The One

Contradictory advice

Feray: You've only been at the academy for two weeks and this much has already happened...Izar was right about you. Be careful, though. However special you may have been born to be, right now you're still only practicing Grade 1 magic. Best, Bentley.

This message came on the weekend after Feray relayed to him everything that had happened. The previous week, she'd already told him how Izar confirmed Odessa was indeed the cloaked figure that had passed by nearly two months ago. Now, she told him about the silhouette she and Zanna followed in the library. According to Bentley, he burned each message as soon as he read it—it wasn't a habit until Feray started telling him things that felt like nothing but illicit.

Bentley: What was he right about? Best, Feray.

Feray: That you and your brother will do great things. So far, I've only been informed of what you've encountered. Do you know if your brother is also finding himself in similar situations? Best, Bentley.

Bentley: I haven't heard him say anything like that so far. But somehow, I got a feeling that some of these things are stuff he shouldn't know. Best, Feray.

Feray: I know what I say is probably meaningless, but I also have a feeling that you probably should tell him. Anyway, that's your choice. If you need anything from here, be sure to let me know. Best, Bentley.

While Feray was writing to Bentley, Waylon was sitting by the window in the next room. He looked out into the night sky, which was moonless that night. Stars twinkled in its place. As usual, the male's expression was perfectly nonchalant; only he would know what he was thinking about even if he weren't alone.

Then, a dark green, hazy tiger ran into his room from the window—a familiar. This was the first time he'd seen this tiger. As it landed onto his desk, the animal turned into a slip of paper. A single line was written on it: Can I see you? — I.Q.

For a moment, Waylon froze, unsure of whose initials they were. In his mind, he went over a list of people he'd met in the past couple weeks. Isabell Quinton, Iris Quarles...wait. He sighed and put a hand to his own forehead, utterly disappointed at his own absent-mindedness. Izar Quartermaine.

In response to Izar, he sent his own familiar—a soft blue lion—with an affirmative message. Afterwards, Waylon went out of his room and, in another minute, the house as well. As he did, he stole a glance at Feray's room. Her door was closed, but the light was still on.

When he stepped out, Izar was already waiting outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "I didn't specify where, but you knew to come out the door," he said with a small smile.

"Where else would we meet?"

"Your window."

Waylon didn't ask more. He could only assume that was where Izar met with Feray. "Then?"

"Anything weird happening so far?"

The question was met with silence. Waylon lowered his gaze to the ground, his expression not betraying any emotion, yet his silence alone was answer enough—and he knew so, too.

Izar sighed. "Already, huh?"

Something in his voice sounded a bit different from what Waylon was used to. He looked up at the older witch, slightly concerned. But, just like how Waylon gave no real answer, Izar didn't, either. Waylon placed his hand on the handle of the door.

"Feray's light was still on when I came out. If—"

"Leave it." In a state of hurry, Izar put his hand on Waylon's to stop him from going in to get his little sister.

Waylon kept his hand on the handle, though he did not turn it. "What's going on between the two of you?" he asked, not bothering to ask if anything was going on. By now, it was too obvious that something had happened between Izar and Feray that Waylon did not know about.

"It's nothing." This reply came a little too fast—thoughtless. "It's my personal problem. She's got me doubting myself a little. Anyway," Izar added in a deliberately lighter tone, "Whatever happens, I'd like you to remember one thing."

"Tell."

"Trust your sister. More than anyone."

Waylon dropped his hand from the handle. He looked up, alert.

"Do you know anything?"

"No, I just know your nemesis a little too well."

The night after Zanna and Feray visited the library and followed an unknown silhouette, Waylon took a stroll in one of the gardens on campus. He was alone, and after a long day of doing his best to avoid the few girls who seemed to chase him around and at the same time learn what he could from the classes he took, a breath of fresh air made him feel himself again.

But he was not left alone for long.

A familiar in the form of a cuckoo flew towards him. The bird was white in color, emitting what looked like a pure light. Waylon held out a hand for it. In his hand, the bird turned into a message: See me in my office.

Office? Whose office?

Just as the question appeared on his mind, the message dissipated back into a bird. The bird flew off into the distance, as if leading the way. Out of a feeling of obligation, the young man followed.

It led him to Odessa's office—located at the top of the main building, known to be empty most of the time. The bird flew in through the door. Waylon stopped. He hesitated, a million questions burning in his mind.

Then, the door opened on its own, and so he entered.

He took a deep breath. "Good evening, Ms. Palmentere," he greeted with a bow of his head.

"Close the door," Odessa said. He did as he was told. "I apologize for calling you out at this time; I had business to attend to during the day."

"It's no trouble." If anything, the grand sorceress apologizing made the whole encounter more ominous.

"You must be wondering why I called for you in the first place," Odessa continued. "Have you been told, by any chance, that it is extremely rare for a pair of siblings to both be hereditary witches?"

She was sitting in her armchair. This was the grand sorceress, Waylon reminded himself. When she asked a question, she might already know the answer. Was this a test? If so, what for?

"I have heard." was the answer he chose.

"From?"

"Witches."

Izar had already done more than what law allowed him—that was what he told the siblings, but evidently, Odessa Palmentere was the law. In that case, when Izar claimed that breaking the law was what caused the scar on his face...

Odessa smiled. Like Izar, her smile did not reach her eyes; unlike Izar, it had a chilling rather than friendly effect.

"I see." If anyone else said those words, it would be meaningless. When Odessa said them, it was as though she did in fact see through what he was trying to hide—trying to protect. Yet, she didn't comment on it. "Your sister has already begun her expeditions around the school, Waylon Inglebird. It might be wise if you keep a watchful eye on her."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she has secrets."

"She is an adult. I believe it's a very normal thing."

"Would you still say so once you see this?" Saying thus, the grand sorceress gestured toward the crystal ball on her desk. She waved a hand over it, and it showed a brief scene: Zanna and Feray in the library. In the crystal ball, Feray was following a translucent man in a black mage robe.

"Who is that?" Waylon asked, his brows creased.

"Does it matter?" Odessa sent the question back to him. "She is following a spirit at night. Waylon Inglebird, please give my advice serious consideration."