.

"You did well," Ken whispered, slowly removing his hand from mine. Most of the pain had been presumptive, conjured by my nervous imagination, and as the heat receded from my veins, only a mild sting tickled my hands.

"I... I did?" My eyes remained shut as not to disturb the moment with a bombardment of colors and shapes.

"Well, it's a start, but that's an achievement in itself."

I slowly opened my eyes, my hands tingling as I studied them curiously. For the first time in my life, I was able to make it a curse or a blessing, the latter tugging a smile on my lips. It was a start, but it felt anything but.

___

"Wallace. Wallace!" My shoulder rocked back and forth forcefully as my cheek scraped up splinters on the rough wood—an effective wake-up call that straightened me up immediately.

"Wha..." I rubbed my watery eyes and caught the bit of drool trickling down my chin. Albert and Matilda were already by the door, and Ken beckoned me as he joined them.

The last rays of sunlight had streamed through the window, the shadows of the store growing longer before shrinking to the lightbulb's flimsy grasp that occasionally drowned us in darkness. I pushed myself up, my arms draping to my sides like apathetic beings, but a few blinks cleared my crinkled eyes and the fog clouding my mind rolled away.

"Let's go," Albert muttered and a sense of déjà vu washed over me as he swung open the door. The cold, night air coated me in a layer of frost and I tugged my collar up, shielding my neck from another gust of wind that whispered angrily into my ear.

We stepped onto the cobbled streets, darkened patches of sodden stone seemed to disappear in the darkness and scattered windows along the sides cast a faded golden glow that frayed the edges of the dim atmosphere.

"The Swan is not a place meant for the public eye," Albert began as we headed down the block. The soft squeak of our soles echoed eerily against the puddles and a sinking restlessness draped the barren streets, muffled movement and hushed whispers following us. Or perhaps it was the howling wind arousing my heightened senses.

"Well, I should be a bit more clear. It's not an explicit 'place', rather it pops up somewhere else every so often to avoid detection. The times when the police catch on fast enough, they have enough resources to get it up and running again."

Matilda nodded in agreement. "You always gotta keep tabs on the black markets. One day they're down the street, and next thing you know you're walking through half the city searching for it."

"Wait, Albert, you do know where it is, right?" I asked.

He leaned back in mock surprise, taken aback by my question. "Of course! I know downtown inside out like every bolt and gear in the intricate workings of Ca—" He stopped, his eyes meeting mine briefly before drifting to the side. "of my inventions."

Camila. Had she been thrown in a cage ten sizes too small for her, kept only as a pretty accessory? Or had she been buried in the mountains of junk, mistaken to be one herself? I shuddered at the thought of her beating her wings in vain as she slid further and further into oblivion.

That little falter was enough to dim the already darkened mood and an uneasy silence tethered us as we strode down the street.

I could hear the periodic dripping of water echoing along the street as we turned a corner—Albert muttering a "left"—and only glimpses of silhouettes dashed in the distance, soft footsteps that padded against the ground like the paws of a cat.

Despite the stillness of the night, the hairs on my neck stood straight, poised for danger lurking in the shadows, and every bone in my body trembled at the slightest breeze brushing against my cheek.

"My nephew," Albert murmured. "He loved watching the fights, the thrill of how they moved with such ease and prowess. Said that he might want to join them one day."

He laughed, a bitter sound that clawed at his heart. What had happened? I thought, but I dared not ask as it seemed to be a wound only he could reopen.

We meandered through the labyrinth of inconspicuous streets, the looming buildings stirring briefly in their sleep as snippets of animated conversation drifted out of the glass, before shutting their many eyes as the light faded from them. A few tossed and turned, unable to catch a few z's as the nightlife raged on behind the walls—the Cheers and Beers Tavern we had passed around the corner pulsed with a fiery spirit on par with what we had seen last night, boisterous laughter gently prodding at the still atmosphere.

The shops and stores snored steadily as the wind tickled the stands and crates, rustling a rack of clothes here and brushing over a fragile set of dishware that quivered in the breeze. A chorus of moans rang out as the porcelain toppled over each other and it remained suspended in the air, the wind taking a moment to just listen.

Just before we reached the end of the block, Albert stopped, shooting out a hand. "It's down here."

He pointed down a dimly lit passage—not narrow enough to be an alleyway, but not spacious enough that a cab could fit through. Or perhaps it was an intentional design, only people who knew of the place wouldn't gloss over it as I had, and nobody would stumble upon it 'by accident'.

It was nothing out of the ordinary—maybe a little too unremarkable—, the same winding cracks etched into the cobbled street and street lights that flared rhythmically, the surge of light illuminating the darkness briefly before retreating to the shadows. I could make out the faint hum of music down the street accentuated by the resounding thump of a staticy bass, a steady buzz that tickled my feet. Scattered footsteps accompanied the strangely upbeat atmosphere, overlapping with muffled but lively conversation that drifted to our ears.

With a glance down both ends of the street, Albert ducked into the passage and we followed shortly behind. There was a slight slope as we walked, stone bricks jutting out irregularly as if placed for us to catch our footing on.

But under the cover of darkness, they did quite the opposite. I cursed silently as my toes stabbed into the jarring rock and hobbled after the three to catch up.

The music had grown to a deafening roar that pounded against my ears and a little down the street I located the source: a dark building highlighted with streaks of purple and blue underlines emanating a neon glow, pulsing in cue with the thumping of the bass.

The steel overhang trimmed with rounded corners had been outlined with thin fluorescent bars, accentuating the otherwise dark edges and finishing it with a sleek yet bold look. A flickering sign above read The Swan in slanted letters, a deep purple glow beneath it draping the entrance in an ethereal luminescence.

The wooden double doors sprinkled with smudges of metal patches were swung wide open, revealing a glimpse of the hubbub of laughter and chaos inside. A thunderstorm of rampaging feet racked the ground as some people wiggled their limbs to the beat while others fraternized amongst each other, the faint clink of glasses and swish of liquid filling the brief pauses in the music.

"I haven't personally seen a fight club," Ken started, cocking an eyebrow as he stared at the gathering. "But that doesn't seem anything like it."

"You'll see," Albert whispered and he started towards the entrance. "Just stick close and follow my lead."

On the adjacent sides of the entrance stood two individuals, a man whose shoulders seemed to be as long as my wingspan, and a lean woman whose blond hair had been cut short and a permanent frown etched on her face.

A pair of dark lenses were pushed high up the bridge of their noses, a void of black concealing their gaze trailing us as we neared. They each had been fitted with a fine-pressed suit bare of creases and complementary tie tucked into the folds of their jackets, blending perfectly with dark and was only visible under the purple glow.

A few people mingled around the entrance, their eyes darting around wildly as if searching for something or someone, but trudged off past us after the man gave them a forceful warning. We joined the mesh of a line to the entrance, following closely behind Albert when I felt a shoulder brush—no, shove—against me.

I stumbled before catching my footing by grabbing onto Ken's arm, muttering a quick "sorry" as I shuffled back into the line, my eyes scanning for the culprit.

A burst of shrill laughter whipped my head to the front of the line where they were: a young, lanky man, his hair slicked back and his collared shirt loosened to reveal part of his chest.

Two women clung to his side, an arm hooked around his as they ran their nails along his back, fluttering their eyelashes and puckering their lips when he turned to face the other. Layers upon layers of makeup had been piled on top of their faces as if to cover something horrendous beneath, and vibrant dresses hugged every curve as they stumbled into the Swan.

The man brought his head to the brunette's ear and whispered something, the same shrill laugh erupting from the woman as she shoved him playfully.

"What can I say?" Matilda sighed. "A desensitized environment is the brooding ground for even more desensitized people."

"To know there is a line to be drawn, that is incredible. For most here it is simply life," Albert said and we shuffled forward as the group in front of us strode through the entrance.

"Password?" The burly man spoke, his voice gruff and coated with a no-nonsense inflection.

"Everyone has a price," Albert muttered.

The dark depths of the lenses regarded him for a moment, not a sliver of emotion seeping through his face before he grunted.

With a tentative step, Albert headed in, and then Ken and Matilda until only I remained outside, observing the whirlwind of flashing lights and chaotic jumble of tangled bodies and laughter.

"What? You wet your pants, kid?" The man sneered.

Level head. Look forward. Go. And then I strode into whatever mess I had gotten myself into.