The train ride back to her hometown felt longer than usual. Maybe it was because her thoughts wouldn't stop racing—Lilian's name echoing in her mind, the officer's horrified face, Kyran's shadowy figure that refused to leave her dreams.
When she finally stepped off at the small station, the air smelled of rain-soaked earth and jasmine, just like it always did. The moment she reached her house and knocked, the door flew open—and there stood her parents.
For a second, all three of them froze. Her mother's eyes widened in disbelief before softening into joy. "Aira?"
"Mom!"
Her mother rushed forward, pulling her into a tight hug, the kind that smelled like home and warmth and all the things Aira didn't realize she'd missed so badly. Her father appeared behind them, equally stunned but smiling as he ruffled her hair.
"You didn't even call before coming," he said with a laugh, though his voice shook slightly. "You scared us half to death."
"I know," Aira murmured, hugging him too. "It was kind of… sudden. I just needed to see you both."
They spent the evening together, sharing stories and laughter over dinner. But the whole time, Aira's mind was half elsewhere—still caught up in that one name. Lilian.
When the dishes were cleared and the house grew quiet, Aira finally turned to her mother. "Mom," she began softly, "can I ask you something?"
Her mother, folding a napkin, looked up. "Of course, sweetheart."
Aira hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of her cup. "Do you know anything about… my great-grandmother? Lilian?"
Her mother blinked, taken aback. "Lilian?" she repeated, the name sounding unfamiliar on her tongue. She frowned slightly, thinking. "I… don't, really. I only know she had magical abilities, but beyond that…" She shook her head. "I never heard much about her."
Aira's heart sank a little. She had hoped for something more—some clue, some story, some connection.
Her mother reached out, touching her hand gently. "You know, you should talk to your grandmother," she suggested. "She's the only one who might really know. Lilian was her mother, after all."
"Grandma?" Aira repeated, her pulse quickening.
Her mother nodded. "Yes. She doesn't talk about the past often, but… if anyone remembers Lilian, it's her."
Aira looked out the window, where the wind rustled through the old garden trees. Somewhere beyond the calm domestic quiet, she could feel it again—that subtle pull toward the truth.
Maybe her great-grandmother's story hadn't ended after all. Maybe it was waiting… for her.
...….
The afternoon sun bathed the old town in a honey-colored glow as Aira walked the familiar road to her grandmother's house. The wind carried the faint scent of rain and jasmine, brushing through her hair as she hesitated before the gate.
When the door opened, her grandmother froze in surprise. "Aira? My goodness, child—it's been ages!"
Aira managed a small smile. "Hi, Grandma. I missed you."
Her grandmother's expression softened instantly, her eyes glistening. "Come in, sweetheart."
The house smelled exactly the same—of books, dust, and the faint sweetness of old perfume. Everything looked untouched, like time itself had decided to leave this place alone.
Over tea, they exchanged gentle words at first—about Aira's parents, her studies, the academy. But Aira's heart kept circling back to one name. One that refused to leave her mind.
When her grandmother reached to refill her cup, Aira finally spoke.
"Grandma… what do you know about Lilian?"
The porcelain cup trembled faintly in her grandmother's hand. A hush settled between them, heavy and brittle.
"Why would you ask about her?" her grandmother said slowly, her tone cautious.
"I heard her name at the academy," Aira admitted. "Someone recognized me… and they called me that. I just—need to know who she was."
Her grandmother stared at her, searching her face as though she was afraid of what she might find. Then, after a long silence, she sighed and sank deeper into her chair.
"Lilian was… my mother," she said quietly. "Your great-grandmother."
Aira's breath caught.
"She was different," her grandmother continued, her eyes distant. "Beautiful, intelligent… and powerful. Too powerful. People feared her even before she was grown. But she was never close to anyone. Not even to me."
Aira listened, unmoving.
"She loved magic—no, she was obsessed with it. It was all she ever cared about. But one day, something happened. A spell, a curse—no one ever really knew. She lost her abilities. Completely. And after that, it was as if something inside her broke."
Her grandmother's voice trembled slightly. "She spent years searching for a way to get it back. When I turned sixteen… she ended her own life."
The air felt heavier now. Aira didn't move; she couldn't.
Her grandmother's eyes glistened as she whispered, "The government came soon after. They took everything she owned—her books, her diaries, every trace of her research. They said it was too dangerous to keep."
She paused, her lips curling into a faint, sad smile. "But there was one thing I didn't let them take."
Her wrinkled hands reached for the drawer beside her chair. Slowly, she pulled out a small, silver box. Its surface shimmered faintly under the light, engraved with symbols that seemed to shift when Aira blinked.
"I never told them about this," her grandmother said, her voice almost a whisper. "They took everything else from her, but this… this I kept."
Aira leaned closer, mesmerized. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "What is it?"
Her grandmother ran her fingers gently over the carvings. "No one knows. My mother tried to open it her entire life. She said it was the key to restoring what she lost. After she died, I tried too—but it wouldn't budge. No lock, no seam, no mechanism. Just… silence."
Aira touched it, and the metal was cold—too cold, like it had been waiting.
Grandma," she said softly, "can I… can I take it?"
Her grandmother froze mid-breath. "Take it?"
Aira nodded slowly. "Just for a while. Maybe… I can figure out what it is. Maybe it'll help me understand her."
The old woman stared at her for a long, unreadable moment. Then she sighed, the sound trembling like wind through brittle leaves.
"You shouldn't meddle with things that belonged to Lilian," she murmured. "They always came with a price."
"I'll be careful," Aira promised. "I just… I feel like I have to."
Her grandmother's eyes softened—sad, resigned, but tender. "You really do look like her," she whispered, almost to herself. "The same eyes, the same stubborn spark. When you walked through that door, I thought for a moment I was seeing her again."
She lifted the box, holding it between them for a heartbeat before pressing it gently into Aira's hands.
"If anyone should have it," she said quietly, "it's you. Maybe it's been waiting for you all along."
The box felt cold at first, but as soon as Aira's fingers wrapped around it, the chill faded—replaced by a faint warmth, almost like a pulse.
Her grandmother didn't seem to notice. She just leaned back, her gaze distant. "I never told anyone about this. Not even your mother. Keep it hidden, do you understand? Don't show it to anyone from the academy. And promise me, Aira… don't try to open it."
Aira hesitated, looking down at the box that now seemed to hum faintly against her palms.
"I promise," she said softly.
But when she met her grandmother's eyes again, the old woman looked unconvinced—like she already knew that promise would be broken.