After this ordeal, Vieva isn't sure if she'll be able to ride Diadys without hurling. Her body hurtles downward, narrowly missing a flailing Owain and Derald, who screams in such a high pitch it makes her wince.

At least she'll have something to tease him about after.

Vieva slaps her hands to her side and keeps her toes pointed, feet together tightly. Her hair streams behind her like a banner, shining in the weak light. She squints against the biting wind, hissing as it cuts into her eyes and causes her to narrow her eyes into slits, so it prevents her from finding the ground. She dodges Lysabel, who falls in a starfish like form. Her face is frozen in a mask of terror.

If she weren't careening through a dark tunnel, she'd roll her eyes.

From a young age, Vieva had been trained on how to react in any given situation. An attacker, when surrounded, when you were unarmed. Everything and anything Father could think of. It had been one of his greatest gifts to her; giving her the skills to defend herself without her magic. Though now, even though she's only harnessed her mage magic for a few months, it feels as though it's been with her throughout her entire life. In a way, it had. She just hadn't felt it.

Vieva inhales sharply. She sees something, through her blurred, teary vision. A small white light, so tiny it could be that she's just imagining it. But as she continues to fall, the light becomes brighter and brighter, engulfing everything around her. Vieva puts her forearms up, tucking her face in, bracing for impact.

But it never comes.

Instead, she lands on a crystalline beach, pristine and utterly serene. The sand is almost as white as her hair, and no dunes or footprints marr it's pure surface. The water is gentle, soothing, so translucent she can see her features clear as a mirror. It crawls softly on the sand, slow and creeping, then recedes, only to come back again.

Vieva had visited the oceanside multiple times, but only for the summer. And being nobility, she couldn't exactly go and frolic in the water. There had been standards even when she had been a young child. But seeing it's endless expanse, the way it blends with the horizon, tears come to her eyes involuntarily. There is a certain grace in the ocean's harmonized movement.

Vieva inhales deeply, relishing the salty tang in the air. Her grandmother, though Vieva had never met her herself, had always gone to the seashore, according to Father. She had claimed that the sea air 'cleansed her soul'. That said, she'd also been a woman of many superstitions, but she had been right. Each breath replenishes her, and the tension built up from days of worrying about the safe slowly chips away.

The safe! All thoughts of the sea are pushed away by her panic. Where is she? There most definitely isn't a hidden beach so far underground and besides, she can see the sky. Where has she landed? And where are the others?

A sense of foreboding washes over her, like a wave. Now, as she looks at her surroundings again, she realizes everything is too perfect. Too preserved. A real beach would never look like this. Her senses sharpen at the realization. This is all fake.

"Vieva?" She whips around, startled by the voice at her back. Her cousin stares at her, amber eyes confused.

"Caedric." She runs to him. "What are you doing here?"

He gestures to her with his hands. "What are you doing here?"

Vieva rears back slightly. "I'm here to defeat the Warlord." She narrows her eyes. Her gut churns with the premonition that Caedric is acting strange.

Something darkens in Caedric's normally bright, warm eyes. Something foreign.

"You? Defeat the Warlord?" He laughs cruelly, smile thin and sharp. "Don't be delusional, Vieva."

Vieva crosses her arms, maintaining her role in playing along. Keeping one eye on Caedric, she looks for anything out of the ordinary. There must be some way out of here. Everything has a loophole.

"Do you not believe I can do it?" Vieva turns her attention fully to him, wanting to hear his answer. All her life, all her lessons, have all been to prove that she's worth something, that she can be all her Father wants and more. This is her moment to shine. To make him proud of her. For him to truly see her.

Caedric clucks his tongue apologetically. "You're nothing but a little girl, trying to act heroic. Without your magic, and your name, you're nothing."

Vieva's fists clench. Though he can't be her actual cousin, his words bite, carving themselves in her mind so she can't forget. Nothing. She blinks away tears.

"You're wrong," she says angrily.

"Am I?" he whispers, feigning pity.

Vieva stutters to come up with an answer, and her mind panics. No. She is worth something. She is important. She will defeat the Warlord.

"You won't succeed, darling." Vieva recognizes the voice. The chin. The sloped eyes. It's Mother.

"No. I will." Her voice takes on a tremble that she despises.

Eissa approaches, barefoot, white dress billowing greatly in the wind. Vieva recognizes it. It used to be her favorite dress, and she used to dream of wearing it herself. Now, the image of it stings, reminding her of when she had been a child.

"You're just a child," says Eissa placatingly. She dips her head gently, smiling softly. "Come. Stay with us. Forget this fool's errand."

Vieva withdraws. Mother has never smiled at her. Eissa, in her own way, cares about Vieva, but public displays of emotion has never been something Vieva's accustomed to. She sees people embracing their loved ones, kissing them on the cheek, and wonders what it would feel like.

If you listen to your mother, you will know. You will know what it's like to be loved.

"No," whispers Vieva, pressing her fingers desperately into her scalp.

"Do you know why they brought you along?" Caedric takes a step forward, staring down at her. "They need your magic. That's it. They don't want you."

Vieva takes a rattling breath. None of this is real. Caedric is not real. Mother is not real. This beach is not real.

"Daughter." Vieva gasps at the sound of Father's voice. Low, gravelly, quietly assuming. Father steps into the light, eyes hard and cool. "You shouldn't be here. You'll just be a burden to them."

"You're wrong!" shouts Vieva, for seemingly the hundredth time. She breathes rapidly. "None of you are real."

Mother tuts sympathetically. "Oh, my dear, we are. We are your true family. We are the only ones that love you." She opens her arms, beckoning. "Come."

Vieva calls upon her magic, her true constant. She finds comfort in knowing her magic is the one thing that will never leave her side. It will never doubt her, or patronize her. It will just be.

I'm done with this. She doesn't know how much more of their remarks she can take. Vieva brandishes a sword of flame, sparks dripping. It's a neat little trick Professor Evenfall had introduced to the Arcanes just last week. Unfortunately for her, her inexperience shows-- the flame morphs and sags in places, so really, it just looks like a plank of sorts. Caedric's face twists into a nasty snarl, while Mother's eyes pinch angrily. Father merely sighs. The sight makes her heart ache, because of its familiarity, but she keeps her tight grasp on her weapon.

"What's wrong?" Vieva mocks. "No magic?" A triumphant smile curves on her face. "I knew you weren't real. I was right."

"We don't need magic," comes from Mother's mouth, except it's not her voice. Vieva falters lightly but covers it up. All of a sudden, her family's faces begin to melt, skins oozing away and features melding together. Vieva screams but keeps her eyes on them. She can't afford to look away. The bright, firehose red of Mother's nail paint changes into claws, ugly and gruesome. At that moment, Vieva realizes who she faces.

Changelings. She'd learned about it in Anthology, earlier in the year. Changelings are monsters that take on the face of anyone, as long as they have the right name. The Bestels are one of the most known families in all of Ruxnorth so it comes as no surprise to her that the beasts could wear her family's face. As her family disappears before her, the monsters stand in their place. They're about Caedric's height, long, lithe, and knobby. Their claws wink brightly, and their dull, yellow teeth gnash excitedly at her.

"We will delight in wearing your face, young Bestel," they hiss, as they prepare to pounce. Professor Beledras's words come to mind. If a changeling kills someone, they can permanently take over their body and form. Terror spikes through her and she whips her sword in front of her.

"My face doesn't belong on a thing like you," snarls Vieva, digging into her adrenaline and anger. These creatures don't deserve to wear her family's faces. More of Beledras's words present themselves in her mind. The only way you can fully kill a changeling is by cutting off its head. Otherwise, it will just remold itself.

With a yell, Vieva charges, muscles pumping with her fiery magic and adrenaline. The combination makes her rush forward faster, only one thought in her head.

I will make it out alive. I will end these monsters.

The changelings screech with excitement, and then scream as fire slashes against their grimy skin. Vieva swipes up, leaving a gash in the first changeling, the one who'd taken Mother's face. It shrieks at her in an unknown tongue, so foreign and unsettling Vieva nearly shudders.

The other two launch at her, enraged. With a yell, Vieva brings her sword of flame up, shielding her face as the changelings come at her, claws outstretched. Vieva nearly gags from the stench of the melted sinew and flesh, as the fire comes in contact with the changelings' skin. It's in that moment that Vieva realizes that the changelings aren't actually fighters- their strength lies in their reputation, their looks, and their abilities. Not from their dueling skills.

Knowing this, she presses forward. With a determined swipe, she hacks one head of the one that's took Caedric's face. Blood splatters across her face and collarbone, freckling her dress and her skin. The stench almost causes her to retch in disgust, but she forces the nasty sensation down so she can focus on the remaining two. As the last two changelings size her up, the exhaustion hits her, bone-deep. The pressure of fighting with a heavy sword and keeping her magic alive takes its toll. Her knees quiver and a leaden tiredness settles in her bones, but Vieva still raises her sword. She won't yield.

Bestels never yield.

The changelings hiss at her angrily. Vieva responds in turn, nearly spitting flame. Sparks erupt as she cuts the salty air with her flame. Angling her sword over her shoulder, Vieva bolts, spearing one of the changelings with her sword, twisting gracefully to bring her sword back. The changeling writhes in pain and with one quick movement, Vieva separates its head from its body. It's knobby limbs fall in a collapsed heap of stench.

The last changeling has disappeared, instead replaced with Father once more. She meets his steely eyes, confidence wavering.

Father-no, the changeling-sizes her up, hands clasped tightly behind it's back.

"You can't fight me."

Vieva edges closer, rooting her mind in reality. It's the changeling. The one she has to kill.

"I can, and I will," she whispers vehemently.

The changeling spreads its arms, laughing. Vieva stops at the sound. The laughter, in Father's voice. It's a strange sound.

"Oh, daughter, I've already won." A smile curves on his face. He takes a daring step forward. "I know you. I know that as much as you try, you don't have what it takes."

He brandishes a small knife, rusted and dented. But in the oceanic gleam, it shines wickedly.

With a whip quick movement, the knife jerks forward, and Vieva feels a blinding flash of pain in the right side of her face. She gasps, then inhales sharply at the pain the action brings.

"You are nothing," he murmurs to her. "And you have never been anything but."

Vieva slumps to the sand, hands trembling. Father-changeling-stands, brushing the sand off his dress pants lightly, then turns briskly on his heel. Inside, something rages. Something hotter than the sun, burning brilliantly. Begging to be released.

Faster than she thought she is capable of, Vieva jerks up, and skewers the last changeling. Father gasps, a sound that melds into an ugly shriek. The creature flails. Vieva leaves it anchored to the sand, the sword buried deep. It tries in vain to escape only widens the wound. Vieva comes to the front of it. The changeling, in a last-ditch effect, glares up at her with Father's face. But Vieva doesn't stop.

"I am Vieva Bestel." She says in a quiet, strong voice, before conjuring another small dagger. Without another thought, she cuts off it's head.

Vieva sinks to the ground, her flame extinguishing. Her slimy, bloodied hands shake violently, and she keels over, unable to suppress the vomit rising as she surveys the dead monsters around her.

Her face flares in pain but Vieva can't find the strength to touch it.

The world crumbles into black around her.

>>AUTHOR'S NOTES:

here it is! as the Elixir comes to a close, I just wanted to shout out to all the people who have supported me through this journey. this story is one I care about a lot, and seeing people enjoy and comment about it warms my heart. thank you so much, and I'm so grateful for all the love the Elixir has gotten;)

peace&love,

raniaditi