Day in the story: 4th October (Saturday)
Today marked exactly one week since I first awakened to my powers and looking back, it felt like a lifeti had already passed.
In just seven days, my world had cracked open. I’d created tools I never imagined myself wielding: the Usagi mask, the Travel Grimoire, Equinox, Ella and the Lifeline Talisman. Each of them felt like more than just items, they were extensions of my will, my survival instinct, my identity being slowly redrawn through ink, cloth, paint and pain.
I was also hard at work on my armor, my second skin, one I envisioned as a blend of utility and expression, a protective cocoon born of artistic intent. But it was still just a work-in-progress. I needed more than needle and thread now. I needed knowledge, technical, structural, sothing precise and sharp and I was hoping my lessons with Shiroi would eventually supply that missing piece.
Beyond that, I’d learned more than I ever thought I would about the strange, layered nature of my power. About what it ant to reshape yourself, to step into masks so convincing they began to think for you. I’d t others too, people like , caught sowhere between reality and myth, each with their own secrets.
And today, thanks to Mr. Penrose, I’d et another one.
But for now, I was being woken up by loud, cheerful voices coming from the common room. I pulled myself out of bed, dressed quickly and decided to check it out.
I was hit by the unmistakable sll of burnt toast and sun-drenched tomatoes on eggs, a mix of culinary disaster and sothing oddly hunger-inducing. The duality of bad cooking. Of course, the culprit was Peter, valiantly trying to make breakfast for Zoe, who was laughing her ass off on the couch next to Sophie.
“You’re finally up. Good morning, sunshine,” Sophie said with a smirk. “Wanna join us? Peter will provide sustenance… eventually.”
They both laughed while Peter groaned sothing unintelligible from the kitchen. Of course, I joined them.
“I don’t even rember the last ti I saw you in here,” Sophie said, looking genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, we’ve kind of been missing each other lately. Last ti I saw you, you smacked Jason’s head with a volleyball.”
“Well, if it weren’t for , you’d be married to him by now. No need to thank ,” she replied, grinning.
Zoe suddenly looked curious.
“What’s up with you and Jason?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing, I think,” Sophie said with a shrug.
“No, I was talking to Alexa.”
“What?” I blinked. “? Why?”
“Well, he’s obviously into you.”
“What?!” I said, at the sa ti Peter did from the kitchen. He brought over three plates of what could only generously be called breakfast and handed them out, then flopped down into the armchair opposite us.
“I noticed it back at the barbecue, when I ‘kidnapped’ Peter. Jason was watching you the whole ti.”
He was? That sent a small chill down my spine. I don’t usually miss things like that.
“And then at the match,” Zoe continued, “I’m pretty sure he let you hit him with the ball on purpose, just to play the goof again.”
Okay, that part might have been helped along by my secret magical powers, but I let her think what she wanted.
“And then that joke he made at the end of the ga, it was a joke, sure, but also him checking where he stands with you.”
“That… actually might be true,” Peter said slowly. “He once told that all the won he ets are superficial and boring. Then added he wished more of them were like you.”
“Excuse ?” Sophie said, turning sharply. “Jason said that and you just let it go? That’s basically a confession!”
“Well, I’m not great at noticing this kind of stuff…”
The girls nodded in agreent and apparently, I wasn’t any better.
“You really think he’s fallen for ?” I asked, suddenly serious. I’d honestly never considered it. To , Jason was always a bit of a clown, obnoxious, loud, flirty. But he had a good heart. And yeah, okay, he was good-looking: just slightly shorter than Peter, with bright green eyes contrasting with his dark skin, curly brown hair and a body he clearly took care of. Still, he’d always struck as soone who didn’t take anything seriously. That alone usually put off.
“I do,” Zoe said without hesitation.
“Didn’t you say he texts you every day?” Sophie asked. “Sends you s?”
“Yeah, but… he jokes with everyone, doesn’t he?”
“He doesn’t text every day,” Sophie said, arching a brow.
“Sa here,” Peter added. “And we’re all friends.”
“Oh damn… you’re right,” I said, realization dawning. “It should’ve been obvious. All n are vulnerable to my natural charms, after all.” I smirked. Only I laughed.
“You like him, right?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t know. He is a brat. And obnoxious as hell. But yeah… I kind of like him, actually.”
“He let you eviscerate him publicly after the match, probably hoping it would lead to sothing,” Zoe said. “Maybe you could give him a chance?”
“Are you serious? This is all just guesswork. Maybe he was just joking around like usual.”
“Are you and the tall guy serious?” Sophie asked suddenly.
“No, not at all,” I said quickly, too quickly, just to shut down the question.
“Then maybe give Jason a chance?”
“Guys. Did he put you up to this? What the hell is going on? You’ve never cared this much about who I date.”
“That’s not true,” Peter said, a little sheepishly. “We care, well, I do. I just didn’t say anything before, because you’re always busy with sothing. But you and Jason both told I should open myself up to eting soone and guess what? I did.”
He glanced at Zoe, who smiled at him. They were cute. And he was right.
“So now I’m saying the sa to you. Just give the man a chance. If it doesn’t work out, you’re not stuck with him, right?”
“Well, he is the glue that holds every party together. I’m bound to see him again…”
“So don’t burn that bridge,” Zoe said gently.
“Okay, okay. I’ll think about it. If and this is a big if, if I notice him making a move, I’ll take him up on it.”
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“Fair,” Sophie said quietly, though her voice seed distant, her mind clearly sowhere else.
“Everything okay, Sophie?” I asked gently. She looked at and for a mont it seed like she was about to open up, then decided against it.
“Yeah, just… so issues back ho.”
“Your parents?” I asked.
Her family was wealthy, the type that owned an upstate mansion the size of a castle, think de Marcos level. Her father worked mostly in the city, sothing to do with high finance. That’s why Sophie lived here, in one of his apartnts, ever since high school. It gave her so semblance of independence, if you can call that independence when your credit card has soone else’s na on it.
“It’s the usual. They might get a divorce.
Zoe imdiately hugged her and Sophie allowed it.
“If you need to cry it out, I’m always available,” I offered.
“No… It’s long past the point of grief. The finality of it just… depresses a little.” She took a deep breath, then looked at us. “I could use a distraction, though, if you two are willing.”
She ant a party. Girls’ night out.
It was Saturday. I had nothing planned. I could suck it up for a friend.
“Girl power?” Zoe asked with a grin. Sophie nodded.
“Wanna invite Hannah and Elena too?” I asked.
“Yeah and you could invite Peaches,” she added.
“I guess I’m no longer part of this conversation,” Peter muttered, glancing up.
We all ignored him.
He scoffed, grabbed his phone and wandered off with a dramatic sigh.
In the anti, we decided on a club, called the other girls and within half an hour, we were already set for the evening.
**********
Believe it or not, the eting Mr. Penrose had arranged for was supposed to take place at the man’s actual ho. He had invited for lunch.
I wore a dress and my best high-heeled shoes, topped with a lavender jacket, a matching scarf and a wide-brimd hat. I stood on the porch, supported by a closed umbrella, having just knocked on the door and waiting for the host to answer.
When the door finally opened, I was montarily stunned by a whole range of things. First of all, Mr. Penrose had told that Damien Leben, as the man was nad, was in his mid-fifties by now. Supposedly built similarly to Thomas but a bit shorter, with auburn hair. The man who opened the door… did not match that description.
He had ginger hair, yes and a few freckles lightly dusted across his nose, but he looked to be around my age, mid-twenties at most. He had a soft, puffy look to him, slightly overweight, with a defined jawline but fuller cheeks that gave him a kind of boyish charm. His eyes were a sharp, vivid green that stood out instantly. He was tall, maybe 6’2” and carried his weight heavily, but not in the sculpted way Mr. Penrose had implied. Definitely not a bodybuilder.
The second thing that hit , far harder than I was prepared for, was the sll. A swirl of rich, complex aromas poured out from inside the house the second the door opened. It hit like a bludgeon, sure, but with the finesse of an orchestra’s opening movent. Whatever he was cooking in there, I was suddenly starving for it. Enchanted and ravenous. If I’d been a little less in control, I might’ve actually blushed when he smiled at .
“Uhm… Mr. Leben?” I asked, forcing myself to focus, to rein it in just enough to speak.
“Yes, that’s ,” he said in a smooth, deep voice that sohow matched the scent of the house, warm, inviting and just a little disarming. “Nickolas Leben, to be exact. You must be Alexandra?”
“Nickolas?” I blinked. “Are you related to Damien Leben?”
Stupid question, he just introduced himself as a Leben, but it was hard to think straight for a second.
He laughed, of course he laughed. And it wasn’t obnoxious, either, it was easy and warm.
“You’d think the na might’ve given it away already. Yes, I’m his son. Please, co in. We’ve been expecting you.”
We? I was supposed to et Damien only. Wasn’t I?
Still, I stepped inside. He even offered a hand to help over the threshold, like I was so kind of guest in an old-tiy drama.
Nope. I didn’t take it.
I’m no damsel. I walked in on my own, thank you very much. Strong, independent woman.
The house was as warm as the scents and the welco I got from Nickolas. Light wooden floors stretched beneath my feet, soft beige walls frad the space, occasionally broken by exposed red brick that gave it a cozy, grounded charm. Family photos covered the walls, smiling faces frozen in ti. A woman appeared often in them, fuller in figure like the boy who’d led in. She had raven-black hair in the pictures. The man of the house was massive, built like a lumberjack, solid like he’d been carved from the sa bricks the house was made of.
I t them both in the kitchen. They looked almost exactly like they had in the photos. The woman smiled warmly, though I noticed now that silver streaks had started to thread through her black hair. The man in the photos had been clean-shaven, with a marine’s buzz cut. The man who stood before now had a beard down to his chest, hair to his back and a mustache that curled at the sides.
“Hello, Alexandra,” he said as he dropped a pinch of pepper into a thick stew. The woman turned from the salad she was tossing and smiled, gentle and welcoming.
“Nice to et you. We’ve heard only good things from Phillip about you.”
“He’s a good salesman,” I replied with a smile.
Damien laughed, deep and rumbling, like distant thunder.
“You’d think so, but back when we worked together, that wasn’t really his strength. If he’s praising you, then it ans you’ve earned it. What may I call you, to make things more comfortable?”
“Alexa or Lex. That’s what my friends call .”
“Strong. I like it,” he said. “My wife, Reality bless her, calls Dam. Says I’m built like one.” He laughed again, louder this ti and it really did sound like a wall of water hamring against concrete.
“Yes, you are,” the woman said with a smirk. “I’m Ariana. Please, take a seat. We’re almost ready.” She gestured to a chair, then shot a look at Nickolas. Without a word, he moved the chair back for . Clearly, good manners were part of the house rules.
“I’ve heard, Alexa,” Dam said as he returned to the stew, “that you’ve recently developed a Domain of your own. Is that right?”
Straight to the point. I appreciated that.
“Yes. But I’m like a blind woman stumbling in the dark with it. I’ve been learning as I go, trial and error until I get sothing right. My Anima helped understand it a little better, though.”
“Anima?” Nickolas asked, curious. “Your soul’s sixth sense?”
“Is that what you magic people call it?”
“To be honest…” Dam cut in, “we usually don’t call it anything. It’s just a feeling, after all.”
“What?” That surprised . “Just a feeling?” They all nodded. So, confird. All of them were mages.
“Well, mine’s pretty talkative, for just a feeling.”
“You talk with your Anima?” Nickolas asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure. Don’t you?”
They exchanged looks. Clearly not.
“Well,” Dam said, scratching his beard as he sprinkled sothing new into the soup, “you’re full of surprises, Alexa. No, we don’t. No one does, as far as I know.”
“What?” I blinked. “What do you an? I can call mine. It talks to . Like… full-on conversation. Like when it still guarded my soul core during my trial.”
Dam’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he stirred the pot. I noticed sothing flicker, his Domain glowing faintly, bleeding warm tones of orange and yellow from his hand to the stew.
“Normally, the Anima is just… a subconscious part of the soul. It guides your sense of right and wrong inside your Domain. Intuitive. Instinctive. But I’ve never heard of anyone having an actual relationship with it.”
So… I really was strange.
“But,” he added, “not many people develop Domains to begin with. That changes things.”
I leaned forward slightly. “So… how do you check if your soul core can grow? Or how close it is? If you don’t talk with your Anima, how do you even know what your magic can do?”
“We just feel it. Understanding is instinctual. It’s kind of like knowing when you’re full after eating, except it happens deep in your soul.”
“Can your Anima actually tell you the exact state of things?” Ariana asked.
“Yes, it can. It even described what my Soulmarks do, down to the details.”
Dam let out a low whistle.
“That is very strange… but maybe it’s related to your soul core sohow. We get that information too, but it cos more like… impressions. Feelings.”
I sat back slightly, nodding to myself.
So this wasn’t normal.
But maybe that was okay.
"You said not many people develop Domains, but you have your own, right? Each of you?"
“Well,” Dam replied, “we use a Domain I inherited from my father. I didn’t develop it myself. Most mages don’t. We usually carry on the Domains our forefathers and foremothers shaped back in the day.”
“I didn’t know that was possible,” I admitted, though, to be fair, I didn’t know much about any of this yet.
“Yes, it’s a common practice. It allows each generation to continue growing the Domain by joining their souls with its soul core.”
“So… any number of people can use the sa Domain? Anyone can join it?”
“No and no,” he said. “The number of people depends on how much the Domain has grown. When fully developed, it can support around ten people, if it accepts them. That’s the second part of your question. The Domain has a will of its own, in a way. To be accepted, we have to prepare ourselves, match its character and inclination and then pass its trial. Only then does it gradually begin to share its power with us, as our souls grow enough to hold it.”
“So you don’t get access to all the Soulmarks from the start?”
“No, not at all,” Ariana answered. “And not at their full strength, either. Our souls have to grow, to match what the Domain is willing and able to offer.”
“I see. Can you change your Soulmarks?”
“Not really,” Dam said. “Unless we choose to break the bond. If we do, we lose access to its power entirely, but then we can begin building a Domain of our own. Usually of a similar nature, since our souls are shaped by what ca before. But we’d be starting from scratch. Not many people decide to do that.”
“So… you’re all under the sa Domain?”
“Yes, we are,” Dam confird with a nod. “I was the first in this little circle. Then I let my wife in on the secret and the Domain accepted her soon after. My son joined about a year ago.”
“How do you refer to people like us?” I asked. “Just… mages?”
“Mage is the most common term,” Dam answered. “So people use Domain Lord or Domain Lady. And for people like you, those who created their own Domain, so call them Sourcerers.”
“Sourcerers? Like—from source?”
“Exactly. You’re the source of your Domain’s power. Hence, sourcerer. But it’s not a widely used term.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
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