And then I jumped.
The first glide out over the water was mesmerizing. I saw the entire lake stretched beneath me, the water a dark gray-blue with streaks of turquoise where the sunlight hit it just right. Itfelt like flying, like I was soaring over an ocean. But on the second—I heard a snap.
I looked up just in time to see that those frayed and twisted ropes were no longer attached to the sturdy tree, but instead free-falling, along with me, toward the deepest part of the lake.
I remember the water feeling cold as ice. I swear there were whispers as I plunged beneath the surface. And I felt the lake wrap around me, like silk and stone. I remember thinking that this was it,this was how I’d die. All my father’s warnings flooded back through my mind.
I thought I was drowning, and I didn’t even think to try to fight it.
Then—I opened my eyes.
I looked up to realize that I was at the bottom of the lake, completely unharmed. Sandy rocks were strewn about, wilted underwater plants being pulled languidly toward what looked like a spinning vortex of water all around me. The lake churned above me like a tornado—with me at its eye.
I was terrified. What twelve-year-old wouldn’t be?
Never mind I remember thinking at that moment,this is actually how I die.
But then—I saw a shadow move above me.
A face appeared at the top of the vortex—dark hair, silver-gray eyes, the boy I had seen the day before. The boy on the swing. “Hold on!” he shouted. “Don’t move!”
Something dropped toward me—long and black. At first, I thought it was just a rope, but then it shifted, pulsed, moved like it was alive.
Likeshadow.
“Grab it!” he yelled.
I reached for the rope, and it curled around me protectively, almost like a hug. I was being pulled upwards from the bottom of the lake and out of the vortex. The shadow rope pulled mestraight into the arms of that same boy, who started swimming us to shore.
That was how I met Gavrail.
He was two years older than me and was the first person to teach me about magick. About how I could somehow shape water, speak to it, command it. He lived in the house next door and was the son of a Bulgarian general.
His power was shadow. Rare. Coveted.Dangerous.He could manipulate any shadow around him, and if none were to be found, he could create them in a rush of dark and shimmering night. He taught me to love magick… and to respect it.
His father was known for finding exceptional Magickteers—what Bulgarians call those with magick in their blood—to use for spying, fighting, and other things behind closed doors that no one talked about.
Gavrail and I spent every possible moment together. At the lake. In the forest. Curled up in his room reading books or playing card games. I had never been around many kids the same age as me before. He was my first real friend. Mybestfriend.
We’d spend hours laying out on the sun-warmed boulders by the lake, skipping stones, dreaming out loud. We’d talk about life, our hopes, the future…ourfuture.
It was on one of those boulders where he kissed me for the first time. I was thirteen—full of teenage hormones and the awkwardness of youth. I’d just had yet another argument with my dad about magick. I had come to my lake to escape.
Gavrail sat beside me while I cried into his shoulder. He brushed a tear off my cheek and told me to stop crying because he couldn’t stand to see me sad.
And then he leaned in and kissed me. My first real kiss.
It would be a couple more years before we did anything beyond kissing. But he was patient. Never made me feel rushed or ashamed.
We’d often spend our afternoons secretly practicing magick—tucked away in a quiet cove along the lake, far from disapproving eyes. Experimenting. Testing. Pushing the boundaries of what we could do. The guilt I felt for betraying my father was matched only by the rush that came with each new discovery, each new skill we mastered.
Together, we discovered we could merge our powers to create something new: a dark, viscous substance made of condensed shadows and water. We used it to catch insects we found high up in the trees or to snare fish beneath the lake’s surface. We even learned to shape it into a cocoon—a dome that stopped sound and sight—so that my parents couldn’t hear us when he’d sneak into my room at night.
We called itshadowmire.
One night, shortly after my sixteenth birthday, he came into my room, frantic. He was leaving. His father had been reassigned to a new post. They were moving immediately. He was shaking as he cupped my face and told me that he would find a way to come back to me.
Then he kissed me—deeply, desperately—and I asked him to stay.
