Andy and Esthen broke into a fight whiles training out their elements. They both took stands , they were about fight . Esthen charged, Andy did same. It began with physical contact fight and continued with both of them using their powers. It became a rare and bloody fight. Someone had to stop them or else the city would have become a very big mess. Andy got Esthen down and was about to finish him off , Marsiah then showed up to stop and end the fight for good. Esthen got up and ran off but they were too late to catch up. Andy looked for him all night but couldn't find .
Andy sat down quietly and meditated in sorrow, he felt a firm grip on his shoulders . He turned in a fast pace and saw it was Esthen. They both sat down and apologised then had a long talk with each other. They came home the next morning.
Worried Marsiah gave a nice w
The wind howled through the empty corridors of the old manor, carrying with it whispers that sounded eerily like Esthen's name. I called out again—louder this time—but only silence answered. My footsteps echoed against the cracked marble floor, each one a reminder of how far I'd come and how little I'd found.
Esthen had vanished without a trace. No note. No warning. Just the lingering scent of lavender and the half-finished sketch on her desk. I clutched the drawing, its lines trembling in my hands, hoping it held some clue. But it was just a face—mine—staring back with eyes full of questions.
I searched the garden, the attic, even the cellar where she swore she'd never go. Nothing. The world felt hollow without her laughter, her chaos, her light. And yet, something told me she was close. Watching. Waiting.
"Esthen," I whispered, voice cracking. "Where are you?"
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arm smile after seeing them coming. Esthen told her why he ran thinking he got scared of somet
I stumbled into the greenhouse, its glass panes fogged with age and neglect. Vines curled around the rusted frames like fingers trying to hold on to something long gone. This was Esthen's sanctuary once. She used to say plants listened better than people. I never understood what she meant—until now.
A single orchid bloomed in the corner, impossibly vibrant. Beneath it, a scrap of paper fluttered in the breeze. I knelt and picked it up. Her handwriting. Slanted, hurried.
"Don't follow the light. It lies."
My breath caught. What light? Was she warning me? Or someone else?
Suddenly, the air shifted. A faint hum filled the space, like a distant melody played underwater. I turned, heart pounding, and for a moment—I swear—I saw her. Just beyond the glass. Pale. Still. Watching.
I ran outside, calling her name again. But the garden was empty. Only the wind replied, whispering secrets I couldn't yet understand.
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I didn't sleep that night.
The house creaked and groaned like it was remembering something it couldn't quite say. I sat by the window, watching shadows stretch across the lawn, waiting for a sign—any sign—that Esthen was still out there.
At dawn, I found myself drawn to the attic. I hadn't dared go there before. The door resisted, swollen with age, but I pushed through. Dust hung in the air like fog, and the scent of old paper and forgotten memories clung to everything.
In the corner, beneath a moth-eaten blanket, was a trunk. I opened it slowly.
Inside were sketches—hundreds of them. All of me. Some smiling, some crying, some staring blankly into nothing. But one stood out. It was recent. The ink still glistened. In it, I was asleep, curled on the window seat…just like I had been hours ago.
My blood ran cold.
She had been here.
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cter who's searching for her too?
hing.