Chapter 11 – Facing Shadows Together
Vi had been through plenty of rough mornings, but none quite like this. It was the first time in two days she'd truly looked around and noticed not just how badly she had been hit by the events in the Dead Slabs, but how much the others still suffered. The meeting table was almost clean—but only almost. Corners were dusted as if in a panic, a crumpled napkin peeked from under a chair, and the sour tang of burned coffee lingered.
She looked at Powder, who sat slumped like a half-extinguished candle, dark circles bruising her face, her skin nearly as pallid as the fluorescent lamps overhead. Vi's heart ached—Powder looked half dead, her gaze fixed on the tabletop as if she were afraid it might swallow her whole.
Ashryn stood in the center, her usual bright smile like a little sun in the gray room. If they were ever going to move forward—and Vi knew, deep down, that the only hope left was in listening to Ashryn—this was the moment.
Ashryn clapped for attention. "Alright, people. I know none of you are in a good mood right now, thanks to that rogue mage who turned your brains inside-out. If any of you feel like you're in a quarter-life crisis, I've got you. Even though Ekko, Mylo, and Clagger are recovering fast, I want to try something that should help everyone. But I've got a rough idea of what you two went through. And I have a simple solution—or at least something to make everything sting less."
She grinned wider. "You know what that is? Group discussion. That's right! Both Vi and Powder are going to tell us what they saw. And then, all of us are going to talk about it. If Powder and Vi want to hear what the others saw in their illusions, you can ask later. Ekko, Mylo, and Clagger already shared."
Vi almost flipped the table. She knew Ashryn didn't do things without a reason, but she had no idea how tearing open their wounds in front of everyone would help. She sulked, arms folded tightly, as Ashryn turned to Powder and gently nodded.
Powder stood up, knees knocking. Her voice was thin, almost lost."My hallucination was... a storm." Her voice cracked as she spoke. "Everyone I loved turned against me. My friends, my family—they called me Jinx. Not the nickname I wanted. The accusation that I'm only chaos. Only destruction."
She swallowed hard, tears glistening as they formed.
"They told me I was a curse, that I ruined everything. That no matter what I did, I was toxic, unfixable. That I should just burn it all down, 'cause I was never meant to build anything. That I was good for nothing but chaos." Her throat tightened, and her voice barely held together as she looked up. "They even said I was better off dead."
Mylo shrank back, and her voice suddenly raised over the room. "I'm not Jinx!" she cried, furious.
The three of them exchanged heated glances, masking frustration and pain.
Vi strode over, pulling Powder into a tight embrace. "I'm not leaving you. Ever," she whispered fiercely. But Powder's words kept flowing, unstoppable: she described how these voices haunted her nights, how they whispered in her mind, driving her to break things instead of build.
When Powder finished, Ashryn gave her a moment, then spoke gently. "Let's talk about the easy part. Powder, do you hate Mylo?"
Powder looked confused, self-deprecating. "I don't hate him. What he said is true. I always mess up other people's hard work."
Vi's hands clenched. She was ready to punch Mylo, but Ashryn interjected, "And what is Mylo to you, Powder?"
"I… I don't understand what you're asking about." Powder replied.
Ashryn nudged, her tone steady. "You four—Vi, Clagger, Mylo, and you—you're family, right? So Mylo is your older brother. Isn't it pretty natural for older brothers to tease their little sisters?"
Vi bristled. "That's not what siblings do. He has no right to curse Powder for her mistakes!"
Ashryn countered, "He has every right—not just as an older brother, but because when Powder messes up, it's his work on the line, too."
Vi said, "But he's the older one—he should cut her some slack, accommodate her mistakes."
Ashryn shrugged, smiling. "That's true. He's doing a fine job at it. And he also has every right to tease her—brothers always do. Tell me, Powder: is Mylo not as good as Vi and Clagger?"
Powder started to nod, but Ashryn cut her off. "Don't you want to be seen as dependable by your family, to be treated like an adult? If you ask me, the only one who treats you as an equal is Mylo. He calls out your mistakes not because he dislikes you, but because he knows you can do better. Vi spoils you; Clagger wants to protect you. Only Mylo believes you should pull your own weight—and every time you remember him getting mad, it means he cared enough to keep you from doing worse."
Ashryn snapped her fingers. "Jarvis! Pull up the surveillance feed outside Powder's lab this morning—how long was Mylo there?"
Jarvis's voice came through, cool and precise. "Mr. Mylo was outside Miss Powder's lab for exactly five hours, fifty-four minutes, and thirty-three seconds." On a small holo-feed, Mylo was shown pacing by the door.
The room stared at Mylo, who muttered something sarcastic, and everyone knew he was bluffing. Powder's eyes went wide.
Ashryn leaned in, voice soft. "See, Powder? Mylo may curse or laugh at your failures, but that's what older brothers do. They might tease, but they don't hate. He was always there, even when you didn't see him."
Powder glazed over, the truth landing all at once. Then she smiled—brighter than in weeks. "I get it. I always thought you'd all leave. But… seeing everything like that, I know you won't."
Everyone turned to Vi, who gave a rare grin. "I think I already worked out my problem. But if you want to hear it, I'll share. And then, I want everyone to share theirs too."
"My dream was like a shadow pressing down. I saw all of you—Mylo, Clagger, Powder—looking at me with disappointment. Older people, stronger people, people I wanted to protect. And I failed them."
She paused, rubbing the back of her neck, cheeks flushed.
"I blamed myself for every scar, every lost fight, every step they took without me. I wanted to be their shield, but I was powerless." Her voice caught as she continued, "Sometimes I thought maybe it'd be better if I just stepped back—if the people I care about were stronger without me."
Vi glanced across the room. "Powder's fears showed me something… that my overprotectiveness can hurt as much as help. Mylo taught me that sometimes being hard is a form of love. So I get it now: I'm responsible not just for fighting, but for knowing when to hold back."
"I know I need to be strong to protect those I care about, but just thinking about how much you're all suffering here while I'm alone in my gym, beating myself up, it hurts. I should've been here for you—I should've known I'm not the only one who's lost. If I can't be with you when you need me, then what's the point of me fighting anyone outside, even for your sake?"
Inspired, everyone took a turn: Mylo admitting his fear of being a poor orphan again, Clagger's dread of losing another family, and Ekko's anxiety about failing to protect Virelle. Ashryn blinked at Ekko's, but after a moment, she realized it—like in the old stories, his fear had shifted to his new home and hope.
Hours melted away into laughter, honest confessions, and relief. Ashryn, who had prepared so many lectures and clever interventions, sat back and quietly wondered if they were even needed—maybe just bringing everyone together was all it took.
As dusk started to paint over the city, Ashryn finally thought of her last lingering question. Why did Vi and Powder have it so much worse than the others? Was this something unique about those meant to be champions, or simply more emotional baggage?
Curious, she called out, "Jarvis, do we have any difference between the group's hallucinations?"
Jarvis replied, "Lady Ashryn, Mylo, Ekko, and Clagger all described their experiences, but the period when Mylo and Clagger were hypnotized then woke with Powder's help is missing. We only have what Miss Violet wrote in her report. I recommend you ask her directly."
Ashryn looked at Vi and Powder. "Is there any difference in your hallucinations?"
Vi shook her head. "Not really. We all dreamed our worst fears."
Ashryn paused, then asked, "How did you wake up?"
Vi shrugged. "Didn't I write it in the report? Pain woke me up."
Ashryn replied, "i read the report but it didn't say anything about your hallucinations so I don't know how you inflicted pain on yourself without 3rd party interface."
Vi answered, "At that time, when everyone was begging me to save them, I saw you in the middle of it. I may respect many people, but you're the only one I want to catch up to. If one day you died, you wouldn't curse or blame anyone else for it—but you'd have a bright smile and curse your killer. So I knew that you were fake. But I didn't know how to wake up. I heard Vander say you can't punch all your problems away, but that's the only thing I knew. So I started punching myself to wake up. When that didn't work, I used pulse rounds. When even that didn't work, I used my knife—the one I hid in my shoe—that finally woke me up."
Everyone looked at her like she was crazy.
"So you know nothing other than punching, and you started punching yourself to find a way out? How does that work?"
For a moment, everyone was silent, turning it over in their heads. Then Vi, with a crooked smirk, said, "Hey, it worked. You can call me crazy, but I'll take any way out."
Ashryn pressed, "But all the others woke when Powder woke them with pain. They didn't act by themselves. Powder—how did you wake up?"
Powder hesitated, voice small. "The illusion… it was torturing me, pushing me to destroy everything. Without knowing what to do, I set off the Chomper in my hand. The pain woke me up."
Ashryn raised her brows. "So both of you managed to break out on your own? That's rare. Even if you just acted in the illusion, both of you moved your real bodies—you, to stab yourself, and you, Powder, to set off a bomb. No one else was able to do that."
Ashryn, catching Vi's look of admiration, felt an odd mixture of pride and worry.
With a new lightness—pain less raw, fear less immediate—the group drifted back into laughter and stories. For one precious evening, they rested in true relief, their burdens shared, lighter, not gone but now something they could carry together.
End of Chapter 11