Page 160 of Magical Mission

Only that something had been taken, not from me, butbeforeme.

And I was meant to find it, to remember it, and to carry it back.

Even if I had no idea what shape it would be.

I didn’t know how long I’d been walking, only that my footsteps no longer made sound and my thoughts no longer obeyed gravity.

The shimmer thickened around me like fog with purpose, no longer the soft, golden invitation it had once been. Now it curled around my ankles and arms with a sense of intent and a weighted burden.

The farther I walked, the less the path felt like a trail and more like a maze stitched from breath and memory. It looped, twisted, and narrowed until the light shifted in ways that defied the logic of time.

The trees, if they could still be called that, arched over me with limbs that curled in wrong directions, bark that shimmered wet like ink in moonlight, and no leaves, only hanging ribbons of silver thread that drifted in unfelt breezes.

“This is a nightmare,” I whispered aloud, if only to break the suffocating quiet. My voice came out dry and strange, like it had been borrowed from someone else.

Nothing answered.

I took another step.

The ground beneath my boots shifted, not in texture, but intruth.For a moment, it was wood, and then stone, and thensand, before it became nothing other than a flicker underfoot like I was walking on memory itself.

I paused to see movement just ahead.

A shape emerged in the haze. At first, I thought it was a tree again, but no, it was too straight, too deliberate.

A door that stood alone with no wall or hinges to hang it.

I hesitated, but I moved forward.

My hand reached out on instinct. The brass knob was warm, too warm, like it had been held moments ago by someone else. Someone I couldn’t see but could almostfeel.

It wasn’t locked.

Why would it be? It was meant for me.

I turned it, and the door didn’t creak open.

Itopened me, and on the other side, I saw myself.

But not exactly.

This version of me stood taller. Not physically, but emotionally. She carried herself like someone who had nothing left to prove.

Her shoulders were square, her gaze direct, and in her hands—magic. Raw, powerful,visiblemagic curling around her fingertips like smoke made of stars.

She looked at me.

And frowned.

As ifIwere the illusion.

I stumbled back, but the shimmer behind me thickened, holding me in place with hands made of fog and memory.

The other me stepped forward, and as she did, the space around her changed.

Silver trees bloomed into libraries, stars into torches. I saw flashes too fast to grasp. My daughter laughed. The Academy shuddered. Stella stood in a field of flowers. Keegan had his back to me and walked away.

No—