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Back home, Lumina sits on the edge of the bed, watching her son’s chest rise and fall unevenly. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan above and the occasional rustle of fabric as the boy shifts in his sleep. The afternoon light leaks through the curtains, muted and dull, casting a pale shadow over the floor.

He hasn’t eaten since morning.

He barely ate the oatmeal she made. Now he’s curled into himself, shivering even under the warmth of the thick blanket.

Lumina reaches out and brushes his damp forehead. Still warm. Still pale.

Her fingers linger on his cheek, slow and hesitant, like she’s trying to feel something more than skin and temperature. Something deeper. She closes her eyes and focuses—quietly calling on the energy inside her, the part of her that had never failed before. Her magic pulls forward like a slow breath, coiling in her palms, trained and precise.

But it stops.

There’s a wall.

A hard, quiet wall. Smooth and invisible. Blocking her completely.

Her eyes snap open.

She doesn’t panic, but her jaw tightens, and she pulls her hand away slowly. She doesn’t want to scare him if he wakes, but the tension already knots in her chest.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Not to her. Not when she’s the white witch. The only white witch still alive. The one others come to when they’ve hit dead ends. And yet, here she is, kneeling at her own child’s side, completely blind.

She stands and walks out of the room with careful steps, pulling the door softly behind her. Bianca is already in the living room, seated on the edge of the couch, eyes half-closed in deep concentration.

“Anything?” Lumina asks, voice low.

Bianca opens her eyes slowly. “No,” she says. “There’s something… I don’t know. It’s not dark magic. It’s not a curse. But it’s sealed.”

Lumina doesn’t answer right away. She walks to the window, parts the curtain slightly, and looks out into the yard. The sun’s barely there. Even the birds are quiet.

“We both can’t see it,” she murmurs.

Bianca nods. “Which means whatever it is… it’s not ordinary.”

Lumina presses her fingers to her temples. Her thoughts are a storm, quiet on the outside but roaring inside. Her son isn’t just sick. She knows what fever looks like. This—this is different. His aura isn't dim, it's fractured. Flickering in and out, like a flame caught in a breeze that has no direction.

“He started losing strength three days ago,” Lumina says. “It was sudden. he's been sleeping more than usual.”

“Has he said anything strange?” Bianca asks.

“No. He barely speaks. Just stares. Like he's listening to something far away.” Lumina exhales sharply and turns around. “I’ve seen things like this before, but not with a block this strong. And not with a child his age.”

Bianca’s lips press into a line. “It’s not poisoning. And not a psychic attack. I checked. No foreign essence.”

“I know.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The clock ticks on the wall, each second louder than the last. The air feels thick, like it’s holding its breath.

“I tried to reach the Council,” Bianca says. “But they felt nothing.”

Lumina scoffs quietly. “Of course they didn’t.” She rubs her hands together, feeling the burn of uselessness crawl over her skin. “If I can’t see it… if we can’t see it… then no one else will.”

Bianca nods slowly, agreeing.

They both know what it means. This isn’t something to wait out.

But also, they have no direction to run in.

Lumina looks toward the hallway, eyes fixed on the door of her son's room.

“I think it’s calling to him,” she says quietly. “Something. Somewhere. He keeps turning toward the same wall every night. Like he’s drawn to it.”

“Could be a dream pull,” Bianca says. “A spiritual tether?”

“But why would it block us?” Lumina snaps, too sharply, then sighs. “Sorry.”

Bianca shrugs it off. “You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Lumina mutters. But her hands are shaking slightly.

She walks to the wall and leans against it. It’s cold, everything looks fine on the outside but her instincts tell her otherwise. She’s not just fighting sickness. She’s fighting something crafted. Designed.

Bianca gets up and moves to her side. “Should we try to search again? Maybe together?”

“No.” Lumina’s voice is firm this time. “We’ll burn out if we keep pushing blindly. Whatever this is, it doesn’t want to be seen. We’ll need to wait for it to slip.”

Bianca doesn’t like that answer, but she nods. “Should I stay tonight?”

Lumina shakes her head. “No. If it’s trying to isolate him, the fewer auras around, the better. Maybe it’ll show itself.”

Bianca hesitates. “You’ll call if anything—?”

“I will.”

They exchange a look—long, heavy, quiet. Then Bianca leaves, silent as always, shutting the door behind her.

Night comes fast. The house sinks into stillness.

Lumina stands in the doorway of her children's room again. He’s awake now, barely, with their nanny beside them. Eyes open but unfocused. He doesn’t even turn to look at her.

“Hey,” she whispers, walking in.

No response. She nods to the nanny to go ahead.

She sits beside him, stroking his hair gently. “Can you hear me?”

A small nod. Barely there.

“What’s going on, baby?”

His lips move, but no words come.

She leans closer. “What is it? Tell me. Is someone talking to you?”

His eyes blink once. Then again. Still no sound.

She takes a deep breath and lays her palm against his chest. Feels the faint heartbeat under it. “Mummy is here okay?”

The girl is sound asleep beside him.

He finally turns his face slightly toward her, and for a second, just a second…she sees something in his gaze. Something old. Something… not his.

Lumina stiffens.

But the moment fades. He closes his eyes again. Breathes slowly.

She swallows the lump rising in her throat. Frustration slowly climbing up her chest, she has no answer to the strange illness. Theon is not back, maybe tell her if he feels his Lycan at least.