A/N: And here we can see the faint beginnings of the conflict. Everything from the past will be explained or connect in time. Happy reading!

Lunar

Eight Years Later

The sun peeks out weakly from behind grim-looking clouds, casting a faded light onto the clearing where Maka seethes at the paper in her hands.

"Work, you stupid spell!" Maka growls at the haphazard runes that, according to her mother's book, are supposed to shape the wood in front of her into the mainframe of a house.

Seemingly mocking her, the pile of wood remains as it is, sitting in front of what used to be her and Blair's home. Against her will, Maka's eyes drift to the house's ruins.

She grits her teeth at the sight of the ashes and charred wood and goes back to furiously staring at the paper as if by the weight of her glare alone, she will make the spell come to life.

Muttering darkly under her breath, she takes her quill and makes a small adjustment on the last rune, hoping her change does the trick. Thus far, she's managed to turn the wood into rather questionable-looking frogs, nearly set said frogs on fire and transformed them back. She waits with bated breath, unknowingly crumpling the ivory colored paper in her hands.

The sight of flames within the wood and the smell of smoke inform her that the wood is now actually on fire.

Letting out an oath that would make the regulars at Blair's tavern proud, she drops the paper and quill in her hands and yanks off her cape, beating the pile of smoking wood furiously. When the flames have fizzled out, she allows the cape slip from her hands and bends down to pick up her things.

Laying her eyes on her spell paper, Maka gives a small groan. Mud smudges one of her carefully drawn runes into illegibility, making the entire spell completely useless.

Not that it wasn't completely before that, an unbidden voice whispers wryly in her mind. Maka resists the urge to crush the page to a pulp, glaring at the singed wood. Little puffs of smoke float up into the air, smugly gloating at her.

Fighting the urge to kick something, she goes to fetch her mother's spell book. She rifles through it, coming to the page she wants. Bringing the book close to her face, she scrutinizes her mother's fluid handwriting with her careful imitation.

Snapping the book shut, she places it back in the knapsack she "borrowed" from some unsuspecting visitor and looks back at the page, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at her temples. Just as she thought, she replicated the spell perfectly.

She looks down at the page in melancholy. "Then, why-?"

A raindrop lands on her nose, interrupting her train of thought. She narrows her eyes, looking up at the darkening clouds. Even the Earth is working against you.

For an instant, Maka pictures tossing her knapsack onto the pile of wood along with her paper and quill and watching the whole thing go up in flames.

The feeling of more raindrops splattering onto her skin clears her mind. Deciding the paper might at least be salvageable, she stuffs her paper and quill into the knapsack with an irritated hiss.

Tugging the tarp she brought over the wood, Maka tramps her way into the woods, making for the path that leads back to the village. A suspicious snap behind her makes her whirl around, pulling a strip of paper from her sleeve, a nearly complete spell written upon it.

Before she can twist open her ring to reveal the hidden tiny dagger within it, she hears a familiar cry.

"Kitten, no!" Blair appears in a puff of purple smoke, raising her arms. "It's just Blair!"

Maka relaxes, nudging the ring back in place. "You nearly scared me to death, Blair!" she scolds weakly, massaging her heart from where it'd leapt in her throat back to her chest. She sets her hands on her hips. "I was about to strike you with lightning!"

Blair, who had been looking apologetic, sniffs at this. "A cat has nine lives, you know."

"Not cats that are as reckless as you," Maka retorts as Blair shifts back to her cat form and hops onto her shoulder.

Settling comfortably on Maka, Blair replies amiably, "And you practicing your magic in broad daylight isn't, nyah?"

Her mother's words of caution ring in her ears and Maka scowls as she moves from the forest to the faint trail winding its way through the trees. "You make it sound as if I'm practicing out in the village square."

Blair flicks her tail back and forth, unperturbed. "You might as well be. How would you explain that house if you actually had managed to raise it up?"

Maka struggles for a moment to find a rebuttal. Coming up with none, she huffs, "I would have thought of something."

Thunder rumbles in the distance. "It's a needless risk," Blairs says, uncharacteristically serious. "We're fine living in the rooms above the tavern."

"Yes, I know," Maka sighs as she continues to walk, the light rain continuing to fall upon the pair.

She balls her fists as she remembers the day from a few weeks ago, when she and Blair came home to find the cabin mysteriously burnt down. They had been able to salvage nothing from the smoldering ruins. Everyone they had asked said no one had even wandered into their area of the forest that day which made the whole matter more unusual. "But I want our home back."

"No," Blair disagrees. "It might have started out that way but you're obsessed now. You want to know why your magic won't work."

"It does work!" Maka's words reverberate throughout the forest, coming out louder and sharper than she meant. The frustration that had been steadily building within her bursts abruptly, allowing melancholy to crawl into its place. She sags her shoulders dejectedly.

Blair hisses as she begins to slip from her spot and Maka straightens hurriedly.

"Sorry," she says, looking at Blair.

Blair begins to purr gently. "It's okay, kitten."

"It's not." Maka stops walking, glancing at the dull-colored heavens. It mutes the color of everything around her and now it seems to be forcing its way in her. "The sky's been that gray color for weeks before the rain came in and that's exactly when our magic started getting weaker." She gestures behind her. "Before I would have been able to fix our house. But now? Nothing."

She digs her heels into the softening ground, remembering all her failed attempts to create a new house. "No matter how hard I try."

Her heart twinges painfully and something pricks at her eyes.

Blair stops purring, swatting her tail against her shoulder. "Maka."

Maka can't unstick her throat but turns her head to Blair.

She feels Blair sit up. "You wouldn't know this because you haven't been alive for six hundred and twenty three years but the magic in the land moves in cycles. Sometimes it is stronger than normal and sometimes it is not."

Hope frees Maka's voice. "So this is normal?"

"Well, no." Blair licks her paw. "But the land also responds to what happens within it and we did have that war with Mortaranae. That was pretty devastating."

Maka frowns in confusion. "But that was eight years ago."

Blair moves onto her other paw. "That's not even a blink of an eye for a land as old as Vita."

Maka begins to walk again. "You talk about Vita as if it were actually alive."

Blair tilts her head. "And why not? It's the main source of our magic, which is basically its pulse. So long as it doesn't disappear, we'll be fine."

"If you say so," Maka says skeptically while the knot that'd been stuck in her chest for weeks eases. Mud squishes underneath her feet as the light rain from before begins to fall in earnest.

Blair shrinks from the rain and burrows herself under Maka's chin, her soft fur tickling her neck. "Yes, I do say so. Now get us out of this rain!"