Part I — The Window

  Derpy sat on the ash-shore with his knees drawn up, watching the window the way a man watched a gallows.

  Not a mirror.

  Worse.

  A view into what Sinister Derpy was doing with Derpy’s hands.

  Every clipped order. Every touch that lingered too long. Every voice turned warm on purpose.

  It made Derpy’s blood boil so hard he felt it in his teeth.

  He dug his nails into his palms until the sting steadied him.

  “Can’t even stop myself,” he muttered.

  The stitched sky blinked.

  Celica stepped out of the haze first—calm, precise, eyes like frost held in a blade’s edge.

  Blight followed like thunder wearing a grin.

  “Alright,” Blight said. “Let’s get this started.”

  Celica didn’t waste breath.

  “We’re giving you a boost,” she said. “Training wheels. Not a crutch.”

  They moved together.

  A touch to Derpy’s chest—one on either side of the thread.

  Heat and cold braided through him at once.

  Derpy gasped.

  Celica’s voice stayed level. “When you touch someone and an ice-flower forms… I want you to think of the flower first.”

  She pointed at the ash.

  “Picture it. Then touch the ground. Bloom it on purpose.”

  Derpy swallowed.

  He thought of a black rose.

  Not pretty.

  Not gentle.

  A rose that looked like it had been burned into existence.

  He pressed his palm to the ash.

  Ice raced outward—petals, thorns, a huge black blossom punching up from the ground.

  It formed—perfect for half a heartbeat—

  Then vanished.

  The magic snapped back like a whip.

  “You used too much,” Celica said. “Less magic. More thinking.”

  Derpy’s jaw clenched. “Partner—”

  “Less,” she repeated.

  He tried again.

  Smaller. Cleaner. Controlled.

  The rose rose—almost right—then warped at the edges, petals cracking like glass.

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  Again.

  Again.

  Each time closer.

  Each time wrong in a new way.

  Until Derpy stopped forcing it.

  He let the image settle in his mind like a prayer.

  He touched the ash.

  A perfect ice-rose bloomed—dark, sharp, elegant.

  It held.

  It stayed.

  Derpy exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days.

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  Celica’s claws lit with a cold that burned.

  Frostburn.

  “We spar,” she said.

  Lewd didn’t show up at the start.

  Not because she didn’t want to.

  Because everyone had been in her ear.

  Voices. Faces. Pressure.

  Talk to Derpy.

  Help him.

  If you don’t, he’s going to break.

  She’d tried to say no.

  Tried to say she wasn’t built for this.

  But the truth was uglier:

  She was scared of what she’d see if she looked at him too closely.

  So she argued.

  She stalled.

  She paced in circles until the circles felt like chains.

  And then—finally—she agreed.

  The mindscape took her like a cold breath.

  Ash underfoot.

  A stitched sky overhead.

  Derpy in the distance, shoulders tight like he was bracing for impact.

  Celica stood near him—steady, watchful.

  And Blight…

  Blight was waiting.

  Right in her path.

  Lewd stopped so hard her boots scraped.

  For a second, she couldn’t move.

  Her throat went dry.

  Blight’s eyes were too bright.

  Too knowing.

  Lewd’s hands lifted without permission—half defense, half apology.

  Blight tilted her head.

  Then, instead of laughing, she sighed like a woman tired of being the monster everybody expected.

  “I need some help,” Blight said.

  Lewd blinked.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Blight said, voice rougher now. “He’s not the only one training.”

  Lewd’s gaze flicked to Derpy.

  To the way Derpy looked like he wanted to tear the window apart with his bare hands.

  To the way Celica’s posture stayed calm on purpose—like calm was a weapon.

  Lewd swallowed.

  “Okay,” she said, quieter. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

  Celica pointed to the ash.

  “Same drill,” she said. “But for you, it’s memory.”

  Lewd’s brow furrowed.

  Celica’s eyes narrowed. “Lenora trained you. You remember how she made you stop flailing.”

  Lewd’s chest tightened.

  Lenora’s voice echoed in her head—flat, firm, impossible to argue with.

  Don’t throw power like a tantrum.

  Pick a shape. Hold it. Then breathe.

  Lewd closed her eyes.

  She pictured the flower.

  Not huge.

  Not dramatic.

  Just… right.

  She touched the ground.

  Ice crawled outward.

  A bloom formed.

  It didn’t shatter.

  It didn’t vanish.

  It held.

  Lewd’s eyes snapped open.

  Blight’s grin turned real for half a second.

  “Better,” Blight said.

  Lewd tried again.

  Better.

  Again.

  Better.

  Derpy watched her like he couldn’t decide if he was proud or furious that she could do it when he’d been failing.

  Celica stepped between them before it could turn into a fight.

  “Good,” she said. “Now both of you.”

  Celica’s gaze slid to Lewd.

  “Your grimoire isn’t ice,” she said. “It’s poison. Miasma. Mist. Bubbles.”

  Lewd’s throat bobbed.

  She lifted her hand like it might bite her.

  “Think of it first,” Celica said. “Not the power. The shape. The feeling.”

  Lewd shut her eyes.

  Lenora again—hands on her shoulders, voice like a rule carved into stone.

  Don’t panic.Pick the image.Hold it.

  Lewd pictured it.

  A swampy, green-gray haze rolling low—wet heat, rot-sweet air.

  Then the other layer—bright, candy-colored bubbles drifting through it like lies.

  Pink. Lime. Electric blue.

  Sweet smell.

  And then the burn.

  She opened her eyes.

  Touched the ash.

  Mist spilled out—green-gray, heavy, hugging the ground.

  And inside it, bubbles formed—too pretty, too playful—floating up in slow, lazy arcs.

  One popped.

  The air hissed.

  The sweetness turned sharp.

  Lewd flinched, but she didn’t lose it.

  She held the picture.

  Held the shape.

  Blight’s eyes narrowed, impressed despite herself.

  “Again,” Celica said.

  Lewd did it again.

  Cleaner.

  More controlled.

  The bubbles didn’t swarm.

  They placed.

  A line. A ring. A wall.

  A trap that looked like a child’s party and felt like a swamp’s throat closing.

  Derpy stared at it, jaw tight.

  “Good,” Celica said. “That’s the point. Pretty on the outside. Deadly underneath.”

  Lewd swallowed. “That’s… messed up.”

  Blight snorted. “Welcome to the family.”

  The ash-shore shifted.

  Not scenery.

  Rules.

  Celica’s voice dropped.

  “You two won’t be waking up for a while,” she said.

  Lewd’s stomach dipped.

  Derpy’s head snapped up. “What?”

  Blight’s tone softened—barely. “This is how we get you ready.”

  Lewd’s hands curled into fists. “Ready for what?”

  Celica’s eyes flicked toward the window—toward Sinister Derpy’s shadow moving somewhere out there.

  “For what’s coming,” she said.

  Derpy’s throat worked.

  He looked at Lewd.

  Lewd looked back.

  Neither of them said the obvious thing:

  That they were already late.

  Celica lifted Frostburn again.

  Blight’s power rolled in behind it like a storm front.

  “Now,” Celica said.

  And the air itself felt like it braced.

  “Training.”