The Pale Sierra's month long voyage across the skies of Iberra was coming to an end. After touring most of the continent, it was due to pull back into Mythport in just a couple of days. The final night of the trip promised to be a lavish party, but today, Celia was enjoying just relaxing. It was supposed to be getting cold back home, but this far south, the weather was perfect for lounging on deck in a wide brimmed hat and fancy new glasses meant to help keep out the sun, sipping a fruity cocktail through a straw.
"So Celia, what sort of whirlwind adventure are you off to next?" Gale asked. Gale was Celia's unofficial cruise buddy. She knew all the best drinks to order, and had a seemingly never ending supply of gossip.
"I don't know," Celia admitted, taking another sip from her drink. "I hadn't really thought about it yet. I'll probably have to find another map of the world and see where I haven't been yet."
"Is there anywhere left worth seeing?" Gale asked.
"Of course there is," Celia said. "I could travel the world for a thousand years and I wouldn't see it all."
Celia cast a glance overboard to the landscape of Iberra slowly passing by underneath the ship. Up here, towns looked small blurs of silver, connected by a shiny latticework that made up the railways. But all she could picture was the hundreds of interesting people and places and things that must be down there, waiting to be seen, explored, experienced. And this was just one continent. There was so much in the world. She wanted to see it all. Hear it all. Live it all.
"Celia."
"Hm?" Celia looked back to Gale.
"What?" Gale replied, confused.
The elven bard blinked. She could have sworn someone had said her name. And the voice sounded familiar. She stared at her half finished cocktail. Maybe she was over the drunk hump?
"Celia. It's Dad."
Celia froze, as memories came back. Rides on shoulders. Dancing by the fireplace. Being left behind. An argument in the woods. A conversation in a bar. The amount of times she'd tried to forget this. The word escaped her lips in a whisper.
"Dad..."
"Whatever you do, stay away from the Library!"
Celia recognized this magic. Had felt it more than once, though it was usually Irvil or Quarele's voice coming through. Stay away from the Library. Easy enough. Didn't even know where to find it. Plus her dad was there, and she'd been avoiding that connection for the last three decades. Sort of. Technically, he'd been avoiding her. Or, well, actually, neither of them knew how to find each other.
"Can do," Celia replied. She was just about ready to forget the conversation too. But then things kept going. A new voice came through. She recognized it too.
"Whelp. Your father has failed. This Library is ours."
Celia was shaking. She wanted to run, or shoot something, but Drake wasn't in front of her. He was in her head. So she sat in her chair, her blood cold as ice. And suddenly it wasn't glasses in front of her eyes. It was slats of a closet door.
And in that moment, Celia couldn't forget. She tried, she tried so hard. Every instant she pushed the memories down they just came right back. It wasn't working. It always worked. Why wasn't it working?
The fear settled deep into the pit of her stomach. Her fingers twitched, desperate to feel the comfort of a crossbow trigger and finding a cocktail glass. Vacation Celia was gone. She was back to who she was whenever she got into a fight. Words of an old friend came back to her, as they so often did.
"It's okay to be scared, kid. Scared makes you dangerous."
The half orc had always been a bit of a jerk. But he'd also been very right. In that moment, shaking in her seat, Celia felt very dangerous. And very done with feeling trapped in that closet. She wasn't Aime anymore. She was Celia Amakir.
The spell, she knew, would let her send a reply. As fear coalesced into anger and frustration, Celia knew exactly what to send back.
"I'm going to kill you."
"What?"
Celia blinked. "Oh. Not you, Gale."