The Journey, Book 3: Chapter 7 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 8: Twins.
Patricia Agatha’s voice scraped across the cavern like rusted metal. “Again.” Her staff struck the stone floor, runes flaring in a sickly blue ripple that made Olivia’s skin crawl. Both twins straightened instinctively. The hag never hit them with her staff—she saved that pleasure for her hands—but the light alone carried threat enough.
“Water, girl.” The old woman pointed her staff at the shallow stone basin near Olivia’s feet. “Make it obey you. I want more than a trickle this time. I want akvo with purpose.”
Olivia’s bow hung at her back, its polished yew mocking the filth she lived in. A weapon stolen from the king’s armoury, far too fine for a starved child. She lifted her hand, fingers shaking, and whispered, “Akvo…” The ancient word felt heavy, older than her bones. The basin shivered. A bead of liquid formed, then two, trembling like frightened eyes. She clenched her jaw, whispered the word again, and the water began to gather, pulling itself from nothingness.
Patricia watched with a smile that never reached her eyes. “You always hesitate. Always afraid of your own power.” She stepped forward, tipped the basin so the forming water spilled uselessly onto the floor. “Do you think akvo cares about your fear? Stop being weak.”
Christopher stood stiffly nearby, his daggers gleaming with the same cruel quality as the bow—fine steel, stolen by Rubian, presented like one might gift a collar. Patricia turned to him without warning and grabbed his jaw. “Your turn, boy. Air. Controlled. Not the wild flailing you did yesterday.”
She pushed his face upward, as if offering him to the ceiling. “Say it.”
Christopher swallowed, breath shallow. Then, quietly, he spoke the ancient word. “Aero…”
The air stirred around him, thin at first, then tightening into a spiralling thread that lifted dust from the cave floor. It tugged at the hag’s robes.
She struck him across the mouth. “No! Not wild. Not sloppy. Obedience first, power second.” Her voice slid into that syrupy tone she called love. “You are mine. My little storm. You will shape the world for me.”
She cupped his cheek with the same hand that had just slapped him. “Again. With precision this time.”
Olivia forced akvo to rise in the basin once more. Christopher pulled aero into a controlled circle around his hand. Sweat ran down their temples. The air tasted like stone and fear.
Patricia purred, “Together now. Perfectly. You’re twins. Born for this. Born for me.”
Water gathered. Air tightened.
And the old hag watched, delighted, as her precious tools obeyed—children forged into blades by hunger, cruelty, and words older than the palace above them.
Patricia Agatha circled them with the eagerness of someone about to tap into a vein of gold. “More power,” she hissed. “I can feel it sparking off your skin. Don’t you dare hold back.”
Olivia raised her hand over the basin. Her ribs ached, but the word came out strong. “Akvo…” The moment she spoke it, red light flared around her. Her aura blossomed like a bloody halo, and the water responded instantly—forming in the basin as swirling liquid crimson, as though she were pulling water from the heart of a ruby.
Christopher steadied himself beside her. His breath shivered, then sharpened. “Aero…” Blue light flickered at the edges of his body, brightening into a cool, electric glow. Air whipped around him in spirals of pale sapphire, tugging at his hair and clothing like excited spirits.
The hag’s eyes gleamed. “Yes… yes, that’s it. More!”
But the twins’ auras weren’t softening into control for her. They were sharpening. Growing. Feeding off each other. Olivia felt hers thrum through her chest like a second heartbeat. Christopher felt his dance along his arms like sparks jumping between metal.
They faced each other without speaking—just a pull between them, something instinctive and older than fear.
Olivia breathed the word again. “Akvo.”
Christopher answered. “Aero.”
The elements collided in the space between them, not in chaos but in fusion. Red water surged upward in a twisting column; blue air threaded through it, tightening, accelerating, weaving like a spine inside the vortex. The colours clashed, blended, fought, then synchronised—spinning faster until the entire cave flickered with their light.
Patricia took one step back. “What are you doing? Stop—”
The vortex didn’t stop.
It launched.
Red and blue crashed into her like a living wave. Water drenched her, slammed her body into the far wall, knocked her breath out in an ugly grunt. Her staff skittered across the floor. She hit the stone with a wet smack and slid down in a heap of soaked rags and fury.
The magic snapped out at once, leaving the room ringing with silence.
Olivia’s voice brushed against her brother’s mind, thin but steady.
We’re in trouble now…
Christopher wiped water from his eyes, lips twitching into a grin he couldn’t smother.
But that was so worth it.
The hag rose slowly, leaning on her staff. Water dripped from her hair, her chin, her robe. But the smile curving her mouth was wrong—hungry and delighted, the expression of someone who had just glimpsed a new tool she couldn’t wait to break.
“Crafty little shits,” she snarled.
She slammed her staff against the floor.
The blast of force was instant and brutal. The twins were thrown backward like rag dolls, their bodies crashing into the row of metal coffins along the back wall. Lids clanged. Cockroaches burst out in a black tide, scuttling over their arms, legs, faces, hair—tiny legs scraping against skin already bruised.
Olivia gasped as her back hit the metal. Christopher crashed beside her, teeth gritting to hold in a cry.
The hag stood there dripping, triumphant. “Let that be your reminder,” she rasped. “Your power belongs to me.”
The metal coffin rang from the impact. Olivia lay half-curled, her cheek pressed to cold iron. The sensation came next: the scatter of legs, light but frantic, swarming over her arms, her ribs, slipping beneath the ragged edges of her tunic. A thousand tiny claws moving at once. Her breath seized in her throat. Her aura flickered red, not from power, but panic.
Christopher felt it snap through him—her fear, raw and electric. Before either could speak aloud, he slipped into her mind like a hand reaching through a crack.
'Liv… breathe. Breathe, I’m here.'
Her panic spiked harder. Cockroaches crawled beneath her clothes, against her skin, skittering along her collarbone. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Christopher forced steadiness he didn’t feel. His own skin crawled, his stomach lurched, but he shoved his fear behind a wall. He knew she needed something solid to hold on to, and he decided he would be that thing, even if he was just a terrified boy.
His voice filled her mind, steadier than his heartbeat.
'Tonight we escape… He projected the thought with a firmness that surprised even him. She only threw us in here because she’s scared.'
Olivia’s breath hitched—half sob, half gasp. 'Scared? Of us?'
'Of what we did,' Christopher answered. 'Of what we could do again. Red and blue knocked her across the room. She didn’t expect that. His mental voice carried a pulse of pride. She’s slipping, Liv. And she knows it.'
A roach crawled across Olivia’s throat. She clenched her jaw, tears leaking sideways. 'But how do we escape, Chris? She’ll hurt us worse if she catches us. You know she will.'
Christopher closed his eyes, thinking. The roaches crawled up his legs, under his shirt, over his spine. He wanted to scream. Instead, he pressed harder into her mind until their thoughts overlapped like two halves of a coin.
'Two ways,' he said, calm as he could manage. 'We knock her out cold—water and air, like before. Hit her hard enough she stays down.'
Olivia flinched as something skittered into her sleeve. 'We could kill her that way…'
'Maybe,' Chris admitted. 'Or maybe not. She’s tough. Tougher than she looks. But we could still try.'
Olivia trembled, the metal coffin shaking faintly beneath her. 'And the other way?'
Christopher’s mental tone softened.
'We wait. She’ll have taken damage from that hit. Even she can’t pretend she didn’t. She’ll tire faster tonight. Let her think she’s won. Let her crawl into her nest and sleep.'
Olivia tried to breathe slowly, match his rhythm, but another roach crawled down her spine and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. 'Chris… I can’t stay in here long.'
'You won’t,' he promised her. Not bravado, just truth spoken in the place where fear couldn’t twist it. 'When she sleeps, we climb out. Together. No matter what.'
He shifted closer in the darkness, shoulder pressing lightly to hers, an anchor in the swarm.
'Tonight, Liv. We end this tonight.'
The lids of the metal coffins groaned, iron scraping stone. Olivia tumbled first, sprawling onto the cold cave floor with a gasp. Christopher followed, hitting his knees, hands shaking from more than the fall. Cockroaches scattered in frantic waves around them before retreating back into the crevices of the coffins.
Patricia Agatha sat in her crooked wooden chair at the table, watching them with a blankness that was somehow worse than anger. Her face held nothing—no rage, no satisfaction, not even irritation. Just a flat, empty stare.
“Sit and eat,” she ordered.
Her voice was calm, steady. That made it even more dangerous.
The twins dragged themselves to the table. Two bowls waited for them: half-stale bread that crumbled like dust in their hands, and a thin soup that smelled like boiled weeds and something that might once have been meat. They ate without speaking. They never spoke at meals. Speaking drew attention. Attention drew consequences.
When the bowls were empty, the hag rose, her wet robes leaving a faint dark trail on the stone. “Enough. Up.”
The twins stood.
“Practice.”
Targets had been dragged to the far end of the cave—tall planks of wood painted with crude circles. The hag hovered near them like a vulture overseeing dying prey. Her staff pulsed once, runes glowing faintly as if eager for the next display.
She barked, “Again. Combine your power. I want to see it. I want to understand it.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Fire and thunder this time. Together. Hit the target.”
Olivia felt her stomach flip. Fire burned hotter than water. Christopher tensed beside her; thunder drained him faster than air. But disobedience was not an option. Not yet.
Patricia thrust her staff toward the targets. “Do it.”
Patricia’s command hung in the air like a blade. “Fire and thunder. Combine. Hit the target.”
Olivia swallowed, lifted her hand, and let the ancient word roll from her throat.
“Fajro.”
Her aura flared red—deep, pulsing, alive. Heat bloomed in her palm. A sphere of fire formed there, a perfect orb no larger than an apple, swirling with molten crimson. It always started like this: a seed, a core, condensed potential waiting to be moulded. She felt it tug at her thoughts, eager to expand, eager to burn.
Christopher answered, blue light shimmering along his skin.
“Tondro.”
Thunder condensed in his cupped hand—a compact sphere of crackling blue energy, lightning trapped in the shape of a trembling orb. It buzzed against his skin, rebellious, wanting to lash outward. He held it firm with sheer focus, jaw tense with the strain.
Patricia watched them like a starving predator. “Shape it.”
This was the hard part.
Olivia exhaled slowly, closing her fingers just slightly around the sphere. Her will pressed against it, not to crush, but to bend its nature. The sphere stretched, elongating into a twisting ribbon of flame before snapping back, resisting. She forced it again, shaping the fire into a spiral.
Christopher did the same—electric arcs curled around his orb, stretching it into jagged lines, then into a sharper, more directed point. His mind pushed against the thunder, coaxing it to lengthen, tighten, focus.
“Now,” the hag whispered.
The twins turned toward each other, palms out.
The fire and thunder reached for one another instantly—drawn like two halves of a broken whole. When they touched, the spheres fused, spinning between their hands, red and blue tearing at each other in violent beauty. The twins pushed their wills into the combined orb, shaping it together—compressing it, twisting it, directing it.
Olivia forced the flame to coil.
Christopher forced the thunder to sharpen.
The orb elongated, crackled, then collapsed inward—
And then it launched.
A streak of red-blue fire-thunder shot across the cave. It slammed into the target and obliterated it—wood fragments exploding into dust, the blast echoing through the stone chamber.
Silence followed.
Patricia stood still, robes still dripping from the earlier vortex. Her face remained passive, but her fingers tightened around her staff, knuckles whitening.
She had just watched two starved children shape forces that older mages feared to touch.
Her voice came out soft, too soft.
“Again.”
Olivia’s chest rose and fell in quick breaths. The fire still tingled on her palm.
Christopher flexed his hand, electricity fading from his skin.
Inside their minds, their thoughts brushed.
We’re getting stronger, Christopher murmured.
She knows, Olivia answered. And she’s afraid.
Their palms still glowed faintly—red and blue, heartbeat and breath—two elemental cores waiting to be shaped again.
Patricia didn’t even give them time to breathe.
The target was still smouldering—ash settling in the air—when her voice cracked like a whip.
“Again. Water and air. Now!”
The twins flinched. Their palms were still hot from fire and buzzing from thunder, nerves raw, muscles trembling. But the old hag didn’t tolerate hesitation. Hesitation earned punishment.
Christopher swallowed hard, shifting his stance.
Olivia wiped sweat from her brow, only to smear soot across her cheek.
They lifted their hands.
Olivia whispered the ancient word, barely more than a breath. “Akvo.”
Cold surged into her palm. A sphere of water condensed out of the damp cave air—a shimmering orb that distorted the torchlight, swirling like a tiny storm trapped under glass. It was heavy in a different way than fire—dense, fluid, constantly trying to slip through her fingers. She clenched her will around it, forcing it to keep its shape.
Christopher forced his trembling lungs into a steady inhale. “Aero.”
Air didn’t appear so much as gather. The orb in his palm shimmered, transparent, warping the space around it like heat over stone. Tiny spirals of wind curled around his fingers, tugging at his hair, begging to be released. Containing air took brutal focus; it wanted to be everywhere at once.
Patricia stepped closer, staff tapping the stone. “Shape them.”
There was hunger in her voice. Curiosity mixed with greed.
Olivia tightened her grip on the water orb, compressing it, thinning it, urging it into a sleeker form. The liquid resisted, sloshing, rolling. She imagined the shape she needed—a dart, a blade, something sharp and fast. The sphere stretched, trembling.
Christopher forced the air to spiral. The sphere elongated, twisting into a corkscrew of pale distortion. His vision blurred with the strain. Air magic was the least forgiving—it was invisible rebellion.
Patricia hissed through her teeth. “Combine.”
They reached toward each other, hands unsteady.
Water sought the air. Air absorbed the water. The orbs fused into a single swirling sphere—clear at first, then rippling with motion. Inside it, currents spun faster and faster, a miniature storm hatching in their palms.
The twins shoved their wills into the combined orb.
Focus, Christopher thought toward Olivia.
I’m trying, she answered.
The sphere compressed until it whistled sharply, vibrating like it might detonate prematurely.
Then they thrust their hands forward.
A spiralling hydra of water-laced wind shot down the cave, slicing the air, tearing the damp banners on the walls as it passed. It struck the target with a wet, explosive crack—shattering wood, spraying shards across the floor, and leaving a ragged crater in the stone behind it.
Patricia blinked once, and in that one blink her emotionless mask slipped—revealing astonishment. Quickly, she yanked the calm back over her features.
Her voice came tight, strained.
“Again.”
Christopher’s legs shook.
Olivia’s fingers tingled with numbness.
Inside their minds, their thoughts brushed again—this time brittle and exhausted.
She’s pushing us too far, Olivia whispered.
She wants to know our limits, Christopher said.
And what happens when we break…
The water and air residue still chilled their palms as they lifted their hands once more—caught between obedience and the slow-burning plan brewing in the shadows of their minds.
Patricia’s sharp eyes swept over them, unblinking. Her face was rigid, the faint lines of exhaustion barely softening the cruel angles of her features. She tapped the staff against the floor once, twice. “Enough,” she snapped. “Get to bed. Sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
The twins exchanged a glance, hearts hammering, but they didn’t dare protest. The word “sleep” sounded more like a trap than a command. Their “beds” were nothing more than piles of straw pushed into the corner, lumpy and crawling with the occasional cockroach.
Olivia dropped onto hers, the coarse strands pricking her skin, and tried to slow her breathing. Every creak of the cave roof, every whisper of wind through the cracks, made her flinch. Christopher lay beside her, his muscles taut with the same unspent adrenaline. He reached over, letting his fingers brush hers in a quiet reassurance. Tonight… we escape, he told her in her mind, keeping his own fear hidden behind the facade of calm.
Minutes stretched, dragging out with every tick of the air. The sound of Patricia moving in her chair, the scratch of her staff across the stone floor, the clink of her chains as she adjusted—each small noise was amplified, hammering their nerves like drumbeats of warning. Olivia’s chest heaved as she fought the urge to bolt, to scream, to throw herself at the nearest wall. Christopher held her hand tighter, grounding her, even as he felt his own pulse thrumming in terror.
Finally, the cadence of the cave changed. The hag’s heavy breathing slowed, the staff finally resting against the table. Her eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion and perhaps, for once, a bit of satisfaction. She hadn’t noticed the twins watching her, calculating, waiting for the precise moment.
As soon as Patricia’s body slumped forward in a deep, unbroken sleep, the twins slipped from their straw piles. They moved like shadows, hearts hammering, muscles coiled. Every scrape of stone beneath their feet, every faint drip of water, sent jolts of panic through them. Olivia’s bow was clutched to her chest, fingers trembling, while Christopher’s daggers felt impossibly heavy in his palms.
The cave seemed endless, every step a potential betrayal. They pressed close to the walls, holding their breath as Patricia’s staff rested against her chair, the faintest creak making them freeze mid-step. The exit loomed ahead—a heavy wooden door, old and iron-bound. With a quiet shove, Christopher nudged it open.
A spiral staircase curled upward into shadow, each step echoing against the stone. They climbed slowly, one careful step at a time, straining to hear any sound that might betray them. Reaching the top, the twins pressed themselves against the wall, peeking through the slit of the door into the palace beyond.
Sunlight—warm, brilliant, and blinding—flooded the corridor. Olivia blinked, shielding her eyes, as the noise of the palace hit her like a tidal wave: the shuffle of guards, the chatter of maids, the clatter of utensils. Everything was foreign, chaotic, overwhelming. Her chest tightened with panic, but she felt Christopher’s hand slip into hers, a silent tether pulling her forward.
This was their first taste of freedom, yet every instinct screamed danger. One wrong move and Patricia would be upon them, and the years of abuse and control would snap back with a vengeance.
The twins slipped through the palace corridors like whispers, pressed flat against the cold stone walls. Every footstep, every echo of distant voices, sent shivers crawling up their spines. The palace was alive with motion: servants bustling with trays, guards pacing in pairs, the murmur of voices ricocheting through high ceilings. Every sound was amplified in their panic.
Olivia’s grip on her bow tightened, her knuckles white. Christopher’s daggers were drawn, gleaming faintly in the muted light of torches lining the walls. They froze at each turn, holding their breath as shadows passed nearby, hearts hammering like war drums. One misstep could mean discovery, capture, or worse.
A sudden clang of a dropped tray made Olivia gasp. Christopher pressed a finger to her lips, their eyes locking. Not now, he told her in her mind. Keep moving. They moved again, slow, careful, skimming along walls and behind pillars, the noise of their own ragged breathing almost deafening in the tense silence.
Finally, the twins spotted it: a heavy double door leading to the outer courtyard. Sunlight spilled through the edges, warm and intoxicating, calling to them like a promise. The air smelled different here—fresh, alive, carrying the scent of grass and earth—and their hearts lurched with a mixture of hope and fear.
Olivia pushed the door open, and the twins spilled into the courtyard, blinded by brightness. The sudden expanse of space, the open sky, and the bustling activity of the palace grounds made their heads spin. Guards and maids moved about, some carrying baskets, others inspecting horses, unaware of the two shadows slipping among them.
But their appearance didn’t go unnoticed for long. Two palace guards, tall and broad, spotted the twins’ dishevelled hair, grimy clothes, and the weapons clutched in their hands. “Stop!” one barked, drawing his sword. The twins froze for a heartbeat—then panic surged, explosive and uncontrollable.
Christopher’s blue aura flared as he shaped a sphere of thunder in his hand, while Olivia’s red aura erupted into a ball of fire. Without thinking, they combined their powers, the swirling red and blue merging into a blinding orb of raw energy. They hurled it at the guards.
The impact was devastating. A roaring wave of fire and thunder smashed into the two advancing men, obliterating them instantly. The blast rippled outward, knocking two guards who had hung back to the ground, unconscious but alive, shuddering under the force.
The twins stumbled back, hearts racing, lungs burning, adrenaline flooding their veins. Around them, the courtyard was a chaotic mess—smoke curling from the scorched cobblestones, guards shouting in alarm, and servants scattering in panic.
“Run!” Christopher shouted, his voice tight with fear and exhilaration. Olivia didn’t hesitate. Bow slung across her back, daggers in her belt, they sprinted across the courtyard, the sunlight blazing down on them, warm against their cold, abused skin. The palace gates loomed ahead, the open world beyond calling like a song they had never dared to imagine.
For the first time in their lives, the twins were truly free—but freedom was raw, frantic, and terrifying. Every step carried the weight of years of abuse, the fear of capture, and the wild exhilaration of survival. They slipped through the gates of the palace and into the bustling streets of the city, where sunlight struck the cobblestones and the scent of unfamiliar food, smoke, and animals filled the air.
But the world outside wasn’t welcoming. People moved quickly to avoid them, sidestepping with wary expressions. Their clothes were tattered, hair matted, and the stench of the cave clung to them like a second skin. Olivia and Christopher shrank into the edges of the crowds, hearts hammering, aware of every gaze that lingered too long.
They ducked into a narrow alley, pressed themselves behind stacks of discarded crates and rubbish, trying to vanish into the shadows. Every clatter of a cart or shout of a street vendor made them flinch. They barely dared to breathe, lungs tight with tension, muscles coiled to flee at the slightest hint of danger.
Then, a small, quiet sound drew their attention. A small cat-like-person, fur black as soot, with a strange red mark streaking across its face—pushed open a side door and peeked out. Its large eyes glinted in the dim alley light. It raised a paw in greeting, tilting its head curiously, and beckoned them inside.
For a moment, Olivia and Christopher froze, unsure whether to trust it. Then the creature darted a few steps forward, looked back expectantly, and gave a small, insistent wave. With a shared glance, the twins nodded, hearts still racing, and slipped silently after it into the doorway, vanishing from the crowded, unfamiliar streets into whatever strange refuge the creature had promised.
Chapter 8: Twins.
Patricia Agatha’s voice scraped across the cavern like rusted metal. “Again.” Her staff struck the stone floor, runes flaring in a sickly blue ripple that made Olivia’s skin crawl. Both twins straightened instinctively. The hag never hit them with her staff—she saved that pleasure for her hands—but the light alone carried threat enough.
“Water, girl.” The old woman pointed her staff at the shallow stone basin near Olivia’s feet. “Make it obey you. I want more than a trickle this time. I want akvo with purpose.”
Olivia’s bow hung at her back, its polished yew mocking the filth she lived in. A weapon stolen from the king’s armoury, far too fine for a starved child. She lifted her hand, fingers shaking, and whispered, “Akvo…” The ancient word felt heavy, older than her bones. The basin shivered. A bead of liquid formed, then two, trembling like frightened eyes. She clenched her jaw, whispered the word again, and the water began to gather, pulling itself from nothingness.
Patricia watched with a smile that never reached her eyes. “You always hesitate. Always afraid of your own power.” She stepped forward, tipped the basin so the forming water spilled uselessly onto the floor. “Do you think akvo cares about your fear? Stop being weak.”
Christopher stood stiffly nearby, his daggers gleaming with the same cruel quality as the bow—fine steel, stolen by Rubian, presented like one might gift a collar. Patricia turned to him without warning and grabbed his jaw. “Your turn, boy. Air. Controlled. Not the wild flailing you did yesterday.”
She pushed his face upward, as if offering him to the ceiling. “Say it.”
Christopher swallowed, breath shallow. Then, quietly, he spoke the ancient word. “Aero…”
The air stirred around him, thin at first, then tightening into a spiralling thread that lifted dust from the cave floor. It tugged at the hag’s robes.
She struck him across the mouth. “No! Not wild. Not sloppy. Obedience first, power second.” Her voice slid into that syrupy tone she called love. “You are mine. My little storm. You will shape the world for me.”
She cupped his cheek with the same hand that had just slapped him. “Again. With precision this time.”
Olivia forced akvo to rise in the basin once more. Christopher pulled aero into a controlled circle around his hand. Sweat ran down their temples. The air tasted like stone and fear.
Patricia purred, “Together now. Perfectly. You’re twins. Born for this. Born for me.”
Water gathered. Air tightened.
And the old hag watched, delighted, as her precious tools obeyed—children forged into blades by hunger, cruelty, and words older than the palace above them.
Patricia Agatha circled them with the eagerness of someone about to tap into a vein of gold. “More power,” she hissed. “I can feel it sparking off your skin. Don’t you dare hold back.”
Olivia raised her hand over the basin. Her ribs ached, but the word came out strong. “Akvo…” The moment she spoke it, red light flared around her. Her aura blossomed like a bloody halo, and the water responded instantly—forming in the basin as swirling liquid crimson, as though she were pulling water from the heart of a ruby.
Christopher steadied himself beside her. His breath shivered, then sharpened. “Aero…” Blue light flickered at the edges of his body, brightening into a cool, electric glow. Air whipped around him in spirals of pale sapphire, tugging at his hair and clothing like excited spirits.
The hag’s eyes gleamed. “Yes… yes, that’s it. More!”
But the twins’ auras weren’t softening into control for her. They were sharpening. Growing. Feeding off each other. Olivia felt hers thrum through her chest like a second heartbeat. Christopher felt his dance along his arms like sparks jumping between metal.
They faced each other without speaking—just a pull between them, something instinctive and older than fear.
Olivia breathed the word again. “Akvo.”
Christopher answered. “Aero.”
The elements collided in the space between them, not in chaos but in fusion. Red water surged upward in a twisting column; blue air threaded through it, tightening, accelerating, weaving like a spine inside the vortex. The colours clashed, blended, fought, then synchronised—spinning faster until the entire cave flickered with their light.
Patricia took one step back. “What are you doing? Stop—”
The vortex didn’t stop.
It launched.
Red and blue crashed into her like a living wave. Water drenched her, slammed her body into the far wall, knocked her breath out in an ugly grunt. Her staff skittered across the floor. She hit the stone with a wet smack and slid down in a heap of soaked rags and fury.
The magic snapped out at once, leaving the room ringing with silence.
Olivia’s voice brushed against her brother’s mind, thin but steady.
We’re in trouble now…
Christopher wiped water from his eyes, lips twitching into a grin he couldn’t smother.
But that was so worth it.
The hag rose slowly, leaning on her staff. Water dripped from her hair, her chin, her robe. But the smile curving her mouth was wrong—hungry and delighted, the expression of someone who had just glimpsed a new tool she couldn’t wait to break.
“Crafty little shits,” she snarled.
She slammed her staff against the floor.
The blast of force was instant and brutal. The twins were thrown backward like rag dolls, their bodies crashing into the row of metal coffins along the back wall. Lids clanged. Cockroaches burst out in a black tide, scuttling over their arms, legs, faces, hair—tiny legs scraping against skin already bruised.
Olivia gasped as her back hit the metal. Christopher crashed beside her, teeth gritting to hold in a cry.
The hag stood there dripping, triumphant. “Let that be your reminder,” she rasped. “Your power belongs to me.”
The metal coffin rang from the impact. Olivia lay half-curled, her cheek pressed to cold iron. The sensation came next: the scatter of legs, light but frantic, swarming over her arms, her ribs, slipping beneath the ragged edges of her tunic. A thousand tiny claws moving at once. Her breath seized in her throat. Her aura flickered red, not from power, but panic.
Christopher felt it snap through him—her fear, raw and electric. Before either could speak aloud, he slipped into her mind like a hand reaching through a crack.
'Liv… breathe. Breathe, I’m here.'
Her panic spiked harder. Cockroaches crawled beneath her clothes, against her skin, skittering along her collarbone. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Christopher forced steadiness he didn’t feel. His own skin crawled, his stomach lurched, but he shoved his fear behind a wall. He knew she needed something solid to hold on to, and he decided he would be that thing, even if he was just a terrified boy.
His voice filled her mind, steadier than his heartbeat.
'Tonight we escape… He projected the thought with a firmness that surprised even him. She only threw us in here because she’s scared.'
Olivia’s breath hitched—half sob, half gasp. 'Scared? Of us?'
'Of what we did,' Christopher answered. 'Of what we could do again. Red and blue knocked her across the room. She didn’t expect that. His mental voice carried a pulse of pride. She’s slipping, Liv. And she knows it.'
A roach crawled across Olivia’s throat. She clenched her jaw, tears leaking sideways. 'But how do we escape, Chris? She’ll hurt us worse if she catches us. You know she will.'
Christopher closed his eyes, thinking. The roaches crawled up his legs, under his shirt, over his spine. He wanted to scream. Instead, he pressed harder into her mind until their thoughts overlapped like two halves of a coin.
'Two ways,' he said, calm as he could manage. 'We knock her out cold—water and air, like before. Hit her hard enough she stays down.'
Olivia flinched as something skittered into her sleeve. 'We could kill her that way…'
'Maybe,' Chris admitted. 'Or maybe not. She’s tough. Tougher than she looks. But we could still try.'
Olivia trembled, the metal coffin shaking faintly beneath her. 'And the other way?'
Christopher’s mental tone softened.
'We wait. She’ll have taken damage from that hit. Even she can’t pretend she didn’t. She’ll tire faster tonight. Let her think she’s won. Let her crawl into her nest and sleep.'
Olivia tried to breathe slowly, match his rhythm, but another roach crawled down her spine and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. 'Chris… I can’t stay in here long.'
'You won’t,' he promised her. Not bravado, just truth spoken in the place where fear couldn’t twist it. 'When she sleeps, we climb out. Together. No matter what.'
He shifted closer in the darkness, shoulder pressing lightly to hers, an anchor in the swarm.
'Tonight, Liv. We end this tonight.'
The lids of the metal coffins groaned, iron scraping stone. Olivia tumbled first, sprawling onto the cold cave floor with a gasp. Christopher followed, hitting his knees, hands shaking from more than the fall. Cockroaches scattered in frantic waves around them before retreating back into the crevices of the coffins.
Patricia Agatha sat in her crooked wooden chair at the table, watching them with a blankness that was somehow worse than anger. Her face held nothing—no rage, no satisfaction, not even irritation. Just a flat, empty stare.
“Sit and eat,” she ordered.
Her voice was calm, steady. That made it even more dangerous.
The twins dragged themselves to the table. Two bowls waited for them: half-stale bread that crumbled like dust in their hands, and a thin soup that smelled like boiled weeds and something that might once have been meat. They ate without speaking. They never spoke at meals. Speaking drew attention. Attention drew consequences.
When the bowls were empty, the hag rose, her wet robes leaving a faint dark trail on the stone. “Enough. Up.”
The twins stood.
“Practice.”
Targets had been dragged to the far end of the cave—tall planks of wood painted with crude circles. The hag hovered near them like a vulture overseeing dying prey. Her staff pulsed once, runes glowing faintly as if eager for the next display.
She barked, “Again. Combine your power. I want to see it. I want to understand it.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Fire and thunder this time. Together. Hit the target.”
Olivia felt her stomach flip. Fire burned hotter than water. Christopher tensed beside her; thunder drained him faster than air. But disobedience was not an option. Not yet.
Patricia thrust her staff toward the targets. “Do it.”
Patricia’s command hung in the air like a blade. “Fire and thunder. Combine. Hit the target.”
Olivia swallowed, lifted her hand, and let the ancient word roll from her throat.
“Fajro.”
Her aura flared red—deep, pulsing, alive. Heat bloomed in her palm. A sphere of fire formed there, a perfect orb no larger than an apple, swirling with molten crimson. It always started like this: a seed, a core, condensed potential waiting to be moulded. She felt it tug at her thoughts, eager to expand, eager to burn.
Christopher answered, blue light shimmering along his skin.
“Tondro.”
Thunder condensed in his cupped hand—a compact sphere of crackling blue energy, lightning trapped in the shape of a trembling orb. It buzzed against his skin, rebellious, wanting to lash outward. He held it firm with sheer focus, jaw tense with the strain.
Patricia watched them like a starving predator. “Shape it.”
This was the hard part.
Olivia exhaled slowly, closing her fingers just slightly around the sphere. Her will pressed against it, not to crush, but to bend its nature. The sphere stretched, elongating into a twisting ribbon of flame before snapping back, resisting. She forced it again, shaping the fire into a spiral.
Christopher did the same—electric arcs curled around his orb, stretching it into jagged lines, then into a sharper, more directed point. His mind pushed against the thunder, coaxing it to lengthen, tighten, focus.
“Now,” the hag whispered.
The twins turned toward each other, palms out.
The fire and thunder reached for one another instantly—drawn like two halves of a broken whole. When they touched, the spheres fused, spinning between their hands, red and blue tearing at each other in violent beauty. The twins pushed their wills into the combined orb, shaping it together—compressing it, twisting it, directing it.
Olivia forced the flame to coil.
Christopher forced the thunder to sharpen.
The orb elongated, crackled, then collapsed inward—
And then it launched.
A streak of red-blue fire-thunder shot across the cave. It slammed into the target and obliterated it—wood fragments exploding into dust, the blast echoing through the stone chamber.
Silence followed.
Patricia stood still, robes still dripping from the earlier vortex. Her face remained passive, but her fingers tightened around her staff, knuckles whitening.
She had just watched two starved children shape forces that older mages feared to touch.
Her voice came out soft, too soft.
“Again.”
Olivia’s chest rose and fell in quick breaths. The fire still tingled on her palm.
Christopher flexed his hand, electricity fading from his skin.
Inside their minds, their thoughts brushed.
We’re getting stronger, Christopher murmured.
She knows, Olivia answered. And she’s afraid.
Their palms still glowed faintly—red and blue, heartbeat and breath—two elemental cores waiting to be shaped again.
Patricia didn’t even give them time to breathe.
The target was still smouldering—ash settling in the air—when her voice cracked like a whip.
“Again. Water and air. Now!”
The twins flinched. Their palms were still hot from fire and buzzing from thunder, nerves raw, muscles trembling. But the old hag didn’t tolerate hesitation. Hesitation earned punishment.
Christopher swallowed hard, shifting his stance.
Olivia wiped sweat from her brow, only to smear soot across her cheek.
They lifted their hands.
Olivia whispered the ancient word, barely more than a breath. “Akvo.”
Cold surged into her palm. A sphere of water condensed out of the damp cave air—a shimmering orb that distorted the torchlight, swirling like a tiny storm trapped under glass. It was heavy in a different way than fire—dense, fluid, constantly trying to slip through her fingers. She clenched her will around it, forcing it to keep its shape.
Christopher forced his trembling lungs into a steady inhale. “Aero.”
Air didn’t appear so much as gather. The orb in his palm shimmered, transparent, warping the space around it like heat over stone. Tiny spirals of wind curled around his fingers, tugging at his hair, begging to be released. Containing air took brutal focus; it wanted to be everywhere at once.
Patricia stepped closer, staff tapping the stone. “Shape them.”
There was hunger in her voice. Curiosity mixed with greed.
Olivia tightened her grip on the water orb, compressing it, thinning it, urging it into a sleeker form. The liquid resisted, sloshing, rolling. She imagined the shape she needed—a dart, a blade, something sharp and fast. The sphere stretched, trembling.
Christopher forced the air to spiral. The sphere elongated, twisting into a corkscrew of pale distortion. His vision blurred with the strain. Air magic was the least forgiving—it was invisible rebellion.
Patricia hissed through her teeth. “Combine.”
They reached toward each other, hands unsteady.
Water sought the air. Air absorbed the water. The orbs fused into a single swirling sphere—clear at first, then rippling with motion. Inside it, currents spun faster and faster, a miniature storm hatching in their palms.
The twins shoved their wills into the combined orb.
Focus, Christopher thought toward Olivia.
I’m trying, she answered.
The sphere compressed until it whistled sharply, vibrating like it might detonate prematurely.
Then they thrust their hands forward.
A spiralling hydra of water-laced wind shot down the cave, slicing the air, tearing the damp banners on the walls as it passed. It struck the target with a wet, explosive crack—shattering wood, spraying shards across the floor, and leaving a ragged crater in the stone behind it.
Patricia blinked once, and in that one blink her emotionless mask slipped—revealing astonishment. Quickly, she yanked the calm back over her features.
Her voice came tight, strained.
“Again.”
Christopher’s legs shook.
Olivia’s fingers tingled with numbness.
Inside their minds, their thoughts brushed again—this time brittle and exhausted.
She’s pushing us too far, Olivia whispered.
She wants to know our limits, Christopher said.
And what happens when we break…
The water and air residue still chilled their palms as they lifted their hands once more—caught between obedience and the slow-burning plan brewing in the shadows of their minds.
Patricia’s sharp eyes swept over them, unblinking. Her face was rigid, the faint lines of exhaustion barely softening the cruel angles of her features. She tapped the staff against the floor once, twice. “Enough,” she snapped. “Get to bed. Sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
The twins exchanged a glance, hearts hammering, but they didn’t dare protest. The word “sleep” sounded more like a trap than a command. Their “beds” were nothing more than piles of straw pushed into the corner, lumpy and crawling with the occasional cockroach.
Olivia dropped onto hers, the coarse strands pricking her skin, and tried to slow her breathing. Every creak of the cave roof, every whisper of wind through the cracks, made her flinch. Christopher lay beside her, his muscles taut with the same unspent adrenaline. He reached over, letting his fingers brush hers in a quiet reassurance. Tonight… we escape, he told her in her mind, keeping his own fear hidden behind the facade of calm.
Minutes stretched, dragging out with every tick of the air. The sound of Patricia moving in her chair, the scratch of her staff across the stone floor, the clink of her chains as she adjusted—each small noise was amplified, hammering their nerves like drumbeats of warning. Olivia’s chest heaved as she fought the urge to bolt, to scream, to throw herself at the nearest wall. Christopher held her hand tighter, grounding her, even as he felt his own pulse thrumming in terror.
Finally, the cadence of the cave changed. The hag’s heavy breathing slowed, the staff finally resting against the table. Her eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion and perhaps, for once, a bit of satisfaction. She hadn’t noticed the twins watching her, calculating, waiting for the precise moment.
As soon as Patricia’s body slumped forward in a deep, unbroken sleep, the twins slipped from their straw piles. They moved like shadows, hearts hammering, muscles coiled. Every scrape of stone beneath their feet, every faint drip of water, sent jolts of panic through them. Olivia’s bow was clutched to her chest, fingers trembling, while Christopher’s daggers felt impossibly heavy in his palms.
The cave seemed endless, every step a potential betrayal. They pressed close to the walls, holding their breath as Patricia’s staff rested against her chair, the faintest creak making them freeze mid-step. The exit loomed ahead—a heavy wooden door, old and iron-bound. With a quiet shove, Christopher nudged it open.
A spiral staircase curled upward into shadow, each step echoing against the stone. They climbed slowly, one careful step at a time, straining to hear any sound that might betray them. Reaching the top, the twins pressed themselves against the wall, peeking through the slit of the door into the palace beyond.
Sunlight—warm, brilliant, and blinding—flooded the corridor. Olivia blinked, shielding her eyes, as the noise of the palace hit her like a tidal wave: the shuffle of guards, the chatter of maids, the clatter of utensils. Everything was foreign, chaotic, overwhelming. Her chest tightened with panic, but she felt Christopher’s hand slip into hers, a silent tether pulling her forward.
This was their first taste of freedom, yet every instinct screamed danger. One wrong move and Patricia would be upon them, and the years of abuse and control would snap back with a vengeance.
The twins slipped through the palace corridors like whispers, pressed flat against the cold stone walls. Every footstep, every echo of distant voices, sent shivers crawling up their spines. The palace was alive with motion: servants bustling with trays, guards pacing in pairs, the murmur of voices ricocheting through high ceilings. Every sound was amplified in their panic.
Olivia’s grip on her bow tightened, her knuckles white. Christopher’s daggers were drawn, gleaming faintly in the muted light of torches lining the walls. They froze at each turn, holding their breath as shadows passed nearby, hearts hammering like war drums. One misstep could mean discovery, capture, or worse.
A sudden clang of a dropped tray made Olivia gasp. Christopher pressed a finger to her lips, their eyes locking. Not now, he told her in her mind. Keep moving. They moved again, slow, careful, skimming along walls and behind pillars, the noise of their own ragged breathing almost deafening in the tense silence.
Finally, the twins spotted it: a heavy double door leading to the outer courtyard. Sunlight spilled through the edges, warm and intoxicating, calling to them like a promise. The air smelled different here—fresh, alive, carrying the scent of grass and earth—and their hearts lurched with a mixture of hope and fear.
Olivia pushed the door open, and the twins spilled into the courtyard, blinded by brightness. The sudden expanse of space, the open sky, and the bustling activity of the palace grounds made their heads spin. Guards and maids moved about, some carrying baskets, others inspecting horses, unaware of the two shadows slipping among them.
But their appearance didn’t go unnoticed for long. Two palace guards, tall and broad, spotted the twins’ dishevelled hair, grimy clothes, and the weapons clutched in their hands. “Stop!” one barked, drawing his sword. The twins froze for a heartbeat—then panic surged, explosive and uncontrollable.
Christopher’s blue aura flared as he shaped a sphere of thunder in his hand, while Olivia’s red aura erupted into a ball of fire. Without thinking, they combined their powers, the swirling red and blue merging into a blinding orb of raw energy. They hurled it at the guards.
The impact was devastating. A roaring wave of fire and thunder smashed into the two advancing men, obliterating them instantly. The blast rippled outward, knocking two guards who had hung back to the ground, unconscious but alive, shuddering under the force.
The twins stumbled back, hearts racing, lungs burning, adrenaline flooding their veins. Around them, the courtyard was a chaotic mess—smoke curling from the scorched cobblestones, guards shouting in alarm, and servants scattering in panic.
“Run!” Christopher shouted, his voice tight with fear and exhilaration. Olivia didn’t hesitate. Bow slung across her back, daggers in her belt, they sprinted across the courtyard, the sunlight blazing down on them, warm against their cold, abused skin. The palace gates loomed ahead, the open world beyond calling like a song they had never dared to imagine.
For the first time in their lives, the twins were truly free—but freedom was raw, frantic, and terrifying. Every step carried the weight of years of abuse, the fear of capture, and the wild exhilaration of survival. They slipped through the gates of the palace and into the bustling streets of the city, where sunlight struck the cobblestones and the scent of unfamiliar food, smoke, and animals filled the air.
But the world outside wasn’t welcoming. People moved quickly to avoid them, sidestepping with wary expressions. Their clothes were tattered, hair matted, and the stench of the cave clung to them like a second skin. Olivia and Christopher shrank into the edges of the crowds, hearts hammering, aware of every gaze that lingered too long.
They ducked into a narrow alley, pressed themselves behind stacks of discarded crates and rubbish, trying to vanish into the shadows. Every clatter of a cart or shout of a street vendor made them flinch. They barely dared to breathe, lungs tight with tension, muscles coiled to flee at the slightest hint of danger.
Then, a small, quiet sound drew their attention. A small cat-like-person, fur black as soot, with a strange red mark streaking across its face—pushed open a side door and peeked out. Its large eyes glinted in the dim alley light. It raised a paw in greeting, tilting its head curiously, and beckoned them inside.
For a moment, Olivia and Christopher froze, unsure whether to trust it. Then the creature darted a few steps forward, looked back expectantly, and gave a small, insistent wave. With a shared glance, the twins nodded, hearts still racing, and slipped silently after it into the doorway, vanishing from the crowded, unfamiliar streets into whatever strange refuge the creature had promised.
