It’s been so long since I’ve been back to Solaytme, my sweet little hometown.
I still remember packing for Capitolia—throwing all my stuff into huge, colorful suitcases without even looking at what I was grabbing. That’s how I accidentally packed a blue flying iron that always managed to surprise me in the weirdest ways. Bel was thrilled about it… until she wasn’t.
During the freshman celebration, she wanted to iron her pearl-colored dress, but the iron went haywire and left her with a massive bruise under her eye. And let me tell you, it was so big and bright, it was almost impressive. Belivia Kaleon, who’s usually the sweetest person ever, got so mad she was ready to curse me on the spot. Lucky for me, her full magical abilities didn’t kick in until her second year, by which time the whole incident was long forgotten. Otherwise… well, let’s just say my poor self, who’s way better at attack spells than defense ones, wouldn’t have stood a chance.
About seven or eight years ago, only the magic of the Kaleon family could rival the power of the Mendgils. Their magic could do anything, even something as unpredictable as stealing my own abilities. And I was dead set against letting my escape from home be for nothing. I didn’t even visit my parents or want to see them because of that fear.
Honestly, the main reason I ran away was because they had the power to take my magic. It’s a horrifying ritual, in my opinion, and not even fully understood. Why would anyone allow a process where someone could completely strip away your magic and program its return for any age? It could even pass down to your grandkids, leaving you to live your whole life without that incredible gift and all its possibilities.
I’ve had no doubt since I was about four or five that it was only a matter of time before it happened to me. That’s when my older brother Craig scared the daylights out of me with stories about the ritual. Even back then, I was a troublemaker, and my favorite pastime was setting traps just for him.
I didn’t feel bad for fourteen-year-old Craig, not one bit, unlike ten-year-old Einar. Life hadn’t been kind to him. He was the only Mendgil who wasn’t born with the gift, and he tried to make up for it with knowledge. He practically lived in the library. Sometimes I even wondered if maybe our parents had used that strange ritual on him.
But then how did I, at just a few months old, manage to cast my first tiny curse on Craig? It wasn’t anything serious, just a short-lived stumbling hex. Dad used to say he was so proud of me back then. Of course, that was until Mom snapped at him with a glare.
Oh, what sweet memories… Some things I don’t remember myself, but it’s always so nice to hear those warm family stories. Or at least, it used to be. Usually, the Mendgils would share tales while sitting by a big fireplace, listening to the soothing crackle of the flames. The magical atmosphere of family coziness only made it better, letting you picture little Craig with his chubby pink cheeks, recall how brainy Einar invented his first grand contraption at six, and laugh at the quirky, patchwork dress five-year-old Rosalia made out of bedspreads.
But lately, because of some nonsense from my brother Craig, I’ve been cut off from all of that. The irrational fear of losing my magic was the only thing that truly scared poor Dayana Mendgil—aka me. It wasn’t until I turned twenty-four that I somehow realized it wasn’t worth it and wanted to see my parents again. But by then, the academy’s rules kicked in, stating for some absurd reason that such visits were strictly forbidden, with only rare exceptions allowed (spoiler alert: my situation definitely didn’t qualify).
More stupid rules. They should be meant for people who can’t control their magic, not for endorkas like me from powerful magical families. By the way, I’m not even sure how many of us there are in total. A lot of people hide their true nature and the strength of their gifts. They say it’s for safety, but in my twenty-four years, I’ve never figured out what kind of danger they’re supposedly protecting themselves from.
But now, at last, I’ve arrived back in my dear hometown. I’ll get to see them all: my beautiful mom, my wise dad, my mischievous Craig (despite his age), and always-thoughtful Einar. And my golden-haired Rosalia is already beside me, quietly sleeping, sprawled out on the crimson embroidered pillows of the carriage.
I can also finally soak in the beauty of Solaytme. I’ve missed this modern-yet-ancient town like crazy—the ever-blooming trees lining the roads, the small lake with the towering bridge over it, the high spires of the buildings, and… the silence that always reigns on its streets. People even speak in whispers here. Only at home can you goof off and yell your head off. It’s an unwritten tradition that’s been around for centuries. And for some reason, no one feels like breaking it, just like the magical rules that, for whatever reason, govern every town except the capital.
***
The tall, violet-colored house with white columns loomed just around the corner, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I tried to recreate every tiny detail hidden by the trees from memory. But I gave up on that as soon as I spotted my parents standing on the porch. They must’ve figured that if Rosalia had gone to the capital, she’d soon return with their wayward daughter in tow.
The closer the carriage got, the better I could see their deeply worried faces, etched with wrinkles. Both had gone gray and made no effort to hide their age with fancy creams, dyes, or magic. They were always real, always themselves, and that’s what I valued most about them. And… gosh, how I’d missed them. I hadn’t even realized just how much until now.
Before the carriage could even come to a full stop, I jumped out, holding up the long blue dress with my hands, and ran toward my parents. I wanted so badly to hug them, to breathe in the familiar scent of their rare ionic perfumes, and to never let go, not even for a second.
I’m finally home. But what brought me back here? What will I have to face head-on in just a few hours?