Paola sat cross-legged on the wooden floor below deck, feet tucked in close, tail curled lazily around her ankle. The lantern light swayed gently overhead, casting soft, warm shadows across the cramped space. The ship creaked around them, a slow, steady rhythm that had become almost comforting.

  Across from her sat Yucca.

  Her white hair spilled over one shoulder in a smooth cascade, catching the light like polished glass. She was petite, not much taller than Paola herself, her frame slender and precise in the same way her magic was. The dress she wore balanced on a careful edge between revealing and elegant—sheer panels, structured seams, fabric that flowed when she moved but never seemed accidental. Yucca never dressed by accident.

  Refined. Classy. Controlled.

  She was everything Yasmin wasn’t, which was exactly why Paola was sitting here instead of trying—again—to learn magic from a woman who treated every problem like it could be solved with a larger explosion.

  Yasmin had tried once. Paola still remembered it.

  Yucca cleared her throat softly. “Alright,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Let’s try this again. Slowly.”

  Paola smiled sheepishly. “I’m listening. I swear.”

  “I know,” Yucca replied, not unkindly. “You’re just… approaching this backwards.”

  Paola tilted her head. “How?”

  “In Udanara,” Yucca began, her tone shifting into something gentler, less academic, “magic is not something you do. It is something you allow. Mana exists everywhere. In the air. In the ground. In living things. All people can, in theory, use any elemental expression of it.”

  She paused, making sure Paola was following.

  “The difference,” Yucca continued, “is cost.”

  Paola nodded slowly. “Mana usage.”

  “Yes. Affinity determines efficiency, not access.” Yucca lifted one hand, and a thin pane of glass formed above her palm—clear, flawless, hovering effortlessly. “For me, glass responds easily. It costs little. It obeys cleanly.”

  The pane dissolved with a soft chime.

  “If I tried to use fire,” Yucca said, making a small face, “I could. But it would drain me faster. The mana would resist. The structure would be unstable.”

  Paola thought of Ayla, flames and frost answering her like extensions of her will. “And chaos?”

  Yucca hesitated.

  Just for a fraction of a second.

  “Chaos magic,” she said carefully, “is the least studied affinity we have.”

  That fraction of a second told Paola more than the words did.

  Yucca’s expression tightened as she went on. “Not because scholars lack interest. But because those who manifest it…” She winced slightly. “They do not usually live long lives. Or lives that allow observation.”

  Paola’s ears dipped. “Because it’s dangerous?”

  “Yes. And because it is uncooperative.” Yucca met her gaze. “Chaos does not want structure. It does not want repetition. It resists patterns. That makes experimentation… difficult.”

  Paola snorted softly. “That tracks.”

  Yucca allowed herself a small smile. “Your abilities function because you don’t try to command chaos. You move with it. You react. You disrupt. That is why your mana usage spikes when you try to ‘cast’ the way others do.”

  “So when I try to force it,” Paola said slowly, “I’m fighting my own affinity.”

  “Exactly.” Yucca nodded. “You are not meant to shape chaos into forms. You are meant to introduce it.”

  Paola looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. Bone claws. Teleports. Random elemental effects. “So I shouldn’t try to, like… throw chaos fireballs.”

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  “Please do not,” Yucca said flatly.

  Paola laughed. “Okay, but what about elements? You said anyone can use them.”

  “Yes,” Yucca said. “With training. And cost. You can learn to manipulate fire, ice, lightning—but it will never be elegant for you. It will always feel… wrong. Heavy. Expensive.”

  Paola leaned back on her hands, staring at the low ceiling. “So my best option is to stop trying to be something I’m not.”

  Yucca tilted her head. “You are already terrifyingly effective.”

  Paola smiled at that, small and genuine.

  “Chaos magic,” Yucca added quietly, “is not about control. It is about timing. Pressure. Knowing when to break something and when to let it collapse on its own.”

  Paola looked back at her. “That I can do.”

  “I know,” Yucca said.

  The ship creaked again, lantern light swaying, the world above them moving steadily forward.

  Still, Paola’s mouth pulled into a small, stubborn pout.

  “I still want to throw fireballs,” she said. “At least once. Or… I don’t know. Water balloons. Without the rubber part.”

  Yucca exhaled slowly through her nose. “You are remarkably persistent.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  Yucca studied her for a moment, then nodded once. “Very well. We will try again. Carefully.”

  She shifted closer, knees brushing Paola’s, and lifted one pale hand between them. “Do not think of fire as something you command,” Yucca said quietly. “Think of it as something you invite. Flame burns because it wants to. It consumes because that is its nature.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “Focus on ignition. On hunger. On breath meeting spark.”

  Paola followed her lead, lifting her own hand. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. She imagined warmth. Friction. The way a flame licked upward, never still, always reaching.

  Mana stirred.

  A spark caught.

  A small flame bloomed above her palm.

  Paola’s ears perked. “Oh—hey! I did it.”

  Yucca leaned in, eyes sharp, pleased—

  And then the flame darkened.

  Not smoke. Not shadow. Fire. But wrong.

  The orange flickered once, then sank inward, collapsing into a tight, dancing black flame that drank light instead of casting it. It hummed faintly, like something satisfied.

  Yucca raised an eyebrow.

  Paola sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. That. This is how it always… always manages to be.”

  She let the flame dissipate. The darkness vanished without heat or ash.

  Yucca stared at Paola’s empty palm like she’d just uncovered a rare specimen. For half a heartbeat, something feral and excited flashed across her face. Curiosity sharpened to a point.

  “That,” she said carefully, “needs to be studied.”

  Paola snorted. “You say that like it’s good news.”

  “It is,” Yucca replied immediately—then caught herself. Her expression smoothed, composure snapping back into place like a mask settling. “Later. Not here.”

  Paola shook her head, ponytail swaying. “Figures.”

  They sat there for a moment after that. Lantern light. The creak of the ship. Silence that didn’t demand filling.

  Then Yucca spoke again, softer this time.

  “Paola,” she said. “Are you… okay?”

  Paola blinked, then laughed lightly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

  Yucca didn’t smile. She shook her head once. “That was not an answer.”

  Paola opened her mouth, then stopped.

  Yucca continued before she could deflect. “I spoke with my sister,” she said. “About you. About Earth.”

  Paola’s ears twitched.

  Yucca’s gaze flicked briefly upward, toward the deck, then returned to Paola. “Your world does not kill people like this,” she said quietly. “Not casually. Not constantly.”

  “It does,” Paola said automatically. “Just… differently.”

  Yucca tilted her head. “But not like Udanara.”

  No accusation. No pity. Just observation.

  Paola stared at the floorboards for a long time. Long enough that the ship shifted beneath them. Long enough that the lantern swayed twice.

  “I’m okay,” she said at last.

  Paola’s voice went flat, the last of the warmth draining out of it as the words settled between them.

  She glanced up.

  Yucca was watching her closely now, opalescent eyes catching the lantern light in soft, shifting colors. They met Paola’s brown gaze, gold-flecked and tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

  Yucca nodded once.

  Not in challenge. In understanding.

  “My sister and I grew… differently,” Yucca said quietly. “We could do things others could not. Manipulate forces that frightened people. So we were taught early that power meant responsibility.”

  She folded her hands together. “And that responsibility meant learning how to fight.”

  Paola listened, silent.

  “We learned how to kill,” Yucca continued, not shying away from the word. “From a young age. Cleanly. Efficiently.”

  A faint smile touched her lips then, softer than Paola had ever seen it. “Yasmin, somehow, survived that without losing herself. She is… unbearably cheerful. Even when she shouldn’t be.”

  Paola nodded. That tracked.

  “My point is this,” Yucca said, turning back to her. “This Earth you come from. Whatever rules shaped you. They are not these rules.”

  She hesitated, then added, “I have spent a great deal of time with Evan.”

  Paola’s ears twitched.

  “He hides his trauma behind humor,” Yucca said calmly. “It is effective. People laugh. They stop asking questions.”

  She met Paola’s eyes again. “But he is not okay.”

  The words hung there, heavy but not accusatory.

  Yucca inhaled slowly. “I know this has been… hard. Harder than you allow yourself to admit.” Her voice softened further. “You do not have to speak to me about it.”

  Paola swallowed.

  “But,” Yucca added, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly, “you have three beautiful girlfriends.”

  Paola huffed a quiet, startled laugh.

  “They care for you deeply,” Yucca said. “They would want to hear about it. Even the parts you think are boring or ugly or inconvenient.”

  Paola looked up toward the ceiling, toward the sounds of movement above deck. Laughter. Footsteps. Familiar chaos.

  Ayla.

  Poca.

  Yasmin.

  She let out a slow breath, something in her chest easing—not fixed, but acknowledged.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

  And for the first time in a while, that felt like enough.