Chương 206: Act 3, Chapter 56: Casting a net

Day in the story: 22th January (Thursday) Maya, the seer I could not change into the light yet. I felt like it was something I could do while on Earth, but my powers as a seer were not on a proper level yet. I did not know whether they required training, realization, or just long hours spent scrying around, but there was no time to sit in the Domain and do nothing. It was time to test myself in a proper setting.

Alexandra helped me put on the Waterflow robe, which adjusted its size to my small frame, and sent me to the University's grounds for my first scouting mission. With the cloth being lightly blue and my own skin greyish-silver, I was able to blend into the colors of the sky—for the most part—allowing me to move through the air. Ever since my creation and waking up, the feeling of freedom that came with being able to fly unrestricted had been something each one of us enjoyed very much.

Soaring above the buildings like that, while the streets with all the people, cars, and animals stayed below, was nothing short of fantastic. This was not, however, why I was here in Earth's New York. Alexa had contacted Caroline, telling her that she was feeling okay for every-day functioning, but that she was having constant, reoccurring freezes on her left side. They had gotten worse as of late—more frequent and lasting longer.

That fact would not allow her to put the proverbial boots on the ground and get on with investigation. She asked about progress on Reyes's case, but nothing substantial had been uncovered so far. That left me to do the watching and searching. Seeing—or rather, understanding —the world as a seer was nothing like I had imagined. Sight became irrelevant. Eyes were just crude instruments, designed for surfaces and light. I knew aura—I'd been living with access to it for some time now as Alexa and the others.

Aura was too small a word for this new sense. It was a vast and that extended in all directions, threading through brick and bone, pavement and blood, without resistance. In this form it reached far beyond what Alexa or the others could manage—stretching across entire city blocks in a silent, spherical dominion. Every soul within that radius flared against my perception like a pale light suspended in dark water.

Those nearest to me burned brighter; those at the edge of the expanded aura were little more than embers. Everything possessed a soul. Not a ghastly echo of flesh or mind, but something structural—woven into the very fabric of reality. A blueprint of being in all its facets. It was overwhelming. A cathedral of living and unliving presences, each vibrating with its own hidden geometry. Magic was different.

Whenever something supernatural had occurred, it was as though a droplet of something dense had fallen onto this fabric of the world. From that point, concentric ripples had spread outward, thinning as they traveled until their effects faded. Those ripples carried the intent. I could sense where power had been shaped, where Authority had pressed against the seams of existence. Every manifestation of Authority carried an echo of the senses so inherent to a physical being.

When someone shaped an effect that channeled Authority over the mind, it bore shades of pink and teal. It also carried the sound of distant whispers, the scent of something potent yet faintly unpleasant—like fish fresh from the ocean mixed with the smell of ozone—and the sensation of a light touch pressing against me. None of it was perceived by my body. Every impression was felt by my spirit alone.

It was no longer a surprise that Beatrice, upon learning how to bring her form into this world, had been able to find magical people so easily—their will was heavy when I was close by. And so I rushed through the skies basked in the warm morning sunlight in this way to find one too, and upon learning of his whereabouts, we would devise a plan on how to bring him down once and for all. Elle Erikson For a group so intent on action, my Paris friends—still-to-be—sure did like to take things slow.

For the last week, they'd been meeting either in the same hotel I was staying at, inside Bastien's house—which I did manage to find thanks to my little spider helper—or in various spots around the city. There came a time, however, for me to make my own move. I had learned enough of their ways and habits to make it effortless and foolproof this time. And the sun was just right.

At least, that's what I hoped for—I wasn't as much of a social engineer as Alexa or Jess Hare, but I still had access to their experiences, so I kept my fingers crossed. I perched against the tallest window of the café Bastien frequented on his way toward the hotel, sipping my coffee from a fine porcelain cup. In the other hand, I held my book about learning French, which I'd read religiously over the last few days, trying to remember as much of the language as I could.

This time, however, it was just a prop for a scene I had designed to grab the guy's attention. My tote hanged on the chair's backrest waiting patiently to be conveniently forgotten in just a minute, while one of my paper spiders nested itself over the counter. With eyes painted on its back, it give me the perfect view of myself and entire room. I am not one to gloat, but my artistic inclination left me in no delusion—I looked absolutely stunning.

The golden morning sunlight framed me in a coat of light, darkening my entire silhouette, making me appear like a painting shaped by nature itself. A beautiful woman cast against the canvas of a perfect moment. The porcelain cup in my hand caught the sun in a way that made the steam rising in thin, curling tendrils look like a smoke dancing against the waking world. He was there, inside the café, standing in line, waiting for his own cup. Like everyone else, he noticed me.

He glanced twice, making sure I appeared absorbed in reading and not paying attention to him. He reached for his phone and took a picture of me discreetly—then another, and another—unaware that I was watching everything. Right then, I reached for my own phone, pretending as if someone had just called me. I played it up, speaking as if it were a nerve-wracking conversation, letting the storm of emotions wash over me. All the while, he continued taking photos of me still framed by the sun.

I left my book on the table, along with my coffee and the bag, argued with a fictional person on the other end of the line, and stormed out of the café, leaving everything behind me. Alexa smiled somewhere in my mind, proud of the performance. Bastien stirred, briefly stunned—but he was selfless at heart. I had confirmed that much after observing him over the past week. He had even helped a few elderly ladies cross the street on occasion.

A person like that wouldn't leave a bag behind—figuratively or literally—while its owner ran off. My paper arachnid captured the moment he grabbed my things and followed me outside, but unfortunately for him, I was already in my hotel room—courtesy of the world bending to my will. This was the place where I planned to meet him again. Folded Arachnid #117 I crawled. Wall was floor. Room was small. Between two tall wooden things I squeezed myself for a while. There were beings in here I observed. This was my mission.

Hide and watch. Do not be seen. She'd asked me—the life giver. This is what I would do. Female in suit talked with a man. My goddess was listening. They finally mentioned the man she was interested in. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I was good. Best of helpers. Maya, the seer One of the spiders inside Alicia Bergman's office caught her talking about the Rhythm after all that time.

They had been crawling all over EoT's lab floors for quite a while now. There was a rift in the commonality of goals between him and them—apparently even before his fight with Alexa. He had started arguing with them and eventually cut ties, which, according to what the spider overheard, did not land well with Miss CEO. For us, however, this was very good news. There was no mention yet of where I might be able to find him, but in time either they, or I, or any of us would stumble upon him.

In the meantime, I would fly around, searching blindly for a kind of magic that felt like music. Elle Erikson I moved into the hotel hall and sat on one of the sofas, doing my best to look distressed. He was already on the way, as seen by the folded spiders skittering along the outside of the building. There were quite a few of them hidden in the nooks and crannies, making sure that nothing unexpected would reach this place while I was inside.

I was fairly certain he had seen me here a few times already when visiting his friends, but I left nothing to chance and placed a room card inside the tote I had casually "forgotten." He had bolted after me, but only caught up now, making his way through the revolving door at the front. He stopped dead in his tracks—breathing steady—and turned until his eyes until they landed on me. He scanned me briefly before making his move. My face was buried in my palms, my hair in as much disarray as its length allowed.

The phone lay screen-down on the table beside me, and I cried as if my life depended on it. He braced himself, taking a deep breath, letting the air fill him with both energy and resolve before his body finally obeyed. One step. Then another. He held the bag close to his chest and extended his free hand slightly, as if to call out to me. That was the moment—seen perfectly through external eyes—when I pulled the thread of fate exactly where I wanted it.

It felt dangerously easy to become the one pulling the strings and if I ever wanted a chance at becoming something different than a cliché villainess I'd need to try my hardest to disregard the dopamine hit that accompanied it. I uncovered my face, throwing my head back slightly, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. Tears painted my face, mixed with anger—just as our eyes met in a moment of carefully orchestrated destiny. I smiled.

Slowly at first—a shy attempt—then fuller, my eyes opening wider as the corners of my mouth lifted into something genuinely warm. He froze as a perfect scene struck him right in the chest. I had learned that about him—his love of photography made him keenly attuned to moments framed just right. Space, people, lighting, ambience, gestures, context—all the seemingly mundane elements that formed a compelling scene had aligned. And he, unknowingly, was an actor rehearsing a role I had created for him.

I covered my mouth for a split second, then sprang to my feet and ran toward him, wrapping him in a full embrace. Each of my action following a script as well.

"Thank you," I whispered. I pulled back just enough to take the tote into both hands, scanning it intensely from bottom to top. When my gaze lifted, it didn't stop at the handles—it found his eyes again.

"Merci," I added in my broken French, giving him space to respond. He hesitated, swallowing his indecision.

"I saw you leave this in the café. I thought I should return it." I exhaled, wiping the tears from my face.

"I thought I'd lost it for good. I had both my purse and my hotel card in there. My whole life, really—besides this stupid phone. You saved me." I checked the contents again, making sure everything was there, including the book. Almost any man would take a hero compliment well.

"It's nothing. Anyone would do the same," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

"You'd be surprised how untrue that is. I'm Elle Erikson." I extended a hand toward him.

"Bastien Laurent. It's nice to meet you," he replied shaking the hand. Then he quickly corrected himself.

"I mean—nice to speak. I can see it's not exactly a good day for you. That's not what I meant."

"Oh, that?" I gestured at my face. He nodded.

"I just learned that the last person close to me died—my grandmother. She raised me after my parents died thirteen years ago. I knew it would happen sooner or later, but it still hurts."

"I'm sorry. I hope things get better for you."

"They already did. You showed up." I said, watching his cheeks warm.

"I am also extremely sorry for oversharing."

"Not an issue. I have to admit, I've seen you around," he said.

"But it's not easy for me to approach women."

"You wanted to approach me?"

"More than once." He squirmed in place.

"Would you mind asking me out for dinner sometime soon?" He hooked his fingers behind his collar, stretching the fabric slightly.

"I wouldn't mind at all."

"So?" I prompted.

"Would you like to have dinner with me, Elle?"

"That would be lovely. Very thoughtful of you," I teased. We exchanged contact information quickly. While we were talking, the rest of his group began filtering into the hall—Lia and Patricia first. Both immediately noticed me standing close to Bastien. Lia's face tightened into a faint grimace. She might be a problem. There had been something there—something unresolved. Bastien turned, noticing them as well, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

"Your friends?" I asked, pulling his attention back.

"Yes." He looked down at me again.

"I had a meeting arranged with them. I'll call you right after we're done. What do you think?"

"Of course." The rest of his group gathered in the hall, smiling, whispering among themselves, waiting patiently for us to finish. I touched his arm lightly at the triceps, giving a small, deliberate squeeze—a quiet thank-you—before stepping away. I moved toward the corridor, passing his group as if I belonged there only for a moment. Most of them simply looked me over with curiosity. Lia did not. She watched me with a frown, confirming my earlier suspicion. She might become a problem.

"You look beautiful." Bastien's first words were not especially original or thoughtful, but they still felt nice. It was his reaction to seeing me when we met near the Seine. He had proposed a restaurant, but I declined.

"Thank you," I answered with a small bow of my head. I wore tight jeans, a cashmere sweater, a faux-leather jacket, and a long scarf hanging behind me, topped with a black beret. He had on fitted black pants, a shirt, a sweater layered over it, and a fashionable puffy jacket. He looked nice—not strikingly handsome, but eye-catching in a way that carried a certain magnetism.

"I was surprised by your refusal to go eat. You were the one who mentioned dinner."

"Yes, but I couldn't wait and ate something before. I still wanted a date though. I hope you don't mind." And it was easier to control the situation outside, where my little army of spiders crawled slowly around us and birds flew above—both paper constructs giving me perfect vision.

"No, of course not. I don't go on many dates though."

"Why?" I asked bluntly. I wanted him to open up to me, no matter the reason.

"I spent a lot of time abroad in England, and then my father's death brought me back here."

"My condolences." I walked beside him. The tempo of our steps was slow and measured. I knew he loved taking strolls like this, looking for an opportunity to capture some unusual moment.

"Thank you. It was debilitating for me. That man was my anchor in the world, and him just not being there when I needed to talk sent me on a wild downward spiral. I'm not going to sugarcoat it—I've only gotten better recently."

"Passion or your friends?"

"You have a keen mind, Elle. Passion first, then the prospect of my friends coming over."

"What is the thing that keeps you going, then?"

"I take pictures. I'm a photographer." He spoke at length after that—about exposure, digital techniques, and his favorite subjects. It was clear that the magic he had shown before was tied to that craft. When he paused to catch his breath, I took the chance to steer the conversation.

"Was it something you found on your own? Or did your father get you into it?" He paused briefly, then recovered like a champ, stopping and turning toward the river. We watched the water flow.

"He was a real artist. Worked with actors, singers, politicians. Made portraits, but also beautiful landscapes. I was fascinated by his photos since I was three. There was always someone in our house. He was a very social person, while I wasn't. I still am not." So, most likely a legacy mage.

"After your mother?"

"Never knew her. She died during my birth."

"I'm sorry again."

"Don't be. How could you know?" He smiled at me.

"I feel like we've spent a lot of time together already. And while I enjoy you listening to me, I hardly know anything about you, Elle."

"My life isn't that interesting. My parents owned a paper factory before they died. Paper was my mother's business—my grandfather ran it before her. My grandmother took care of me after all those deaths, until, as you know, she also passed on. My family were all enthusiasts of carte blanche—white pages?" I asked, and he nodded.

"They lived by it—weights, structure, dimensions, colors, all those details. I wasn't as obsessed, but something stuck with me. I started doing origami from all those sheets lying around. It's quite a passion of mine." I reached into my handbag and pulled out one of my better-made paper birds—this one inanimate.

"That's amazing. I never knew paper could be folded into something so intricate."

"You think so?" I asked, playing enchanted by his interest in my small hobby. I held the moment, letting our eyes meet again—another fragment carved into something picture-perfect. He caught the shimmer in my eye—something I crafted myself as well, a flicker of shadowlight that faded just as quickly as it appeared. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. I smiled and stepped closer, biting my lower lip as I closed my eyes. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

It was warm, firm, and deliberate. His hands settled against my back, sending a shiver through me. When we finally parted, I whispered, "I'm so happy to have met you."

"Me too," he answered, completely taken.

"It might sound a bit cheeky, but it feels like destiny unfolding." I let my gaze drop, feigning embarrassment.

"I feel the same way, Elle." He lifted my chin, making me look at him again. Whether it was fate or design mattered little. I had woven it so none could tell the difference.