Page 29

The Calm Before the Raven

T he final sunny day of our weekend found us gathering at the edge of campus, a collection of eager silhouettes against the sprawling expanse of the Gaspeite Sea.

Our footsteps echoed on the worn cobblestones with a rhythm that matched our anticipation, each pace bringing us closer to the weathered docks that awaited at the end of the narrow path.

With the sun dipping lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of gold and amber, we followed the snaking trail down the western cliffside.

The salty tang of the sea mingled with the cool, earthy scent of ancient stone, creating an intoxicating reminder of our precarious existence between two worlds—one steeped in academia, the other in nature's enduring embrace.

As we approached the wooden planks of the dock, the soft creaks underfoot punctuated our lighthearted banter. Words rose and fell like the tide, carrying snippets of our conversations—whimsical plans, shared jokes, and the laughter of young souls momentarily unburdened by the weight of expectation.

The gentle lapping of the waves provided a soothing counterpoint to the occasional call of a seagull soaring overhead—a reminder that nature was ever-present, even in the midst of the devastation that seemed to follow us.

I felt suspended in a moment that blurred the line between reality and freedom, my worries dissolving into the seascape stretching beyond the cliffside in a rare and quiet sanctuary.

Stepping onto the dock, I paused to take in the scene. The sunlight danced on the rippling water, casting shifting patterns across our faces and making our expressions seem almost ethereal.

Lydia settled at the edge of the dock, her legs dangling over the side, our shadows long and languorous against the sun-bleached wood.

Bethany's eyes lit up, and with a simple, contented smile and a sigh that spoke of absolute satisfaction, she murmured, “This is perfect.” It was an echo of our collective sentiment, this fleeting moment of serenity.

Lydia grinned broadly, running a hand through her long icy hair as if to capture the warmth of the day.

In that moment, the usual intensity that marked her features softened into an expression of pure joy.

There, on the edge of the dock, she looked almost transformed—a vision of unguarded happiness that we so seldom saw in recent weeks.

I slipped off my shoes and sat beside Lydia, gingerly dipping my toes into the turquoise water, feeling its cool caress against my skin.

Bethany moved to join us at the edge of the dock, and together we settled into shared warmth and laughter.

As Bethany laid back to admire the clouds, a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

“You know, Lydia,” Bethany said, her voice rich with mischief, “every time you laugh, I swear Leander’s eyes light up like an enchantment. It’s like he’s completely spellbound by your smile.”

Lydia’s grin bloomed, warm and unguarded, as she tucked a stray strand of icy-blonde hair behind her ear. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, though her voice carried a soft, delighted lilt. “Maybe he just appreciates a good laugh.”

“Oh, don’t be so naive,” I chimed in, flicking water at her with my toes. “When he offered to carry all those ancient tomes for you last week, I thought he was going to throw out his back trying to impress you.”

The golden light from the water shimmered across her face, catching the faint blush that spread across her cheeks. She turned quickly toward the sea, but not fast enough—we’d seen it.

And she knew we had.

“Elvana!” Lydia protested, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “He was just being courteous . Those ancient rune volumes weren’t exactly light, you know.”

Bethany sat up straighter, folding her legs beneath her and fixing Lydia with a look. “Courteous? Is that what we’re calling it now? Because the way he tripped over thank you like it was a spell he’d never learned didn’t exactly scream casual kindness.”

I laughed, the sound rising into the breeze, easy and warm. “What about after Potions last Tuesday? He practically sprinted to hold the door for you—and nearly faceplanted when his boot caught the threshold.”

Bethany grinned. “Even Professor Thornbriar stopped mid-sentence. I thought she was going to cast a preservation charm just to protect his pride.”

Lydia groaned softly, hiding her blush behind her hand.

The water rippled around my ankles as I swung my feet slowly back and forth, creating miniature whirlpools that shimmered with captured sunlight. The sensation grounded me, momentarily distracting from the weight of the Raven’s Echo pendant resting against my chest.

“ Fine, ” Lydia sighed at last, the dramatic flare of her tone undercut by the blush still lingering on her cheeks. “Maybe there’s… something there. But with coursework intensifying, I hardly have time to contemplate romance.”

Then, just as quickly, she pivoted—eyes sharpening behind her glasses as she looked at me.

“Speaking of classes—how are you feeling about Divination tomorrow? Professor King said we’d be working with tarot cards.”

My stomach twisted. The thought of the cards, the symbols, the meanings I didn’t want to hear—it all pressed like a weight against my ribs.

“Nervous,” I admitted quietly. “If I’m being honest… I don’t know if I can handle more cryptic warnings about my impending doom.”

Bethany’s grin faltered, the teasing light fading from her eyes.

“Well,” she said, her voice carefully dry, “that doesn’t sound ominous at all. ” But her sarcasm couldn’t quite hide the flicker of concern behind it.

I offered a tight smile, trying to bury the tremble in my voice. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve, tugging gently—something to do with the unease prickling beneath my skin.

The wind off the sea carried the silence that followed, and no one spoke for a long moment.

“I haven’t slept properly in weeks,” I murmured, my gaze locked on the shifting water. “I feel… haunted. ”

The word hung between us, heavier than the sea breeze.

“Nightmares of the Umbra Gate. Of shadows curling around me like smoke. And the Raven’s Echo…”I swallowed. “It whispers things in the dark. Sweet nothings that chill straight through to the bone—while I lie there, wide awake, unable to tell whether I’m dreaming or unraveling.”

I let out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing awkwardly between us, a poor disguise for the unrest clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

Lydia arched a brow, her curiosity overtaking her usual caution. “You really think the amulet’s trying to drive you mad?” she asked softly—skeptical, but not unkind.

I glanced down at the Raven’s Echo, its cool weight resting against my chest like a question I hadn’t yet learned how to answer.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I said quietly. “Every time I try to trust it—its messages, its warnings—I end up doubting everything. I can’t tell if it’s guiding me... or unraveling me.”

My fingers brushed the pendant. “Maybe it’s just the pressure. Maybe I’m reading shadows where there aren’t any. But it all feels so— heavy. ”

Bethany leaned in, her voice softer than I expected. “Maybe it’s not about the doom,” she said. “Maybe it’s about what you can change.”

Her eyes met mine, steady and warm. “Tomorrow, if the cards speak… maybe they’ll offer something useful. Something real. You just have to be open to it.”

She gave me a small, quiet smile—gentle, honest. The kind that didn’t pretend to fix anything, but reminded me I wasn’t alone.

Lydia, ever pragmatic—even when cloaked in flirtation—offered a wry smile. “And if all else fails,” she said, “at least we’ll have each other to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Magic, mystery, and a touch of mayhem... it’s all part of the grand academic experience, right?”

Her eyes sparkled with a familiar glint—mischief laced with reassurance.

And just like that, the gloom eased. The dread pressing against my ribs softened, replaced—if only for a moment—by the comfort of their presence.

I nodded, slowly at first, then with growing conviction.

“You’re right,” I murmured. “Even if the tarot reveals something grim… that doesn’t mean I have to accept it. Not without a fight.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. The flicker of hope was small, but it was there, mingling with the lingering anxiety.

The sun began its final descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the dock.

The fading light bathed everything in a rich amber glow, transforming the sea into liquid gold that lapped gently against the weathered wood beneath us.

A cool breeze picked up, carrying with it the promise of evening, and I felt a slight shiver race down my spine.

Bethany glanced skyward, the deepening blue of twilight bleeding into the last streaks of gold and rose. Her copper curls shimmered in the fading light as she stretched, arms arching above her head with a sigh of contentment.

“As much as I adore this rare moment of peace,” she said, breaking the quiet, “my stomach is officially protesting. Loudly.”

She grinned. “And Leander said he’d meet us at dinner after his study session in the library.”

At the mention of his name, I caught it—that almost imperceptible shift in Lydia’s posture. The subtle lift of her spine, the way her hand smoothed her hair behind one ear just a little too deliberately.

“You’re right,” Lydia said quickly, her voice neutral but a touch too brisk. “And they’re serving braised lamb with rosemary tonight. With those tiny potatoes that melt the second they touch your tongue.”

She adjusted her glasses with that scholar’s precision, but her eyes betrayed her—bright with anticipation she didn’t bother to explain.

I pulled my feet from the water, droplets sparkling as they fell back into the tide. “I suppose we should,” I said, reaching for my shoes.

“After all, we wouldn’t want to keep Leander waiting.”