Chapter 13


    Xander gasped as he awoke, hands instinctively clutching at his stomach, where fire seemed to course through every nerve. His chest heaved with sharp, shallow breaths, and a bead of sweat slid into his eye, the sting a mild discomfort in comparison to the inferno that roared inside his abdomen. The heat wasn’t decreasing, and the thick blanket on top of him only seemed to amplify the suffocating burn.


    He tried to kick it off, but his body felt weak, unresponsive. With a frustrated grunt, he managed to yank the blanket away, the heavy fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, intending to stand, but as he shifted his weight, the constricting sensation in his stomach tightened like a vice.


    With a strangled gasp, he collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, his hands scrabbling for leverage on the damp sheets above. “Ahh,” he hissed through clenched teeth, forcing his arms to pull him up slightly before they gave out entirely.


    The pain was relentless, each wave more punishing than the last. Yesterday’s tugging felt like a faint whisper in comparison to this brutal assault. Face pressed into the sheets, he panted, his vision swimming with golden threads that danced mockingly at the edges of his sight. He prayed for the agony to end, his thoughts fragmented and pleading.


    Finally, the fire dulled, leaving behind an aching, hollow emptiness. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath, his muscles trembling like they’d run a marathon. He couldn’t do this anymore—couldn’t endure whatever hell the Wheel was putting him through.


    With a groan, Xander pushed himself off the bed, every movement sluggish and deliberate, as though his body might give out again at any moment. He stumbled into the bathroom, his hand slapping against the tiles to turn on the light. The warm glow revealed a reflection that made him flinch.


    Shit, was what he looked like. Sweat dripped from his forehead, streaking his skin as it clung uncomfortably to his shirt. His under-eyes were dark, sunken, giving him an almost ghostly appearance. He raised a hand to his face, his fingers trembling visibly. His skin was hot to the touch, feverish, and the wheel spinning faintly behind his head only added to the unsettling image.


    He''d needed answers, now.


    Maurice. Stella. Someone. Anyone. One of them had to know something—anything—that could help. Records, stories, theories… even vague guesses were better than nothing. He couldn’t keep living like this, waiting for the next strike to take him out completely. Leaving Solari wasn’t an option, there had to be another way.


    The wheel spun behind his head, an ominous presence that seemed to mock him in its silence. Tendrils of fear wrapped around his chest, constricting tighter with every second he stared at its reflection in the mirror.


    “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m begging you… pick someone else. Please.”


    He didn’t care about potential, didn’t care about the promises of greatness or destiny. He just wanted to be Xander—just Xander. No grand expectations, no pain, no Wheel.


    But the Wheel clicked softly behind him, unbothered by his plea. Its indifference lit a spark of anger in his chest, and before he could think, he swung his fist into the tiles beside him. The sharp impact sent pain radiating up his knuckles, regret instantly mingling with his frustration.


    “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, cradling his throbbing hand.


    The bathroom felt suffocating, the air heavy with the tension of his unspoken fears. He needed answers—now. Maurice, someone at the palace—anyone who could tell him how to stop this before it was too late. He couldn’t take another episode like this. The memory of the burning pain in his stomach was enough to make him shudder. It had felt like his insides were turning to ash, and the thought of enduring it again churned his gut.


    Ripping off his sweat-soaked shirt, he stepped into his room, his mind set. Determination overrode exhaustion as he grabbed a dry tank top and tugged it on. Without another glance in the mirror, he burst out of his room and into the hallway.


    The earthy scent of incense wafted through the shop, usually a comforting smell, but today it did nothing to calm him. He marched downstairs, his footsteps heavy on the creaking wood.


    His parents were in the lobby, their hands mid-dusting as they turned toward him. He felt their gazes—soft, heavy with unspoken worry. Their pity and silent acceptance only fueled the fire inside him.


    He snatched his sunray from its hook on the wall with more force than necessary, his movements sharp and hurried. From the corner of his eye, he caught their concerned expressions, but he didn’t stop.


    The sun hit him like a slap to the face as he stepped outside, its heat adding to the simmering vexation bubbling under his skin. He slammed the sunray onto the ground with a loud metallic clang, startling a few passersby who shot him nervous glances.


    Without a word, he stepped onto the board, his jaw clenched tight. His foot pressed hard on the back, activating boost mode with a sharp whirr. The wind whipped past him as he sped down the streets, his heart pounding with anger and desperation.


    He was done with this ability, done with this Wheel. Maybe there was a way to give it up, to rip it out of his body and throw it into the trash where it belonged. Whatever it took, he’d find a way to make it stop.


    Of course, the idea of giving up the Wheel was highly unlikely, but that didn’t stop him from ruminating on it deeply. The crowds blurred as he moved rapidly past, his frustration momentarily shielding him from caring about the stares or whispers. Let them look. Let them talk. He had bigger things to deal with.


    The palace loomed ahead, its elegant spires and sprawling gardens visible even over the tallest buildings in the Vale. Staff and gardeners bustled about the front yard, tending to flowers and shrubs while others rushed around with stacks of papers in hand. The scene was as busy as ever, though it had a sense of order—a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Xander’s mind.


    He unclipped his sunray as he approached the entrance, stepping off with a clatter of boots against the stone walkway. His eyes scanned the area, looking for anyone who could point him in the direction of Maurice.


    A flicker of movement caught his eye—an all-too-familiar dress flitting past his peripheral vision. He turned sharply toward it, his memory connecting the dots. “Janice?” he called out.


    The woman stopped abruptly and turned, her wide eyes lighting up in recognition. “Uh, yes?” she said, her tone polite but uncertain. “What can I do for you?”


    “I’m looking for Maurice,” he said, his voice still carrying the edge of his earlier frustration. “Is he here?”


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Janice nodded quickly, pointing down the left corridor, the one lined with statues he’d admired during his first visit. “His office is all the way down and to the right. You’ll know it when you see it.”


    “Thanks,” he muttered, giving a curt nod before heading in the direction she indicated. His boots echoed against the polished floors as he marched down the hallway, eyes fixed forward, unyielding. The ornate statues and intricate artwork that had once captivated him now barely registered. He had no time for admiration.


    After a few minutes, a large oak door came into view. Just as she’d said—it was impossible to miss. Its carved panels and polished brass handle spoke to its importance. Without hesitation, he raised a hand and knocked firmly, the sound reverberating through the corridor.


    Shuffling came from inside, followed by the creak of the door opening. Maurice stood there, his brow lifting in mild surprise. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting this,” he said, his voice as gentle as ever. His gaze scanned Xander’s expression, his emotions plain on his face. “What can I do for you, Xander?”


    “It’s the Wheel, these powers,” Xander snapped immediately. “It’s driving me insane, Maurice. I can’t take it anymore.”


    “Woah, woah, Xander. Take a breath,” Maurice said calmly, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder before guiding him into the office. He gestured to the plush sofa in the middle of the room.


    Xander hesitated but complied, his breathing still ragged as he sank into the cushions. His eyes darted around the space, hoping for some distraction to keep his thoughts from spiraling. Bookshelves dominated the walls, filled to bursting with tomes that looked older than him. Trinkets and strange objects lined the other shelves—arcane and unfamiliar, though they looked important. A large marble desk sat at the far end of the room, its surface meticulously organized, and an open balcony behind it let in a soft breeze that ruffled the curtains. The peacefulness of the room only served to mock his storming thoughts.


    A gentle clink pulled his attention. Maurice had placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him. Xander blinked, slightly startled, before nodding in thanks and grabbing the cup. The first sip sent warmth coursing through him, soothing some of the tension coiled tightly in his chest. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as he leaned back into the couch, exhaustion weighing him down like a leaden blanket.


    Maurice took a seat across from him, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. His voice was steady but tinged with concern. “Talk to me, Xander. What’s going on?”


    Xander gripped his cup tightly, his fingers pressing against the porcelain as he tried to find the words. “It’s these feelings,” he finally said, his tone clipped. “They started a few days ago—light at first, like little nudges. It was easy to ignore. But now…” He clenched his jaw. “Now, it’s not so much.”


    Maurice frowned slightly, his brows knitting together. “Can you explain these feelings in more detail?”


    “The first few days, it felt like a gentle tug,” Xander began, his gaze dropping to the swirling tea in his cup. “Like something nudging me toward the wall. But the more I ignored it, the sharper the pain got.” He let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yesterday, I fell off my sunray because the pain was too much—it felt like my insides were being shredded apart. Today, I woke up and felt like I was on fire. My bed was soaking wet, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just from water.”


    Maurice was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he ran a hand through his hair. He abruptly stood, crossing the room toward the bookshelves, his fingers skimming the spines of the books as though searching for something. “And do you have any idea why it’s tugging you toward the wall?” he asked without turning.


    Xander didn’t hesitate. “It wants me to leave Solari,” he said flatly. The answer was obvious—it had been for days. Why else would the Wheel pull him in that direction?


    Maurice’s hand paused, his fingers brushing against a weathered brown book. He pulled it free and walked back to the couch, its leather cover creaking faintly as he flipped it open. The couch dipped under his weight as he sat, the book resting heavily in his lap. “This is one of the few records we have of the last Wheel of Fortune holder,” he said, his tone measured. “It’s faint, fragmented, but maybe there’s something in here that can help.”


    Xander scooted closer, peering down at the book as Maurice flipped carefully through its fragile pages. The leather binding creaked with each turn, and the paper itself looked ancient—weathered with darkened patches and faint stains.


    “Ah,” Maurice murmured, stopping on a page and running his fingers across the broken text. His brow furrowed as he tried to piece together the fragmented words.


    Xander squinted but quickly gave up. The strange grammar and faded ink made it nearly impossible to read, and he wasn’t about to give himself a headache trying. Leaning back against the couch, he let Maurice focus, hoping the Magician could find something useful amidst the mess.


    “Like I said back in the courtyard,” Maurice eventually sighed, his fingers still tracing the faint lines of text, “it talks about a tug, but nothing like what you’ve described.” He flipped to the opposite page, scanning for more clues before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Xander. I really wish I could help.”


    The disappointment hit harder than Xander expected. He’d been holding out hope—grasping at straws—but now even that thread was fraying. He stared up at the ceiling, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. Of course the book didn’t have the answers. Why would it?


    A sudden whoosh broke through his thoughts. The curtains flapped as a bird with fiery feathers swooped into the room, its blazing form startling Xander into sitting upright. It landed gracefully on Maurice’s desk, clutching a rolled letter in its beak.


    Maurice, unfazed, strode over and retrieved the message. He gave the bird a gentle pat on its head, which it seemed to take as a cue to leave. With a burst of heat, it darted back out the window and into the open sky.


    “Excuse the theatrics,” Maurice chuckled, shaking his head as he unraveled the letter. “Seline’s always been a bit… old-school.”


    “Seline?” Xander echoed.


    “I reached out to her a few days ago regarding your situation,” Maurice explained, scanning the letter’s contents. “I asked if she could divine anything for you. She’d need to meet you in person for her abilities to work fully, but occasionally, she picks up enough just from the messages.”


    Xander sat up straighter, his attention sharpening. He’d almost forgotten about the High Priestess amidst everything else going on, but now her name rekindled a small spark of hope. He watched Maurice’s expression, waiting, bracing.


    “Good news,” Maurice said finally, though his tone wavered. “She wants to meet you.”


    “And the bad news?” Xander asked, his stomach sinking before Maurice even answered.


    “She says it’s ‘not time yet,’” Maurice replied, his brows furrowing as he reread the words, clearly as perplexed as Xander.


    A flash of irritation surged through him. “Let me guess it has something to do with this wheel?”


    Maurice winced, then nodded reluctantly. “She doesn’t provide specifics, just that you must follow the wheel''s guidance.”


    “Damnit!” Xander snapped, shooting to his feet. His voice cracked under the heft of his frustration. “Again, again, and again, this fucking card has to get in the way. Ruining everything!”


    “Xander, calm down—” Maurice started, his tone soft but firm.


    Xander bit his tongue, resisting the urge to scream. He grit his teeth, shaking his head furiously before barreling for the door. “Thanks for the help.”


    He didn’t wait for a response, moving swiftly down the hallways, his steps echoing harder with each passing second. His patience was shot, and he needed to get out of the palace before he did something he’d regret.


    Bursting outside, he snapped out his sunray and hopped on, immediately activating the boost mode. The wheel began clicking behind his head, each turn grating on his frayed nerves. The familiar streets of Solari Vale whipped past him in a blur of colors and shapes, but none of it registered. He just needed to get home, he needed to escape.


    As the familiar stretch of his neighborhood came into view, Santuna’s Fortuna stood proud on the right side of the road. He unclipped his board and stepped inside, pausing when he noticed the quiet. The lack of customers was unusual for this time of day. His gaze flicked to the door—the sign had been flipped to "Closed."


    Probably eating lunch.


    Trudging upstairs, he pushed the door open and froze. His eyes widened at the scene before him.


    Jor’dan sat at the kitchen table with his parents, all three wearing expressions of quiet intensity. His mother’s eyes reflected concern, his father’s firm but equally worried, while Jor’dan’s gaze held a steady determination. The air in the room was thick, almost suffocating.


    The sound of the door made them all look up. His mother immediately tried to speak, her voice soft but uncertain. “Honey, we were talking and—”


    Jor’dan interrupted, standing up from his chair. His voice was blunt, unwavering. “I left the guild.”


    Xander blinked, his jaw slack with disbelief. “What?”