The Last Beacon

XLV

To her relief, Sascha had found herself at the outskirts of her hometown.

She let out an audible gasp of solace as she set her sights on the sign, too rusted and worn-down for her to read the town name.

Sascha had scarcely believed in her evolving powers. The first time she had teleported, it was accidental and purely lucky, and she had never tried to do it on purpose. She was partly surprised and partly relieved to find that the ability was there in the moment when she willed it to be. However, she felt exhausted. The teleport seemed to have drained her, both mentally and physically, but she forced herself to push away her fatigue in order to settle back in the town.

With a nervous breath, she marched into the town, feeling the familiar cobblestones meet the soles of her shoes. As she walked, she passed all of the buildings that she vividly remembered. She couldn't help but let out a soft smile when the sign for the Newt's Eye Pub came into view.

It must have been late in the day, because the sky was beginning to darken as the sun sank closer to the horizon. Sascha shook her head in slight disbelief, as she seemed to have been losing her perception of time.

The days seem to be going so fast, and all blending together, she thought to herself.

Sascha approached the familiar front entrance of the pub, stopping when she reached the door. She rested one of her hands on the door, her face close enough that she could smell the old wood. For a moment, she was still, basking in the knowledge that she was finally home.

It was still early, and she wasn't sure whether the pub would be open for the night yet, but she swung the door open nonetheless, desperate to see the bartender again.

As soon as she walked in, it all came back to her.

The pub was dimly lit, the same few yellowed light bulbs flickering, just as she remembered. The scent was still pungent, the room still smelling of sweat and old alcohol spills. The pool table was set up perfectly, ready for someone to use it.

It was as if it were straight out of her memories; it was exactly the same as she had left it.

"My apologies!" She heard someone call out from an unknown location, "I didn't hear you come in! We're not quite open yet, sorry!"

"Landolf!" Sascha called out.

Immediately, the bartender popped up from behind the bar, eyes wide. He was dressed as immaculately as always, with a crisp white shirt, red vest, and a black bow tie. His hair was tidily combed into a firm quiff, and his lips were slightly parted in shock.

"Miss Cavlacanti!" He gasped, "it couldn't be!"

"It's me," she breathed, approaching him hurriedly. Without hesitating, she vaulted over the bar top, and engulfed him in a tight hug. Landolf quickly returned the gesture, hugging her.

"Where on earth have you been? Three weeks, and nothing! Oh, I was worried sick, Miss Cavlacanti," he fretted, speaking quickly.

Sascha pulled away gently, letting her arms fall to her sides. "There's so much that I have to tell you, Landolf, but God, what I need right now is a drink."

As Sascha made her way back around to the other side of the bar, the idea of alcohol seemed to surface a question in her head. She wondered how she managed to go three weeks without a drink, and how she never suffered from any withdrawal symptoms.

Maybe my power has something to do with it, she thought, maybe the power of the beacon was minimising my physical symptoms, but not my mental symptoms? I know that withdrawals can make people angry, so perhaps that's contributing to how short my fuse is.