For a majority of our journey, we're silent- except Clifford that is (that kid never shuts up). It makes me a bit uneasy but I know my mind likes to blow certain things out of proportion, especially when it involves friendships.

My track record with friends has never been the best, so whenever I gain some really good friends I start off cool but the moment I slip up with one miscalculated step I start to freak out. Part of me, the sentimental aspect, wants to quickly make up whatever wrongs I did to them just to save a friendship, while my more self-governing side doesn't want to budge from my stance- why should I compromise my opinions for those I don't stand for? Even with my new, infantile friendships back at home I'm worried about that one misunderstanding that'll come and drive us apart- I thought I did that once with Ruthford already.

So walking at a slight distance behind my friends, who all seem engulfed in their thoughts, is driving me insane. Elle and Olivos chat between themselves for brief intervals but no one else tries speaking up until it darkness begins to fall upon us.

"We should settle for the night," Coxen says, surveying the twilight sky.

"Agreed, but let's push on further in case there might be an inn or tavern nearby to reside in," Sephora adds.

So we walk until the first twinkle of a star reveals itself overhead. Unfortunately, it's the cold, hard ground tonight but we're growing accustomed to it now.

Even as we settle down to sleep, I can't help but feel some sort of divide between us. I don't want this me-against-them ideology to take root but I'm conflicted.

They don't understand my reasons and I'm not willing to fully explain what even I'm having trouble making out.

I lay there, with Clifford pressed up against me despite me pushing him away twice, staring up between the treetops at the indigo bruised sky alight with burning stars.

Xalale definitely complicates my life, even when not present. Here I am, his only advocate (ignoring Clifford's reasons for helping him) and we're not even communicating.

Pulling the ring out from my pouch, I sigh, holding it against my chest in my fist.

"I will be so glad once every trace of you is out of my life."

Though the stage between friend/frenemy was a bit blurred, I can't really think back to a time where I felt the same overwhelming worry that I do now about losing a relationship. Grant it, our relationship was a bit unique compared to my other ones, but I still can't recall a point in time where I was fearful of breaking off ties. Sure, we step over the boundaries sometimes and yeah, we've exchanged some words that were worthy enough to start wars, yet our "relationship" never shattered into tiny, unmendable pieces (until, of course, he decided to annihilate it). We fought, we cooled down, and we moved on.

That's what I liked.

If I had to choose one aspect about Xalale and our relationship that I actually enjoyed (like gun-to-the-head had to choose), it would most definitely be our unspoken agreement to place major episodes behind us, never looking back or discussing them again. Yeah, talking through your feelings during tough meltdowns helps sometimes, but we'd simply acknowledged it, accepted it, then kept moving.

Maybe I could use that here. Just wake up tomorrow morning and act like everything is okay. At the same time, though, that feels like neglecting the problem at hand. While Xalale and I moved past those moments, we'd never let the issue fester, it just died right there and then- plus, it wasn't something we thought about, we just did it.

"Just please don't let this be our downfall," I grimace. "Please, God."

Morning comes and we gather our achy selves together to continue onward.

Turns out, if we had walked just a mile or so more, we would have arrived at a small village where some friendly people lived.

They're the generous type, offering us food and pointing us in the right direction towards a city. We didn't even tell them our mission, they were just friendly strangers open to helping travelers like ourselves. Why couldn't Cauldron be more like that?

Refreshed and with a clear destination in mind, we set out with more spirit and more spirit must mean that our silent spell has been broken so the others begin to act like themselves again. I guess they simply must have been frustrated with yesterday's outcome after such a weary day.

"I am excited," Elle says, a bright gleam in her eye. "I've never visited a city before. There aren't many in our province, at least none as big as Mirallan. What is such a city like?"

"Noisy, I'd imagine," Olivos replies. "I have visited a city once or twice before, but never Mirallan. Cities are too hectic a place for someone like me."

That sounded true.

With energy in the air, Clifford absorbs it all, bouncing up and down the whole way there.

"There aren't a lot of big cities where we live, either, right, Mal?"

"Yeah," I shrug. Cities in Oregon aren't New York but I can image they're more impressive than the city we're about to stumble upon.

The road becomes busier as we near the perimeter of the city with travelers and merchants hurrying by with carts or animals in tow.

As we approach the walled city, Elle isn't the only one to be awe-struck by the sight. My assumptions were apparently assumed in ignorance about the architectural ingenuity of these people. For a world without modern machinery, they did a fair job of building a bustling metropolis.

Just coming into the ominous shadow of the wall that encompasses the entire city, I feel like an ant.

Getting past the gates, we become completely emerged in the lively city, dodging carts and herds of livestock in the process. Though the crowd is voluminous, the streets are narrow, crooked things that zigzag every which way- some streets divulging into it, others branching off. No longer were the roads dusty, travel-worn paths, instead the monotonous pattern of cobblestone lined the way. With buildings on either side, like teetering towers, and the surge of people who are going about their daily lives, I feel like a lost soul in a great, drifting sea being squeezed through like toothpaste through these claustrophobic streets. It was one thing admiring bustling cities like the one in Beauty and the Beast, it's another thing altogether trying to navigate them.

There isn't much time to bask in the old timely appeal of the place when you're being pushed and shoved about. With a crowd this large, I keep a tight hold on Clifford; if I lost the others I knew where to find them, but having an eight-year-old with a dazed expression on his face wandering carefree wasn't a good idea.

Finally, the street widens out as we travel down the outdoor market to the town square.

I will say, though the architecture is as charming as I'd imagine it being- flung opened shutters, Tudor styled exteriors with stone, sagging, sloped rooves- it was way noiser and, frankly, less appealing to the nose as I would have liked. Still, it's authentic.

"This is great!" Clifford starts back up with his eager bouncing, staring at the vendors selling their wares. "Why don't we have one of these back at home?"

I smile knowingly, "They have things like this over in Europe."

He's too occupied to grasp what I said, instead pulling on my hand to get me to walk somewhere else.

I'm just as enraptured with sightseeing as Clifford but I draw my attention away when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Coxen. He has to lean in close and raise his voice a little to be heard above the commotion.

"We're going to ask around to see where we can find books on magic and spells. I would stay close."

Nodding, I reply that I'll ask around as well, though I know it's just a ruse just to explore. I set off with Clifford, stepping into the open square market which didn't feel as cluttered as the streets did. A romantically grotesque statute that looks like a mixture between a horse, seraph, and snake was centered in the middle of the square, acting like a water foundation.

Just to appear like I'm helping out, I decide to ask a young girl, who looks to be in her early teens, about the destination we needed.

"What sort of information are you searching for?" She asks with a light accent, something that's unfamiliar to me- it seemed to make her words dance and flutter.

"Things, you know, about magic and spells and potions, things like that," I answer casually. I'd hate to raise any alarm bells about what we're actually looking for.

She reflects on that for a second before addressing me again.

"There is the temple," She offers, twisting the bucket in her hand. "The priestess is a wise woman from what I've heard. She's very gentle and the temple is a wealth of wisdom on the topics you seek."

"The temple," I muse. Clifford keeps trying to squirm out of my grip but I merely restrain him and his bubbling energy. "Where would that be?"

She points down a street behind her. "Follow the northbound path and it ought to take you there. There are signs along the way if you get lost and many people would know how to properly direct you. It is a magnificent structure, you shouldn't miss it."

I give her an appreciative nod, "Thanks."

As she returns to her previous task, I go off to find the others to tell them what I've learned. I drag an unwilling Clifford behind me as I go in search of someone.

I find Sephora and Elle first (really Sephora first because with hair like hers it's hard to miss).

"Apparently there's a temple around here that fits the bill," I say, joining them.

Sephora nods. "Yes, we have been informed of such a place, too."

"I pray we find what we're looking for," Elle says wishfully.

"Me and you both."

We find Coxen and Olivos and inform them about the temple then set off for the place down the street the girl told me about. It seems the further away we get from the hive of activity in the square, the less people roam the winding streets, allowing us space to breathe. I let go of Clifford's hand since I'm not in threat of losing him in a swarm of people.

Like the girl mentioned, there are markings that tell us we're on the right track to the place. Also, like she mentioned, it's hard to miss the towering, stone structure that rises above every building in this city. This temple must be like the Notre Dame is to Paris, it reeked of religious, scholarly importance.

Though ivy reached up the structure, it added color and age to the stoic temple. Though there wasn't stained glass like I would imagine would be accompanied with a design this rich, there was an exquisite mosaic design before the steps of the building. The huge doors which we stood before were crafted out of iron with a depiction of a scene that I couldn't decipher and words in a language that was completely foreign to me.

We stand in front of the doors like a bunch of slackjawed dummies staring in awe before snapping out of it to cautiously ease open one of the doors to enter. The first room is a small antechamber with another intricate pattern, made out of stone this time, on the floor and a simple iron basin filled with sweet smelling water. Immediately, Sephora and Olivos got the lingo and begin washing their face and arms with the water.

"You must cleanse yourself before you enter," Sephora explains, patting herself dry.

So we follow suit, washing our faces, hands, and arms with the water then drying ourselves off. Thankfully, we don't have to ditch our shoes so we can finally enter the main temple.

One word that can describe my first thought about the vast place is smoky. There just seems to be a foggy atmosphere drifting like spirits through the open space. I figure it's just incense burning so I ignore it, pushing through the cloud to find our way.

The ceiling arches high above us, letting in stretched rays of milky light to guide our path, leading us to a red wood door with engravings of a different language, familiar to the words outside on the main entrance doors. We peer into the room like I would on the first day of school to see if I'm in the right room.

Inside, it's almost parallel to the great Catholic cathedrals back in Europe, but instead of wooden or stone pews facing forward to an adorned pulpit, it's simply a dim light room littered with thousands of candles of different length, width, and color flickering in harmony (which is a safety hazard big time, but a stunning visual nonetheless). Instead of a pulpit, there's a stand with a velvet cloth covering a small table and with holy instruments up front- there's a smooth, wide but shallow stone bowl positioned rather precariously on a thin stone podium. The water has some kind of flower petals scattered in it- some kind of holy water, I suppose. There are a few people sitting on mats of some sort, crisscrossed applesauce, looking straight ahead but with eyes closed at the front of the room. The one thing which caught my eye was a marble statue which stood against the wall as if overlooking the room- their statutes are so strange here. The figure, which stands guard of the room, has an androgynous appearance making it hard for me to decipher what the figure is or stands for. I want to ask what the figure represents but Sephora is already silently ushering us back out of the room, closing the door with caution.

"Worship sanctuary," She whispers though we're out of the room already. "Let's try another door."

So we creep off down the echoing halls, the smoky ghosts floating freely above our heads. It doesn't take us long to arrive at another set of doors, these ones much plainer than the last.

Easing the door open again, we peer in, surveying the contents of the room. The room boast of high vaulted ceilings with a glass dome at the center which lets in the brilliant light that gleams on the dark wooden shelves that stretch high- all filled to the brim with books and scrolls. This is the place we're looking for.

Since I'm not too amazed with reading- plus, I'm sure none of these stuffy books are up my alley- this room isn't a spectacle to me like it seems to be for Sephora and Olivos. While Sephora and Olivos are probably blown away by the sheer number of books in this place, Elle is simply taken back by the size of this room and the possibilities.

"How are we ever going to sort through such a large collection for what we need?" Coxen asks, his brow furrowed in slight discouragement.

"Perhaps there is an index or keeper of the books we can talk to," Sephora suggests, still looking around with star-struck eyes.

"I shall go see if there is," Olivos says.

Elle's right at his heels, "I will go with you."

While the two of them wander off, the rest of us find a table to occupy under the encompassing light of the dome. With this, Clifford feels the acute need to go running around the aisles like he was raised in a barn with no concept of how libraries work.

"Clifford!" I hiss. "No running in here."

He finishes a lap, his face bright with enthusiasm.

"This place is great! It's nothing like our library."

"Nothing here is like home, that's what makes it good."

He frowns at that, about to open his mouth to make a rebuttal but Olivos and Elle have returned.

"The keeper doesn't seem to be present, but there is an index that might be of use," He says, setting down a scroll then unrolling it. "I suggest we start in spells and curses, then if nothing yields results we can advance to magical properties."

"Sounds like a plan," I say.

After that, we get down to business, pulling books and other useful works from the shelves that fit our first criteria. As we settle down to pour over the resources gathered, we run into a problem.

Turns out, firstly, Elle nor Coxen can read period, secondly, though Clifford and I can read, Clifford reads on a subpar second grade level, but that hardly matters as even I can't read the foreign, ancient script these works are written in. Only Sephora and Olivos are able to understand the contents. This drawback means instead of six pairs of eyes searching for possible answers only two will do- this slows down our whole process and time isn't our ally.

There's really nothing we can do about it, though, except let them search for the information while the rest of us dwindle our thumbs pretty much. It does put me on edge, worried that this inconvenience will give them one more reason to become resentful of my lackluster plan to find an alternative solution.

As the minutes pass and we stand around listening to Clifford's tales, I'm not feeling any more reassured than I was several minutes ago. So after what feels like an eternity has passed, I excuse myself and go to roam the hushed, misty halls.

Everything here is so still, so tranquil, nothing like the bustling city outside its doors.

I can recall only a few times where a reverend silence reigned and I took note. Almost all the times I recall, if not all them, took place in a church of some kind; but I also remember when I was seven and standing in a quiet hospital hallway outside my grandmother's door where she laid dying- that wasn't in a church.

But one instance, above all, replays like a broken VHS in my head. It was that time in the Methodist church, sitting in the cold, hard pews, looking around the decorated sanctuary with...with-

My wandering thoughts are interrupted by a fruity voice coming from my left side. Startled, I whip my head in the direction of a petite, pale girl with a plum-colored scarf tied around her head, concealing her hair. As she approaches me, though, I realize in mild bewilderment that she's not as young as she appears, though her voice and youthfully innocent freckled face try to deceive me. She wears one of those smiles that you can't definitively claim is a small grin or a thin-lipped expression, but it's pleasant on her- she just has this pleasant air about her.

"I'm sorry?" I look at her stupidly. Though I heard her voice I didn't catch what she said to me.

"Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts," She gives a subtle bow of her head. "But your thoughts were so melancholic yet bitterly sweet that I couldn't help but overhear them. They fill me with a poignant happiness."

"This girl is a strange one."

She makes a muted noise like a chuckle caught in the back of her throat.

"You think me peculiar," She states.

"Uh," My face must have seriously given me away. "No, I'm just a little...taken back, I guess."

"It was not your facial features which betrayed you," She gives me another dim yet pleasant grin.

"Okay, I might just have to slowly back away. Stranger danger..."

"I'm sorry," She shakes her head ruefully. "Please don't go away, I am curious now about this memory of yours in that church as you called it."

I don't think I could run away at that point. My body is frozen in absolute astonishment. I blink once, twice, staring wide-eyed at her perfectly poised face of eerie cheeriness.

"C-can she- you, read my thoughts?"

I don't really think I want an answer.

But she gives me one with another grin and nod of her head. "Yes, again, forgive me for my intrusion. If it will calm your nerves, I will put it to rest."

I can only manage a numb head nod, my eyes still practically popping out of my head. This has gotten freaky but I'm rolling with it.

"Good. Would it be a bother if we retreated to my study? It is much quieter there."

"Quieter? How much quieter can this place get? A void of silence?"

I'm going to have to guard my thoughts. But it's incredibly difficult to not think so many thoughts when you have a psychic two steps in front of you. Though she doesn't seem malevolent with her gift, I hate people being able to pry into my thoughts- it's one of my worse nightmares!

We make it to the end of the hall where a single, plain door stands with some rough scratches carved into it. She lets me in then ushers me to a cushion, which is actually pretty comfortable, before taking a seat herself across from me.

When she said a study, I envisioned a typical office study. This room was not that. From the double arched windows without panes, sunlight burst into the room, bathing it with warm light. There's an abundance of vegetation thriving in this room (this girl definitely had a green thumb). Between us, a low table, that reminds me of the low dining tables the ancient Japanese ate off of, though even lower to the ground, stands. There's not really anything on the table except for a stone forged cup filled with a milky substance- like the liquid reincarnation of the smoke that clings out in the halls- and some incense burning, a thin wisp trailing up from it.

It's as equally tranquil and serene as the rest of the place.

She sits across from me with that odd mixture of a suppressed cheeky grin and a collected, cool face. Her hands are gracefully folded in her lap as she sits in a criss-cross position.

"You never finished your thought, I was too impatient," She begins. "Who were you with? I noticed you faltered."

Damn, already this girl has me on high alert. I've been fooled before by the sweet, attentive act- that's how Aelita came along- so I'm not putting myself back in that situation again.

Yet her face is so childishly innocent, like she's genuinely dying to know who I was thinking about.

I start up with clear reservations. "Well, an old...friend of mine, I suppose."

She tilts her head thoughtfully, puzzled.

"You use friend so...uncomfortably," She offers me a glum look tainted with a knowing tone. "This friendship did not last."

"No," I sigh heavier than I mean to. "It didn't. It barely begun."

"There is the poignancy in your spirit. That relation meant a good deal to you."

My eyes dart to her in alarm.

"Oh, no, not really," I rush out. "It was just that, a relation."

Now her face becomes scrunched in confusion and, it might be my imagination, disbelief for a moment before relaxing back to her usual expression- a more cheeky glow to her face, though.

"This who is a him. It is so very apparent."

My blush doesn't help dissuade her from that belief even as I scramble, somewhat defensively, to deny that truthful claim. It was the way her tone implied something that got my blood racing.

"No- well I mean- i-it- they are- he is," I pause, close my eyes, take a deep breath, then reopen them, giving her a pointed look. "Yes, but that plays no importance to any of this."

That doesn't deter her.

"Perhaps not. Then where is the happiness?"

"Huh?"

"I have discovered the poignancy, but there was such brilliant happiness in that memory, it is what struck me so readily."

Shifting in my seat, I shrug in apathy. "I'm not sure."

"When this 'he' left, did he steal away the joy from your memories and leave you only with sorrow?"

"No," I bite back. I'm not here for girl talk, I don't even know what I'm here for. "This 'he' doesn't determine anything in my life. Not my joy, not my sadness, not my dreams or aspirations, nothing."

"But he does determine your anger."

She's getting a little annoying now, almost like Clifford but slightly more unbearable.

"He doesn't determine anything," I say, putting finality to my words.

She gets the memo. Giving that grin of hers, she sips gingerly from her cup for a moment.

"He has hurt you," For once, it sounds more like a question than a statement from her.

"You could say that."

Her glowing face becomes dull with sudden depression. "I am sorry for that."

"Don't be. It's what I expected."

Dreariness still clings to her features.

"It is sad hurt ought to be expected in relations, that is what makes them so fragile," Her eyes meet mine. "Our spirits, such resilient things, are made for two things, though: love and hurt. Hurt comes with love but it can be repaired with the love your soul receives. You can carry more love than hurt or more hurt than love."

That sounds good, but I think about Xalale and what his spirit must be made out of. It's not hurt and it's most certainly not love.

"I guess we just have two different philosophies," I reply flatly, already done with this conversation.

"It seems so..."

It appears she's done getting whatever it is she wanted out of me so I get to my feet with her following.

"Might I leave you with a thought?" She asks, her face somehow more aged yet nonetheless innocent.

I consider it for a second before shrugging, "Sure."

The tug at her thin, translucent lips marks her odd grin.

"I do not know if you will ever see the 'he' who hurt you again- perhaps it is for the best you don't- but if the Fates see a need to bring you into his path again I would like to-" She pauses, catching her breath as though she had talked rapidly, though she talks rather deliberately. "I would be greatly encouraged if you were to tell him how deeply he hurt you."

Mentally, I scoff knowing I'll never do that. Xalale isn't the type of guy to answer me straight out without a cryptic message thrown in. Though some part of me wants to ask that question, I know it's not worth the trouble.

Still, I give her a wary look, praying she's not reading my mind right now.

"I'll think about it."

Her expression remains the same and she tips her head in a brief, respectful bow again.

"Thank you."