Seraithe’s POV

  Seraithe’s Home, Windward Garden, Kesherra Basin

  The barrier pulsed once as Jura crossed the threshold, a soft ripple of mana brushing through the trunk-walls of the house. With it, the sounds of the day thinned and faded. Distant voices, footfalls, the last stirrings of the paths. Until only the night insects remained, stitching their song into the air. Evening had settled fully now, the kind that softened edges rather than sharpening them.

  Seraithe kept her eyes on her work. The dress lay across her lap, pale fabric catching the glow of the mana-lamp suspended above the table. Each stitch drew a faint shimmer as her needle passed through, light bending gently around the thread. It was simple work. Repetitive. Exactly what her hands needed.

  Leta emerged from the adjoining room with a small tray balanced against her hip. Three acorn mugs rested on it, filled nearly to the brim with juice that smelled faintly of crushed berries and bark-sap.

  Jura gave them both a nod as he stepped inside. “Kion said he’s spending the night at Lurean’s house.”

  Seraithe acknowledged it with a hum, her fingers never pausing. “Isn’t it about time to recast Leta’s spell?”

  Leta handed Jura a mug before setting the tray down on the low table. “Yeah. It’s close to running out.”

  Jura took a sip, then tilted his head slightly. “Well. He also said he wants to... try making his own meds.”

  That earned a reaction.

  “Huh?” Seraithe groaned, needle stalling mid-stitch. “What’s gotten into his head now?”

  Even Leta, settling beside her, lifted an eyebrow before taking a long gulp from her mug.

  Jura scratched at his cheek, gaze drifting upward as if searching for the right phrasing. “He said he doesn’t want to be too dependent on things that aren’t his. Doesn’t want to inconvenience us any further.”

  Seraithe exhaled through her nose. She tied off the thread with a sharp tug, cut it clean, and set the needle aside.

  Leta reached for the sewing tools, gathering them with practiced care and returning them to their box. “He still thinks of himself as an outsider.”

  “From his side?” Jura leaned against the arm of the sofa. “Yeah.”

  Seraithe folded the dress neatly, smoothing the fabric until it lay flat. “Well. We weren’t exactly welcoming when he first came to us.”

  Jura gave a small shrug. “Can’t deny that.”

  “That’s the mark doing its job,” Leta said quietly as she closed the box and secured the lid. “Even now, I still have to fight the urge not to bolt the moment I see him.”

  Jura lifted his mug slightly toward Seraithe. “You really can’t undo the spell?”

  Seraithe shook her head. “The most I can do is place a safe mark to counterbalance it. And I have.”

  She circled a finger in the air; a small tornado bloomed along the trail, then unraveled a breath later. “Only the original caster can remove it. His community’s chief.” Her voice wavered despite her effort to keep it steady. “And the chief...”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Disappeared,” Leta murmured, rising to set the box on the shelf. “Left his wings behind.” Her hand lingered there for a moment. “Just like half our people.”

  “And all of his,” Jura added. “Yet Kion still warned us to relocate. He could’ve left us to it.” He lowered his mug. “Still insisted. After everything. Even after how we treated him.”

  Leta shot him a sharp look, a warning.

  Jura grimaced. “Right. Sorry. That was a rough way to say it.”

  Seraithe let out a weak laugh. “It’s fine. It’s true.”

  She leaned back into the couch, eyes tracing the carved patterns spiraling across the living wood above. “My brother was... too harsh. Yes, Kion was banished by his own chief. That didn’t mean he deserved what we gave him when he genuinely tried to save us.”

  “That’s what banishment is meant to do,” Leta said, sliding the folded dress into a drawer. “Warn us. Protect us from someone deemed rogue. I can’t say your brother was acting outside the norm.”

  Seraithe raised an arm to shield her eyes from the lamp. “Except instead of protecting us, that decision wiped out half our people.”

  “Well…” Leta glanced toward Jura.

  “You saved the other half.” Jura set his empty mug down and moved to sit beside Seraithe, giving her shoulder a gentle tap. “We’re still here. Alive. With you.”

  Seraithe turned to him. “Only after we watched your tethered turn to dust in front of us.” Her gaze didn’t quite meet his. “I’m sorry.”

  Leta crossed the room and wrapped her arms around both of them without hesitation.

  Jura returned the embrace with one arm. “You’ve apologized enough for a lifetime,” he said softly. His other arm slipped around Seraithe’s shoulders, pulling her in. “You know none of us would’ve believed Kion if that hadn’t happened.”

  Seraithe’s arms circled them both. She held them there for a moment, her grip tightening just slightly before she spoke. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jura said.

  “No problem,” Leta added.

  They stayed like that until the quiet stopped feeling sharp.

  Eventually, Seraithe loosened her hold, and they separated, settling back onto the couch beside her.

  She drew in a long breath. “And now... The one who didn’t even hesitate when he spoke to my brother, our black-knight savior, is in shambles.” Her lips curved faintly.

  Jura picked up the only untouched mug and handed it to her. “A normal tether is disorienting enough. His case is... unique. If I’m being kind.”

  Seraithe drank slowly, the coolness grounding.

  “Is there any way for him to recover?” Leta asked, arms folded.

  Jura shrugged. “Hard to say. Not until the pair reconcile, I think.”

  He hesitated, then added, quieter, “And even then... it won’t be quick.”

  Seraithe slumped back, cradling the mug in both hands. “Never thought I’d miss his insolent self.”

  Jura chuckled. “He’s still stubbornly annoying, if that helps. I get why he gives you migraines.”

  Seraithe and Leta laughed quietly. Leta leaned against Seraithe’s shoulder.

  Seraithe rested her head gently atop Leta’s, eyes lifting to Jura. “Do you think he’d mind if you stayed close tonight?”

  Jura raised his brows. “He’s more comfortable with his human friend than with me. Probably better if I don’t.”

  “Did you tell them how he is without the sedation?” Leta asked.

  “I did,” Jura replied. “Before I came back, I told Lurean.”

  Leta straightened, concern sharpening her expression. Seraithe adjusted her posture. “Lurean? The grandma? She’s human. And old. Can she really handle him if he... loses control again?”

  “She’ll manage,” Seraithe said, stifling a yawn. “At least in containing him physically. The pain, though... I’m not sure.”

  “Let him try it his way tonight. Leta and I will check on him tomorrow.” Jura stood and offered Seraithe his hand. “I’ll go look for a place to plant the flower, for now.”

  She took it and rose, then turned to offer Leta both hands. “Sounds good. Please do.”

  “All right,” Leta said, letting herself be led toward the door. “I’ll head out with Jura.”

  “Sure,” Jura added as he followed. “Get some rest, Seraithe. You’ve been pushing your wind too hard lately.”

  “Can’t be helped,” she replied, waving as she walked them out. “Safe trip, you two.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Jura said, letting himself drop from the doorway, correcting his fall at the last moment.

  Leta waved once more before gliding toward the large fountain beyond the tree, then veered gently to rejoin Jura.

  Seraithe closed the door and released a quiet sigh. Her gaze drifted upward through the open window, to the stars scattered across the night. The lanterns of the lost, steady and distant. Familiar, and yet not.

  She had learned to live beneath their light.

  She still hadn’t learned how to look at it without counting who was missing.

  Of Moon and Magic.

  Moony’s explores the struggle in a world where magic is the minimum expected to survive, and she refuses to stop chasing it even when the world insists she cannot.

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  Life isn’t some kind of grand destiny.

  It’s just a collection of decisions shaped by the moments that happen around us.

  Of Moon and Magic follows a silver-haired girl. Her mana was weak, but that never dulled her hunger for magic.

  We follow her steps. We weigh her choices. We sit with her loneliness. In a world where magic is everything, war is constant, and morality is little more than a neglected guideline.

  Will she become just another cog in the machine?

  Or will she be the one to end it all?

  Only one way to find out.

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