The room was quiet again, the faint silver glow of sealing runes flickering out one by one.
Mila sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the mirror her reflection human once more.
The silence stretched.
Until it wasn't silence anymore.
"You can hide your wings… but you can't hide what you are."
Mila froze, her breath catching.
The whisper wasn't from the hall it came from inside her head.
She glanced around sharply. "…Not again."
"You let him see you. Are you getting careless, or are you finally accepting it?"
Her heartbeat quickened. "Shut up."
"You're wasting time pretending to be someone else."
"Shut up!" she snapped, clutching her head. But the voice only laughed faintly her own voice, but colder, older.
Then, silence again.
Just the moonlight, the faint hum of magic, and Mila's shaky breathing.
"…Not tonight," she whispered, lying back on the bed. "You're not winning tonight."
Her eyelids fluttered shut.
But even in her dreams, that laughter echoed faintly buried deep beneath her heartbeat.
The next morning came with sunlight slipping through the clouds.
Saturday meant no classes a rare bit of peace.
Mila stretched, changed into casual clothes, and decided to head into town.
The bakery at the corner of Berbeign's plaza was one of her secret escapes quiet, warm, and smelling faintly of cinnamon and honey.
She ordered a small loaf and tea, then took her seat near the window.
For once, it was calm.
No dragons, no meteors, no students, just the simple comfort of baked bread.
Then the bell at the door rang.
She looked up and nearly choked on her tea.
The Headmistress of the academy walked in.
"...Oh no," Mila muttered under her breath.
The mistress glanced around the shop, spotted her, and smiled faintly. "Ah. Miss Mila, enjoying your weekend?"
Mila hesitated, then gave a sheepish grin. "Trying to, ma'am. Care to join me?"
The older woman accepted gracefully, sitting across from her. The soft clink of porcelain filled the space as tea was poured.
"I've been meaning to speak with you," the mistress said, voice calm but carrying that ever-present authority. "You've been… unusually quiet lately."
Mila took a slow sip, eyes half-lidded. "Just tired. Students, training, you know how it is."
The mistress smiled knowingly. "You've always carried more than you show, Mila. But if you need to talk, the staff lounge door is always open."
For a brief second, Mila felt warmth like being seen for real.
But then her gaze drifted out the window, where the sky shimmered faintly with residual magic.
A memory flickered. A meteor falling. Her hands glowing red.
"…Thank you, ma'am," she said softly, forcing a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
The mistress studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Good. Oh, and the cinnamon rolls here are divine, try one before you go."
Mila chuckled weakly. "Noted."
As the mistress stood and left, Mila stared down at her reflection in the teacup blue eyes glimmering faintly gold for just a second.
"…You really need to stop talking to yourself," she muttered, half to the whisper inside, half to herself.
"Then stop giving me reasons to."
The voice chuckled softly.
Mila froze again then exhaled through her nose. "Not now," she said under her breath. "I just wanted a pastry."
The whisper faded again, but the faint hum of forgotten power lingered.
Outside, the wind blew past the window and for the briefest moment, Mila thought she saw something shimmer in the reflection behind her.
She blinked.
It was gone.