Copyright © 2026 All Rights Reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any for, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information browsing, storage, or retrieval system, without permission in writing from Arden Erimitis.
Zinnia stood at the mullioned window as the room transformed into its new form. In the space that her office once stood, a sanctuary for magic and imagination woven into form emerged. She did not shape it - she never had to, for every student at Breezemaple Academy for Gifted Learners could attune to the magic of this space with their every imaginable preference. The instant a student stepped through the threshold separating the school grounds from this sacred space, the room answered to them. Roen always chose the cosmic forest. Lanky and restless, yet wise beyond his years, he possessed a quiet gentleness that shone through every interaction. His slender, cyan form flickered as he moved, as if made of sky and water. Lavender hair drifted around his angular face like strands suspended beneath a tranquil pond. He wore an asymmetrical, leafbud-colored tunic, cropped trousers, and his signature, oversized boots that seemed to be the only thing holding him to the ground. Ever guided by wonder and the mysterious, his buck-toothed smile promised playful curiosity, and he was always one Zinnia looked forward to in her sessions. Zinnia lowered herself onto her haunches across from him, her presence a quiet, contained radiance softened beneath a glamour enchantment. To Roen, she appeared as an enchanting unicorn: a coat the color of moonlit snow, a mane curling in slow, smoke- like eddies, and eyes that shimmered like distant galaxies. Her horn arched gracefully like a comet's tail, glowing with a reverent light that hinted at immense power. The illusion was more than a disguise; it was a necessary act of kindness. Beneath layers of spellwork and intention, Zinnia's true unicorn form remained hidden. In its place, a centaur-bodied being of immense magical potency restrained the burden of her gifts beneath a glamour, for her power was greater than any onlooker could withstand. Zinnia learned early that her unfiltered power could fracture a room without her even uttering a single word. Others believed they saw her fully, but only she knew what she had to sacrifice to stand among them- especially the students at Breezemaple Academy. She understood too well the effect her power had on others.
So, she dimmed her light. She could not bear to be alone -not after what had happened to her family. Light filtered through the arched panes behind her and glistened off a roped garland of crystallized wildflowers that chimed softly when stirred by the breeze. Around the room, budding plants unfurled into contained blooms of starlight, their glow reflecting off bookshelves carved from hollowed burls, where starmist drifted in slow currents. A cabinet of student files stood rooted along one wall, flanked by gnarled, twisting roots that pulsed faintly with eclipse-light, as if something ancient waited within. Nearby, on an end table covered with galactic moss, its glow rising and falling in quiet pulses, sat a simple box of tissues. A quiet reminder that emotions were welcome and safe in this space. A hanging shelf hovered close at hand, its edges threaded with constellations that gleamed like suspended amber. Puzzles and games were nestled there, tools Zinnia often used to guide students during their counseling sessions. Between Zinnia and her client- fashioned from Roen's own imagination and creative will- a game board stretched wide across the floor. Beneath it, the ground itself- if it could be called that- shifted pools of galaxies that orbited quietly under the pieces as the game began. Roen rolled the die. It clicked twice, then settled. A crooked grin spread across his face. “See,” he said, tapping the die, “in a normal game, rolling something like this would wipe you out. You’d lose resources, abilities- everything you’ve built.” He leaned back, pleased with the outcome. “But here? Rolling a one just means a light drizzle.”
Zinnia tilted her head slightly. “Because we’re in the Water Element of the map?” “Uisciúil,” he corrected, gently pointing out details with unmistakable pride. “Ish what?” She leaned closer, studying the board. “Uisciúil,” Roen repeated. “A place where everything yields and flows.” He pointed across the board, his fingers moving with familiarity. The detail was remarkable. “Here- Teine.” He traced the region of hand-sketched, ember-veined terrain- an area defined by flame and ash. “Talamor.” Dense earth spread outward in layered strata across that area of the sketched map, and a carefully crafted perimeter of exposed roots thread along a barrier of steady, stone formations. “Speural” Currents of cloudforms were rendered as shifting ribbons across the next area of the map- depicted as a slow, languid stream. “And Cridhal” The final region shimmered- dedicated to the element of Spirit, its terrain blurry, as though it was still being dreamed into existence. “When you’re dealing with the elements,” he continued, “you want more peace and less potency.” Zinnia nodded. “A higher roll means more power. And more power has the potential to become chaotic… uncontrollable.” Roen beamed, his buck teeth flashing unabashedly. “Exactly. There are only certain times you’d actually want that.” “For instance?”
He nudged a small figure across the board. “In Uisciúil,” he said, “if something’s blocking your path, you might need more force to move it. A drizzle won’t do much.” Zinnia’s gaze followed the movement. “But you never want a 20, or everything gets destroyed?" “Basically,” he said, shifting another piece across the water terrain. “Too much, and you don’t move the obstacle- you wipe out everything around it. He flashed an appreciative glance at the school counselor. "Not bad for a one-million-year-old teacher. You're still open to learning new tricks," he teased. Zinnia whinnied a hearty laugh, the sound warm and unguarded. “I am not a dog, and I am certainly not one million years old! Besides, it's always a good thing to remain a student to life. That’s my aim.” She winked. Her attention drifted across the remaining regions again, lingering briefly on each before settling on the last. “I can only imagine the devastation if these lost control all at once.” Roen nodded, more serious now. “Especially Cridhal.” “That’s the point, isn’t it?” she said. He leaned forward slightly. “Most days, it’s not about beating bad guys or anything. It’s about deciding if what you’re doing helps… or harms.” Zinnia raised a brow. “Not bad for a 1-year-old sylph." "Yeah, if 1 equals 262 turns around the sun." They shared a brief laugh before Roen straightened, his posture shifting to a more serious stance.
Zinnia tilted her head. “You mentioned earlier you were reconsidering your path.” Roen exhaled, his gaze drifted toward the trinket shelf that shimmered with luminous elixirs. “Yeah. I was thinking the Emberveil path at first.” “And now?” “I don’t think it fits.” He traced the pattern of the swirling galaxy beneath his crossed legs. “It feels… inward. Like everything’s about mastering yourself. Which is important, I guess. But it also feels… selfish?” Zinnia watched him carefully. “Selfish how?” “I can only do so much for myself,” he said. “But if I figure that part out… I want to use it for something bigger. Help people. Actually do something.” Her expression softened. “So the path of self-mastery feels… limiting?” He nodded. “Yeah.” “And the alternative?” Roen straightened a little. “Oathkeeper.” The word settled softly, as if the room had been holding a place for it all along. Zinnia inclined her head. “That’s a meaningful shift.” “We did this unit in class,” he said quickly. “About alignment and responsibility. About choosing action over isolation.” Her eyes flickered with recognition. “And?” “That’s when I knew.” He gave a small, almost embarrassed shrug. “When we said the Oathkeeper's Creed out loud.”
Zinnia’s voice gentled. “Let’s check in. On a scale…” “Of one to ten, ten being most important,” he interrupted, smiling now. “Yeah, I know. It’s an eleven.” She huffed a quiet laugh. “Or a twenty, if we're playing a game?” Roen laughed outright. “You almost get it.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice into a playful, booming register. “But you still have a ways to go.” Zinnia dipped her head in a small bow of acknowledgment. “And the student becomes the teacher…” After Roen left the office, Zinnia faced the cosmic forest and bowed her head once, letting the silence settle where conversation had been. Her horn gave a low, steady hum- marking the beginning of the reset ritual. This ritual served two purposes at once: to clear the healing space of residual emotional energy while transcribing Roen’s session into the archival system. Zinnia remained still, allowing both processes to begin simultaneously as the room prepared itself to release and record what had just occurred. Horn glowing, she called the flames first. The fire split from a single, floating flame into controlled spirals, pulling residual energy from the space. Shadows of words and emotion unraveled from the room’s edges and rose like smoke, which swelled into a large, dark cloud. Thunder rolled once before raindrops fell, rinsing off the room with a cleansing shower and extinguishing the last of the cleansing flames. Above the cloud, clear bubbles began to form- soft, weightless spheres emerged as the shadow-cloud loosened its contents. As the rain ceased, the dark mass rippled apart in slow, dissolving waves, and the bubbles drifted through it in gentle spirals, collecting what the storm had carried: unsaid words, lingering emotion, fragments of memory. Each one filled, darkening, as it moved through the room.
Below them, the room shuddered like a living creature shaking water from its back. Droplets slid across every surface, carrying the last remnants of the session’s energy as they fell away. Curtains lifted and billowed on an unseen wind. Books fanned their pages of any remaining dampness and returned themselves to order. Floorboards creaked and shifted apart, revealing a hidden drain where the lingering energy droplets disappeared. The room responded in clocklike motions- walls realigned and furniture slid back into its original configuration, restoring Zinnia’s office as if it had never been disturbed. As the dark bubbles drifted toward the archive cabinets, they arranged themselves into a precise pattern- the visual key required to unlock the confidential files. The archive towered nearly to the ceiling, crafted from deep mahogany polished to an ancient sheen. Carved pillars framed its structure and were accented with intricate woodwork that resembled curling vines. When the final bubble settled into place, the password was complete. A hidden drawer slid forward, revealing the student file marked ROEN. Hovering above the student file, each bubble broke without sound. What was once carried settled onto the waiting pages like feelings translated into ink. Zinnia exhaled slowly. Then she noticed it. One bubble remained behind- the final bubble that had completed the archive's password, static in its assigned place, refused to transfer to the student record. It was the same bubble that had served as the final component of the archive's authorization sequence. Necessary. For without it, the file would not have been accessed. The archives never hesitate. Zinnia stepped closer. “Sync,” she commanded.
The bubble remained unchanged. Denser. Stranger. Roen would have never shared anything like this. Zinnia hesitated, caught between instinct and protocol, sensing that whatever darkness it contained needed another entry point. As if on cue, the archives responded, and a second drawer opened. Zinnia’s heart seized, cutting her breath short. “It couldn’t be. I destroyed this.” A distant memory flashed through her mind as she stared in disbelief. She had discarded this very item into a Forgetter's Pouch- a spellbound bag designed to consume and erase its contents without a trace. Some things were never meant to be found again, yet here it defiantly rested- a handbound tome, unmistakable and intact, that once served as her private journal. Its presence left her deeply unsettled, like the spell of the bag had been undone by a power greater than the magic that first bound it. Zinnia knew of only one force capable of such a breach. Denial toyed with her, despite the confirmation in her gut. Could this truly be the bound memories she had cast out, or was her mind fabricating an illusion to shield her from something else? And what, then, was the strange energy suspended in the bubble beside her- why did it feel tied to the answer she was afraid to face? She had nowhere left to send it. No place to discard it, no way to unmake it. Her mind, surrendering to necessity, called for an empty page. The bubble broke. They were Roen’s words, unmistakable. She knew them the moment she saw them- still carrying the weight of when he first spoke them. “Can someone lose themselves completely following a path they think is right?”
She stared at the entry on the page. “But why this book? Why not his file?” Regret rose sharp and immediate in her chest the moment the question surfaced. The archives would not withhold the truth. The tome turned of its own accord and stopped on a section that contained the very words she had sworn never to read again. She knew the exact page that was calling her. “The hook of these memories constantly undoes me. Everything rebuilt, reclaimed, refashioned. Gone. By the mere small tug of his smile.” Shadrek. His face emerged in a flash of memory- first as it had been when they were young: human, handsome, and disarmingly charming. Then the image shifted. Years unfolded in moments. The features sharpened. The transformation came: muscle and myth fused together into the centaur he would become- stronger and infinitely more dangerous. Finally came the version she knew best: older, hardened, and marked by corruption. It lingered most visibly in his eyes. Once warm and bright with ambition, they had become dark wells of malicious calculation. This was not an ordinary lament over lost love. This was merely a fragment of his hold on her. This entry was meant as a reminder and warning. It was always his smile. The smile that arrived before every betrayal. It was cruel and convincing. Danger disguised as promise. And he knew exactly how to use trust once it belonged to him. And by the time she understood that truth, her family had already paid the price- they trusted that smile, and now they existed only in memory. And her children? They could never learn the truth.
Some truths do not heal when uncovered; some truths become weapons forged for vengeance. The journal snapped shut at Zinnia’s command. The archives followed in response, sealing themselves away in silence. Even unicorns weren’t immune to nightmares. Why had Roen been the one to awaken this? He would never face the cost of losing everything- not if she could prevent it. Emotion surged through Zinnia as she considered it. This could become the core of her speech- a warning. Shadrek’s face flashed in her mind’s eye, and the rising rage shattered her focus. On this day, of all days, it felt as though his energy meant to destabilize her. Her gaze drifted toward the podium schedule pinned to the far wall: her speech, her acceptance address, the unveiling of a stained-glass window made in her honor. People would be expecting grace. Poise. Not this. Not her like this. “You will not command me!” she yelled in an effort to sever his energetic hold on her. “You are nothing but a lie!” She spat through grit teeth. Zinnia grounded in where she stood and forced her breath into a calming, cyclical rhythm. The tightness in her body eased, unwinding until the necessary shift for transformation could anchor itself. Her mind intoned the invocation- words that called forth her true shape, formed in a language known only to her kind.
The invocation hit Zinnia like a force to the chest, and she swayed back under its intensity. A flash of iridescent light erupted from her horn, sending warm tingles through her body, and she returned to her original, full-powered form. Zinnia whinnied and kicked the earth beneath her. She opened her eyes. Good. It had been contained.
Arden Erimitis is an author, poet, and mixed-media artist based in the Midwest. Having worked in youth advocacy for over thirteen years before becoming a published author, Arden dedicates her energy to encouraging the creative spark in others so that they can utilize their voice, personal strengths, and creative potential to make a positive difference in the world. Connect with Arden on Instagram at @arden_erimitis_author and support her work at www.patreon.com/ArdenErimitis.