The Invisible String Theory

Chapter 4 - Where the Magic Lingered

(One More Dance - D4VD / Hostage - YAØ / Heartbeat - Isabel Larosa)

Once across this portal, we settled on the outskirts of a town. A sign pointing into its direction just outside the opening of the forest next to us– Liora Vale.

"Rest here for now," he said quietly. The flicker of firelight licked across the rocks, casting warm, amber shadows across the dark stretch of Liora Vale's outskirts. Though the town below looked quiet—almost asleep beneath the scattered lamplight—the night around us breathed with the chill of fading magic and old earth. I sat with my knees drawn to my chest, quietly mending the gash on my shoulder. Pale light shimmered at my fingertips—cool and steady, despite the dull throb echoing through my bones.

Loki leaned nearby, arms loosely crossed, the fire reflecting in his eyes as if it burned only for him. "You do that rather well," he said after a moment, his tone casual. Studied.

I glanced at him. "Not my first time."

"Is it... always like that? Drawing from yourself?"

I tilted my head. "From myself?"

He gave a slight shrug, as if pretending indifference.
"Your magic. It's tethered to something. I felt it. When you amplified me back in Vekra—it had weight." There was something beneath the words, but I couldn't quite place it.

"You're being oddly curious right now."

"Maybe I've grown fond of mysteries." He threw a twig into the flames. "Or maybe I don't enjoy surprises at my expense."

I narrowed my eyes. "Since when do you ask questions you don't want the answers to?"

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Touché."

"Why were you in Elyndor in the first place?"

He didn't answer right away. Then, without turning my head, he said, "I heard a rumor, that there might be relics left behind– rare magic, forgotten history." His voice was maddeningly light. "I thought I could make a pretty penny from what was left."

I stared at him, trying to decide if I felt surprised or if I'd somehow already known. "So... scavenging," I said, tasting the word. It felt like ash on my tongue. The ache bloomed slow and quiet in my chest. It wasn't rage. It was something else. Something smaller. Something lonelier.

"I guess we both found more than we bargained for," I said softly.
Loki didn't respond. I didn't expect him to.

Still, I could feel it—the tether between us had stretched since Vekra. No longer taut and immediate, but deeper. Rooted. We stood at last and turned toward the town.

From a distance, Liora Vale looked half-abandoned: sleepy homes tucked into hills, small light radiating from its center. But the closer we walked, the more that illusion unraveled. The streets burst into color. Lanterns floated overhead like tethered stars. Stalls spilled warm light and music into the alleys. People laughed and danced and bargained with grins stretched wide.

"Well," I breathed. "Would you look at that? You know you owe me this right?"

He sighed. "You'll stand out," he said finally, a half-glance at my travel-worn clothes. "And not in a charming way." Before I could say anything, he snapped his fingers. The magic shimmered—faint enough to survive the town's suppression but potent in its precision.

Fabric shifted against my skin, I gasped as the weight of new cloth settled over my shoulders. The heavy cloak was gone, replaced by something cleaner, quieter. A pleated wool skirt now hugged my hips and fell just past the knee, deep black with a fine, subtle pinstripe. Tucked neatly into it was a crisp, cream-white button-down shirt—fitted, the sleeves rolled casually to my forearms. Over-the-knee socks and simple oxford shoes completed the look, the kind of ensemble that whispered intellect with an edge.