Without another word, Mastro performs a series of intricate gestures with his hands, murmuring words I can neither hear nor comprehend. It’s clear I’m in danger. I need to protect myself—but against what?
Suddenly, I’m distracted by a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. A strange, wet, sucking sound, like a boot being pulled from thick mud. And before I realize what’s happening, my mother shoots past me, her clothes fluttering to the ground.
Under normal circumstances, I would be mortified to see my mother’s naked body, but my usual sense of propriety is completely overwhelmed by sheer astonishment. I can see straight through her—as though she’s made of crystal. No, not crystal... something else entirely. She’s made of water.
In the short distance to Mastro, her form changes. She transforms into a massive sphere, and when she crashes into him, she engulfs him entirely. The action is so sudden and executed with such speed that Mastro has no time to react. Mastro's look of horror is unmistakable. He struggles and fights her, but she’s too strong, too fluid, giving him nothing solid to grasp. Bubbles of air escape his gaping mouth. Good, I think with grim satisfaction. All this fighting will only make him run out of oxygen faster.
My gaze shifts to Angel. Will she try to help him? But no—although she has turned around, she doesn’t move any closer. Her expression remains unreadable, her complexion paler than ever. It’s clear that we have nothing to fear from her. She’s just a little helpless girl caught up in some kind of nightmare.
The fight between my mother and Mastro only intensifies. Within the rushing sound of water I hear my mother’s voice. “You should have stayed away from my daughter, Julius. You should have killed me when you had the chance. I wouldn’t have been the first you got rid of for the greater good. I always wondered what happened to your predecessor. His death was quite unexpected.”
Mastro has his eyes closed now. His movements have slowed, and he’s gradually turning a deeper shade of blue. But at the very moment I think my mother is actually winning, his eyes shoot open, and his mouth starts moving again. He’s saying something—something unintelligible. Maybe a prayer, a Hail Mary, or… no. It must be a spell.
“Mom!” I shout. “He’s going to—” But before I can finish, my mother explodes.
“NOOOOOOO!”
With a loud thud, Mastro falls back onto the black tiles. He’s drenched, coughing violently, but otherwise unharmed. Angel’s expression remains enigmatically blank. And my mother? My mother is gone. Scattered across the square–a million shimmering water droplets glistening like pearls on black silk. I stare at the tiny fragments of her around me. Is she dead? She must be. How could anyone survive this? Something burns behind my eyes. Not the familiar anger, but an immense and unfathomable sense of grief and loss.
“So,” says Mastro matter of factly. Nothing’s left of the soothing voice I got to know and love. “That is done. She did this to herself. There was no other option. I’m sure you see that.’ I hear the hint of regret in his voice but I don’t care. I don’t even try to respond. Only a half hour ago I’ve gotten to know my mother and already she’s taken away from me. I sink to my knees. There’s nothing to fight for anymore. Everyone I love is hurt, has fallen or died. Why would I still stand? Time to let go. Time to lay my head down.
"Exactly, Maxime Kwintens. It's time to accept the inevitable—checkmate. Red wins, green loses. Although, I must admit, my trust in The Balance is somewhat shaken. That out of all the people with amazing talents and powers, you should be the one meant to counter-balance me is utterly laughable.”
His insult doesn’t hurt me; I barely register it. It all feels so insignificant now. I’ve lost—lost my mother, lost everything. There’s no way around it. And yet, in surrendering to that inevitable truth, I feel an unexpected weight lift from my shoulders. A small, bitter smile creeps onto my lips as Mastro keeps talking. It’s exactly like one of my dad’s superhero comics: the triumphant villain stands over the defeated hero, unable to resist launching into an endless victory monologue. Ranting about his greatness, his power, his inevitability—all while giving the hero time to recover. It’s such a cliché.
Unfortunately, the analogy is only half true. My neighbor might be like a supervillain, but I’m nothing like a superhero—and I’m definitely not restoring any powers right now. All I want is not to be here, to sleep, to escape… into my own mind. But how would that even work? If everyone escapes to this shadow world when they sleep or lose consciousness, where does someone like me go? Someone who’s already here, fully realized in both mind and body. Is there a shadow world behind the shadow world where I can escape to? A dream in a dream? And beyond that? A dream in a dream in a dream? How could I even figure that out with someone standing next to me, monologuing my ears off?
“Look around you Max. Behold my revenge on the world. Finally, after years of training I’m able to manipulate the shadow-world. This square will grow and grow and within a few months this whole Shadow-world will be covered with black tiles.”
Why do I even bother listening? Lex Luthor, Doctor Doom, The Joker, Maestro—blah, blah, blah. They never stop. Let him shut up already! But no, he keeps going on and on and on. All these narcissistic supervillains with their mother complexes and insatiable thirst for recognition. Ugh. And still he goes on and on and on.
“He who rules the Shadow-world, rules the real world. Even you with your limited intellect, should have realized that by now. The world that killed my mother, will pay the ultimate price and nobody will even know how it happened, because it happens here. That’s the ultimate beauty of my plan. Every area the black tiles cover in this world will affect the same area in the real world and where it does, all hope, fantasy and joy will perish. Decay will set in on all levels. First hardly noticeable but gradually stronger and stronger. People will get less happy and more on edge. They won’t be able to see the brighter side of life anymore. The land will get less fertile, seas will rise, hurricanes will ravage crops. Inevitably wars will flare up over the remaining wealth and natural resources. In the end the sun will stop shining, the polar caps will melt, famine and epidemics will decimate the survivors and I finally will have my revenge. No one will be able to escape it.”
I don’t even listen anymore. My head rests against the warm tiles, and I take one last look at the glistening water drops around me. They’re as beautiful as they are terrifying. But... am I imagining it? Are they moving? I blink—once, twice—desperate to make sure I’m not mistaken. No. Almost imperceptibly, but undeniably, they’re all shifting. Toward one point... me. “Mama?”
My mother might still be alive and that changes everything. I have to help her. I have to buy her time, and I need to do it now, because Mastro seems finally to be wrapping up his victory speech on an ominous note. “So, Maxime Kwintens, this is the end of your road.”
I finally lift my head to meet his gaze.
"My... name... is... Max," I force out, wrestling myself back to my feet. Mastro smirks.
"Well, Angel, resistance at last,” he grits through his teeth, “excessive stubbornness must be a talent, too." And then, just like my father and Mr. Perkins, he laughs loudly at his own joke. It must be a guy thing.
I’m barely able to find my balance, but my mother gives me the strength to stand upright. I’d summon fire from the heavens to reduce Mastro to ash. But I can’t. The heat would evaporate the water drops, and my mother would be lost forever. With all the mental strength I can summon, I battle the flames roaring within me. Shadow’s voice echoes in my mind: Control, Tinderstick. Yes–If not now, when?
“Good,” says Mastro. “Let’s settle this, once and for all. It has to be us. It’s inevitable.”
“He’s right,” I think. This is between us—him and me, here and now. Red and green. I’ll have to defeat him, even though I don’t have a clue how, now I can’t use fire.
Then the voice of Shadow in my head is replaced by that of Kwant: someone born with the ability to walk effortlessly between both realms, wielding enough power to destroy either. Or... I think stubbornly, to save them. If you have a gift strong enough to destroy everything, it must also be strong enough to save something. Yin and f-ing Yang.
If I’m not the lock, but the key, as Balthazar told me during our first encounter, it’s about time that I open something.
“Concentration and control,” I mumble. “Let’s do this.”
“Ah, you found your tongue again. For a moment I was afraid that we had to do without your wisecracking remarks.” I don’t respond, I concentrate, trying to visualize a weapon, but lacking the sadistic talent of Gnat, I can only think of something to protect me; a cage. Well, it’s better than nothing, but when I visualize it around Mastro nothing happens.
Of course. How can I focus on fighting him when he won't stop babbling? The frustration keeps building, fueling the rage. Containing the flames is becoming unbearably painful. I’m desperate for some relief. I want to scream. I want to hurl a tile from the square straight at his head. I want to rip a hole in time and shove him through it, so it takes him an eternity to find his way back. But in the end, there’s only one option left to me—charge forward, like I always do. No plan, no hope. Because without fire, I’m just a girl. A small one, at that.
I glance once more at the water drops, still inching toward me. It’s all her fault. I want to shout at her, that being a real mother for twenty minutes doesn’t erase fifteen years of absence. That twenty minutes of care can’t magically make me love her. But deep down, I know it’s not true. I do love my mother—even after just twenty minutes. And then, suddenly, everything goes quiet. I touch my ears to check if they’re still there. They are. Maybe something snapped in my head? But no... my thoughts remain clear.
From a distance, Angel looks at me with wide-open eyes, as if she senses that something is happening inside of me. Still she doesn’t seem to be willing to intervene, so I turn back to Mastro–my neighbor, my friend, my moral support–who is speaking words I can no longer understand. The fact that my anger is gone doesn’t mean I know what to do. I only know that I want Mastro to shut up—and instantly, his lips stop moving. Just thinking it was enough. For a moment, his arrogant expression shifts to one of shock and doubt, but not for long. He takes a threatening step toward me, but I stop him with nothing more than a thought. I don’t know how. All I know is that I’m calmer than I’ve ever been. Mastro looks utterly bewildered. It’s incredibly rewarding and deeply satisfying, but I know this won’t last forever. The sound is already slowly returning.
“Papa, papa? What’s wrong?” Angel’s usually cheerful voice sounds broken. Mastro, still not able to answer, only stares at me in bewilderment, like an alien regarding the inhabitant of a planet he’s just invaded. He wrestles with whatever is restraining him. His face contorts, his pressed lips shift as if forming unspoken words. Then, before I can react, he breaks free and storms toward me.
In an attempt to protect myself, I envision a transparent, protective egg around me–something I once read in a spiritual magazine at the dentist’s office. Mastro’s lips have broken free completely now, hissing a spell I can’t understand. The mental egg around me shatters. Another spell. Crows materialize from the tiles beneath us and rise into the air, ready to attack.
I’m not surprised—I’ve seen them before, twice. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the silence within. My thoughts wander off to one of my favorite memories: a forest caught in an autumn storm, with red, brown, and yellow leaves swirling around the trees in a beautiful, chaotic dance. And when I open my eyes again, the birds are gone. The square is strewn with black feathers, which are quickly absorbed into the tiles. Mastro’s expression finally shifts, losing some of its arrogance and his voice carries a hint of panic when he speaks again. “You are not able to do this, Kwintens. Who else is here? Balthazar? Williams? The vice-principal?”
Frankly, I’m relieved to have a reason to speak again. The silence within me had grown so intense, it was starting to hurt.
“No, it’s just me, a high school girl with mediocre talent.” But the time of monologuing is over. He’s learned his lesson. Without warning, he raises his hand and brings it down. A lightning bolt strikes out of a clear sky right above me.
“Interesting,” I think with a little smile—it’s a bit like fighting fire with fire, and before the lightning can even reach me, I’ve already “re-imagined” it as a flock of small, colorful birds, happily twittering away.
Growing increasingly frustrated, Mastro hurls spell after spell at me, but I effortlessly neutralize each one, transforming them into something innocent and mundane. I don’t even think about it—it’s instinctive. Everything is perception. Was that something Balthazar said, or did I just come up with it now?
Angel sits on the ground now, her hands pressed tightly against her ears. The world around us seems eerily silent, yet her face twists in agony, as if she's trapped in the eye of a deafening hurricane. I know this can't go on. Not just because Angel is at risk, but because I’m wearing down, I’m getting tired. Already, I can feel fractures forming in the fragile calm within me. I can't hold Mastro back forever. This has to end—now. I need to think bigger.
"I’m the key, I’m the key, I’m the key," I repeat Balthazar’s words over and over in my mind.
"Let's see if you're right, you little dwarf." I mumble while closing my eyes once again. I have no plan or idea–I only wish to be somewhere else–and perhaps because of all the stories Gran has told me, the first thing I see when I open my eyes again is a rainstorm of bombs, dropped from countless planes flying overhead, exploding in the heart of the city.