I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

The scent of melted wax and burned herbs clung to the air. The candle flickered, casting twisted shadows against the wooden walls. Outside, the wind howled through the bare branches, whispering secrets no one was meant to hear.

Agatha wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her place was among the Silents, with lowered eyes and sealed lips, waiting patiently for the day she would be deemed worthy of knowledge. A vessel to be filled, a blade to be sharpened, but never by her own hand. Learning would only be permitted after her twenty-first birthday, an ancient rule, as unbreakable as the cycles of the moon. Until then, she was to be empty. Waiting. Obedient.

But Agatha had never been empty a day in her life.

She was a Silent in name only, a title forced upon her like a collar too tight, meant to choke the questions from her throat. And she had played the role well. Well enough that even those who whispered about her mother’s shadow never suspected what lurked beneath her quiet facade. They thought her calm, patient, a girl who accepted her fate without struggle.

They had no idea how much she thrived on disobedience.

To step beyond the lines drawn for her, to brush against the forbidden and feel it crackle beneath her fingertips, that was what made her pulse quicken. The elders spoke of the hunger for knowledge as a sickness, a poison that led witches to ruin. But Agatha had never felt more alive than when she was chasing it. When she was reaching past the limits they had set and daring the darkness to reach back.

And tonight, she was reaching further than ever before.

Because Agatha had never been good at obedience.

She remembered her mother’s words, always spoken with quiet sharpness, like a blade sliding over skin “An impatient witch is a dead witch.” A lesson carved into her bones, meant to instill caution, submission. But Agatha had never been cautious. And submission was a language she refused to speak. The warning was meant to chain her, yet she had always felt its weight as a challenge instead, a whisper of defiance curling beneath her ribs, urging her forward.

A dead witch, perhaps. But a silent one? Never.

Patience was not in her nature. Subservience even less so. But Agatha was intelligent, and intelligence kept her alive. She knew how to bow her head, how to silence the sharp edge of her tongue, how to mimic compliance with practiced ease. Most believed she was docile, another Silent waiting for her time to come.

Her mother, however, saw through the lies Agatha spun for others, the careful mask of submission she wore so well. Evanora knew Agatha’s silence was not born of meekness but of calculation. She knew that beneath her lowered eyes, something sharp lurked. Something hungry.

And yet, even Evanora, with all her wisdom and ruthlessness, did not know everything.

She did not know the depth of Agatha’s restlessness, how she clung to her false obedience like armor, hiding the tempest beneath. She did not know how often Agatha stood at the edges of power, not just yearning, but aching, desperate for it to be hers.

She did not know that her daughter was not merely curious.

She was starving.

Agatha burned with the need to understand, to feel power coil beneath her fingertips like a creature waiting to be tamed. She wanted the weight of a spellbook in her hands, the taste of incantations forming on her tongue. She wanted to know the secrets whispered when the elders thought no one was listening.

Above all, she wanted control.

Her life had never belonged to her. Every choice was made for her,how she spoke, how she walked, how she thought. Every moment of her existence had been shaped by rules meant to keep her in place, to mold her into something quiet, something obedient.

But she was not quiet. And she was not obedient.

She was restless. Desperate. Aching to carve out a space in the world that belonged to her alone.

And power was locked away, just out of reach.

And Evanora held the key.

The one force in this world Agatha could never defy. And that was what terrified her most. She feared her mother’s wrath, but even more than that, she feared her disappointment. She had spent her life reaching for something she could never quite grasp, craving a love that always dangled just beyond her fingers.

But love from a woman like Evanora was not given freely.

It was earned. And Agatha did not know how to earn it.

Evanora.

Just thinking the name made something twist inside her, a mix of fear and devotion, longing and resignation. The Supreme Guardian. The woman all others revered. The one who spoke with the voice of the spirits, whose will was law.

Her mother.

But never just her mother.

There were nights when Agatha lingered outside Evanora’s door, hoping to be called inside. Hoping for cold fingers to brush over her hair and tell her she had made her proud. Nights when she wished her mother’s gaze would soften, that her voice would be something more than instruction and judgment.

Nights when she dreamed of a love that never came.

And yet, she wanted to deserve it. Wanted her mother to see more than a reckless, inadequate daughter when she looked at her. But if Evanora knew where she was now, what would she do? Punish her? Humiliate her before the entire coven, make an example of her disobedience? Or would she cast her aside entirely, stripping her of even the hope of ever being worthy?

A shiver ran down Agatha’s spine. The doubt was a weight on her chest, tight and suffocating. Fear made her hesitate.

But the need to know, to feel something beyond the darkness that surrounded her, had always been stronger. And in that moment, in the dim candlelight, she realized her ruin might already be sealed.

So she took what she could, a stolen moment in the flickering glow. A glimpse of the forbidden. A single step into the darkness before she was dragged back into the light.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

But it was all she had.

The cabin was just as she had left it, dark, abandoned, coated in dust.

No one had lived there for a long time.

The whispers in the coven claimed that this had once been the home of a silenced witch. One who had sinned by seeking knowledge beyond her station. A sister who had tasted the wrath of those she defied.

But Agatha did not fear the darkness.

Starlight filtered through the window, aiding the candle in its struggle to illuminate her steps. She paced the room as if it were her first time there, yet her movements were tense, uncertain. Because tonight, she feared it might be her last.

She had read books in this place before. Stolen pages, crumbling grimoires with half-faded ink, knowledge buried not by time, but by intent. But this book was different.

It was heavier. Not just in weight, but in presence.

The leather cover was nearly black, cracked and brittle, yet as her fingers ran over it, she felt warmth. Almost as if something beneath her touch was breathing.

She swallowed, her throat dry.

She knew what this was.

She had felt it before, in the whispers that coiled through her dreams like smoke, in the shadows that stretched toward her when no one was watching. In the slow, patient pull of something unseen, something that had always been waiting, just beyond her reach.

Death.

It did not terrify her. It did not repulse her.

No, Agatha had always felt something else. Something forbidden. Something she had never dared to name. A melody only she could hear.

And now, it was in her hands.

With a slow, deliberate breath, she opened the book.

And something,far beyond the candlelight, beyond the quiet hum of the night,stirred.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

It wasn’t the gentle, familiar dark of night, nor the absence of light she had known before. This was something else entirely, a void, thick and tangible, pressing against her skin like unseen fingers tracing the line of her throat. The cabin around her ceased to exist, devoured by the blackness. Even the memory of the candle’s glow felt distant, as though light had never truly lived here at all.

Agatha did not move. She barely breathed.

Her body was taut, every muscle poised as if waiting for a blade to press against her back. The silence was no longer just absence; it was a presence in itself, humming in the air, wrapping around her in suffocating stillness.

Something was here.

No wind, no whisper, no shuffling of feet, yet she felt it, the weight of unseen eyes boring into her. A cold, prickling sensation crawled up her spine, settling at the nape of her neck like a hand poised to grip.

Agatha forced her fingers to remain loose around the book, though her skin felt too tight, her limbs aching to flinch. Fear wanted to take root, to rise up and spill over, but she swallowed it down, letting it burn in her chest like embers.

She would not run.

She would not cower.

Whatever had answered her call, whatever had been waiting in the dark for her to reach beyond the boundaries of obedience, it was watching. Studying. Deciding.

And she did not yet know if it meant to devour her or kneel.

A shift. Not sound, not movement, but a shift, as if the air itself folded inward. The weight of the presence deepened, pressing down on her shoulders, making her bones feel brittle beneath its force.

Then, a voice. Low. Ragged. Impossible.

It did not come from the room. It came from everywhere.

"You are not afraid."

The words curled around her, winding through her thoughts, threading into the spaces between her ribs.

It was not a question.

Agatha exhaled, slow, deliberate. Her hands flexed against the book’s worn leather, grounding herself in the solid reality of it. She could still feel the pages beneath her fingertips, the ink like scars across parchment. That meant she was still here. Still real. Still whole.

For now.

"Should I be?" she asked, her voice betraying none of the tightness in her chest.

A pause.

Then. laughter.

Soft at first, like the rustling of dead leaves, then rising into something more, something deeper. It was not quite mocking, but neither was it kind. It was pleased.

"You should."

The laughter faded, but the presence did not. If anything, it grew. Expanding, curling around her like smoke, seeping into the cracks of her mind, into the places she had kept locked even from herself. It was not merely looking at her, it was inside her.

Agatha clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to recoil. Whatever this was, it was testing her. Waiting to see if she would flinch.

She would not.

She tilted her chin up, ever so slightly. A challenge.

"Then make me."

The silence shattered.

A rush of something unseen slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. The book tumbled from her lap as she was thrown back, her spine colliding against the wooden floor with a force that rattled her teeth. The presence was everywhere now, coiling around her limbs, pressing into her chest like a weight meant to crush.

And yet,

It did not.

It held her there, pinned, trapped, but it did not break her. It could have. But it didn't.

Agatha’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, but she forced her expression to remain impassive, even as her ribs ached beneath the pressure. Even as the darkness pressed closer, whispering in voices she could not yet understand.

"So bold," the voice murmured, curling through the air like smoke.

The weight on her chest lifted, just enough for her to breathe, just enough for her to know that it had chosen to spare her. For now.

"Very well, child of Evanora. Agatha Harkness "

Agatha stilled.

Her blood turned to ice.

Not because it knew her name. No, that was expected.

It was because it had spoken her mother’s.

Slowly, cautiously, Agatha turned her head toward the book where it lay open beside her, pages fluttering as though stirred by an unseen wind. The ink on the parchment was shifting, reshaping itself, forming words she had never seen before, words written just for her.

She swallowed hard.

Something had answered her call.

And it knew exactly who she was.

The book was rewriting itself before her very eyes.

Agatha had seen spells carved into bones, whispered into candle flames, hidden beneath layers of ink that only moonlight could reveal, but never this. Never magic so alive, so aware.

At first, the words appeared hesitantly, delicate as the first drops of rain on dry earth. But as if sensing her attention, as if recognizing the mind that hungered for them, the force behind them grew bolder. Ink spread across the parchment with newfound urgency, scrawling in sharp, flowing script:

"Green witchcraft is a branch of magic that revolves around nature. Living or dead, the cycle begins and ends at the same time."

Agatha's breath caught in her throat.

The meaning in those words was not lost on her.

Life and death, intertwined. Not opposites, not enemies, but reflections of the same force. The same power.

The ink continued to spread, forming new lines faster than she could process them.

"To command the roots is to command the bones. To speak with the wind is to whisper to the dead. All things grow, all things decay. Green magic is neither light nor dark, it simply is."

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She wanted to reach out, to touch the words as they formed, to feel the magic that thrummed beneath the surface of the page. But something told her not to.

Something told her to listen.

More words bled into existence.

"But to take is to give. To wield is to bind. Magic does not flow freely; it demands a price."

A price.

She had always known that, of course. Even the simplest spells required something, a drop of blood, a whispered secret, a fragment of the self given in exchange for power. But the way the book warned her now, the way the ink seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, made her uneasy.

The presence in the room had not left. It remained at the edges of the darkness, silent but watching. Waiting.

The ink did not stop.

"If you would claim this path, you must understand: nothing is ever truly yours. Not the earth beneath your feet, not the breath in your lungs. You are only borrowing them. And what is borrowed must one day be returned."

A flicker of something cold curled around her wrist. Not a touch, not quite, but the suggestion of one.

Agatha exhaled slowly.

She was no fool. This book, this presence, whatever force had guided her to this moment, it was not merely offering knowledge. It was offering something else entirely.

An agreement. A bond. And bonds, she knew, were not so easily broken.

She should walk away.

She should close the book, place it back beneath the floorboards, and return to the world where she was merely a Silent, waiting her turn, bound by the rules of those who came before her.

She should.

But Agatha had never been good at obedience.

She reached out.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the inked page, the candle went out and darkness swallowed the room.

And something whispered in her ear:

"Then let us begin."

Just as time had stilled, it began to move once more. The wind stirred, curling around the cabin’s worn wooden walls, whispering secrets too quiet to understand. The candle, which had been swallowed by the dark only moments ago, burned again, its flame flickering wildly, casting restless shadows across the room.

Agatha felt the rhythm of her own heartbeat return, drumming against her ribs, grounding her in the moment. Proof that she was still here. That this was real.

But the voice? The overwhelming presence that had flooded her senses, that had filled the air, the marrow of her bones?

Gone.

Vanished as if it had never been.

The only proof that something had happened lay open before her.

A single, crumpled green page rested atop the book like a forgotten relic. It had survived, through time, through something far worse than time. The words, freshly written, seemed to watch her, their presence as alive as the magic that had summoned them. And there, nestled among the ink, a single white flower stood out, bold against the faded parchment. A warning.

A warning of what? Agatha didn’t know. Not yet.

And then, she read:

“The Book of Roots and Ruin

Green witchcraft is a branch of magic that revolves around nature. Living or dead, the cycle begins and ends at the same time.

The bones in the earth and the leaves in the trees are born of the same dust. The breath that stirs the wind once filled the lungs of the forgotten. To command the roots is to command the bones. To speak with the wind is to whisper to the dead. All things grow. All things decay. Green magic is neither light nor dark. It simply is.

But to take is to give. To wield is to bind. Magic does not flow freely; it demands a price.

The blood in your veins is borrowed from those who came before you. The body you wear belongs to time. The power you seek is not yours to keep. You may call upon the roots, but they will call upon you in return. You may shape the wind, but it will carry your name where you cannot follow.

If you would claim this path, understand this: nothing is ever truly yours. Not the earth beneath your feet. Not the breath in your lungs. You are only borrowing them. And what is borrowed must one day be returned.

A choice stands before you.

Turn the page, and you will walk the path of the forgotten. The roots will know you. The dead will listen. You will hear the whisper beneath the soil, the sigh between the leaves. You will not be as you were before.

But be warned: once the cycle claims you, it does not let go.

If you wish to turn back, close this book. Leave this place. Speak no more of what you have seen.

If you wish to continue, turn the page. Bleed. And be known.”

The words pulsed on the page, silent and deafening all at once.

Agatha’s fingers hovered above the parchment, hesitating.

Bleed.

That word carried more weight than all the others. Heavy. Ominous. It settled into her chest, curling in the space between her ribs, waiting to be understood.

Outside, the wind shifted, pressing against the walls with something that felt almost sentient.

And the white flower trembled. Not a warning. A summons.

Agatha inhaled slowly, deeply, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears.

She had been reaching beyond the boundaries drawn for her since the day she could crawl. She had tasted the edges of power before, felt the whisper of something waiting in the dark, just beyond understanding.

This was different. This was an invitation.

And the only question that remained was whether she was ready to accept it.

Her hand moved, she had decided. 

Evanora never raised her voice. She never needed to. Disappointment was a sharper blade than anger, and her mother wielded it well. "A witch who cannot control herself does not deserve power." The words had burned more than any spell ever could.

Agatha would not be caught tonight.

The house was silent, but that did not mean her mother slept. Evanora’s presence filled every shadow, stretched beyond the confines of her room. She did not rest like normal people,she hovered, waiting, listening. But tonight, by some miracle or some cruel trick of fate, Agatha made it to her room without incident.

She closed the door behind her, pressing her back against the rough wooden surface as she exhaled. The tension in her shoulders did not ease.

Her hands were still cold.

Even as the warmth of her room wrapped around her, the chill of the night clung to her skin. No, not the night, the cabin. What she had found there, what had found her, was still with her. The air still hummed with the weight of it, with the ghost of the voice that had spoken her name.

She flexed her fingers, curling them into fists before releasing them again. The sensation would not leave her. The lingering charge beneath her skin, the pulse of something old and waiting.

She had made her choice.

Whatever existed within that cabin had called to her. Not just tonight, always. She just hadn’t known how to listen before. And now that she had, there was no turning back.

Agatha climbed into bed, but sleep did not come easily.

Her mind wandered back to the voice. How it should have been terrifying, how it should have sent her running. But it hadn’t.

It had felt… safe.

Not in the way her coven spoke of safety, not in rules and restrictions, in submission and silence. No, this was something different. This was freedom. It was a door left unlocked, a path stretching forward into the unknown.

The voice had not commanded. It had invited.

And Agatha? She had never been one to refuse an invitation to the forbidden.

She thought of the next time she could return. She would return. She had made an agreement, and yet she did not know the terms, she had signed a contract with the unknown, and she hadn’t even read the fine print.

The thought should have frightened her.

Instead, it thrilled her.

And when sleep finally claimed her, it did not bring her peace.

“She stood in a place she did not know.

A forest, thick and alive in a way that set her teeth on edge. The scent of damp earth and something sweeter, richer, filled the air, something intoxicating. The trees loomed, ancient and listening. The wind did not stir, yet the leaves moved, shifting in unnatural rhythm. Watching.

Then, she saw her.

The woman did not step forward; she simply was, as if she had been there all along, waiting for Agatha to notice her.

Agatha had never seen her before. She was not from the village, not from the coven. She did not belong to anyone.

And yet, she felt known.

She was beautiful. Dark hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, framing a face carved from something softer than marble but just as untouchable. And her eyes, deep, endless brown, like the earth before it was disturbed, like something ancient resting beneath the soil. They arrived before she did, swallowing Agatha whole.

She was dressed in green. A long, flowing gown, its fabric shifting like leaves caught in a slow breeze. A cloak draped over her shoulders, its edges frayed but regal, as if it had belonged to her for longer than time had existed.

She said nothing.

But Agatha felt the weight of unsaid words.

The woman’s presence was not passive. It pressed against her, curling around her ribs like roots seeking purchase, anchoring her in place. Agatha could not look away, could not move.

She wanted to speak. Wanted to ask who she was, what she was.

But before she could summon the words, the woman smiled.

Not kind. Not cruel. Amused, as though she had plucked the thoughts straight from Agatha’s mind and found them predictable.

Agatha’s breath hitched.

And then, without ever parting her lips, the woman spoke.

"Come to me, Agatha."

The voice was inside her head, inside her bones. It did not echo, it simply was, as though it had been waiting there all along.

And then, she was gone.”

Agatha woke with a sharp inhale, her name still lingering in the air around her.

At dawn, Agatha carried out her duties as a Silent. During this lunar cycle, her assigned role was the maintenance of the sacred and communal spaces. She swept the temple floors, her hands raw from scrubbing the stone surfaces. She dusted the shelves where ancient tomes rested, careful not to let her gaze linger on their titles. She arranged the ritual altars, ensuring each candle stood unburned and each offering bowl was empty, waiting.

She prepared the ingredients for spells she was never meant to understand, grinding herbs into fine powders, measuring precise amounts of salt and ash, binding dried roots with twine. Each task was performed with mechanical precision, without thought, without question. The whispers of the other witches passed around her like the wind, acknowledging her presence only in orders given and duties assigned.

Agatha moved with the quiet efficiency expected of a Silent, her posture demure, her gaze lowered. But she listened. She always listened.

The elder witches spoke in hushed voices, their words just barely carrying over the crackling of incense burning in the temple braziers. Most of the Silents moved through their chores unbothered, heads bowed in quiet submission. Agatha, however, had trained herself to hear between the murmurs, to weave meaning from half-spoken phrases and unfinished thoughts.

“…the boundary weakens,” one whispered, her voice a taut string ready to snap.

“A shift in the Veil,” another murmured, fingers tightening around the worn beads of her talisman. “The signs are there. It moves as it did before.”

Before what? Agatha kept her hands steady as she arranged vials of oil and resin on the ritual shelf, her fingers brushing over the smooth glass.

“It is not yet confirmed,” a third voice said, low and firm. “The Supreme Guardian will…”

The sound of footsteps cut the conversation short, and Agatha quickly lowered her eyes, focusing on her task with exaggerated care. A priestess passed by, her heavy robes trailing along the temple floor, and the elders fell into obedient silence.

But Agatha had already heard enough.

Something was shifting. Something that made even the elder witches wary, that set their shoulders stiff and their voices hushed. She pretended to remain ignorant, to be the obedient vessel they expected her to be. But inside, her thoughts churned.

As she moved to the next part of her duties, refilling the temple’s water basins with reverent hands, she let her mind linger on the scraps of conversation. The Veil. The boundary. Had it not been the very air in the abandoned cabin that had changed around her the night before? The silence, the unnatural stillness before time lurched back into motion…

The book. The voice. Her heartbeat quickened, but her hands remained steady. No one would suspect a thing. She had always been good at pretending.

So she worked with quiet efficiency, her hands moving in practiced motions as she polished the ceremonial bowls, her ears tuned to every murmur that passed between the elder witches. She had learned, long ago, how to listen without seeming to.

Then the shift came.

A hush fell over the space, thick and heavy, like the charged air before a storm. The flickering candle flames stilled, shadows deepened, and the slow, deliberate echo of footsteps sent a shiver through the room.

Evanora.

The elder witch entered with the weight of unspoken authority, her dark robes flowing behind her like ink spilling across the stone. The moment her presence registered, every Silent in the room froze, their bodies instinctively adjusting into perfect obedience, shoulders bowed, heads lowered, hands still.

Agatha followed, but slower. Measured. Calculated. A hesitation so brief it was nearly invisible. Nearly.

Evanora’s gaze swept the room, a sharp, dissecting thing. Then, it settled on her.

“Out,” Evanora commanded, her voice as smooth as polished obsidian, yet as cold as the void beneath it.

The Silents obeyed at once, moving in unison, abandoning their duties without so much as a glance. Agatha followed, her expression composed, but she could feel Evanora watching her, burning into her skin like a mark being seared in place.

She had almost reached the threshold when Evanora added, voice low, controlled, yet laced with something venomous, “And you… try to be useful for once.”

Something twisted in Agatha’s chest. Not quite rage. Not quite fear. Something else. Something she had no name for.

She swallowed it down. Lowered her head in false submission. Stepped through the door without a word.

But she would not leave.

The corridor was dim, lit only by the scattered sconces that cast weak halos of light upon the ancient stone walls. And there, kneeling just outside the chamber, was Mira.

The girl scrubbed the floor with a devotion that made Agatha’s stomach turn. She was younger, too young to be so eager to please, to be so desperate to be good. She had not yet learned that obedience was never truly rewarded.

Perfect.

Agatha approached, slow and deliberate, letting the sound of her steps announce her presence. Mira flinched, only slightly, before she lifted her gaze. Wide brown eyes, caught between caution and curiosity.

Agatha crouched beside her, not too close. Not yet.

“You’ve been at this all morning.” Her voice was soft, a thread of warmth woven through it. “No one would blame you if you took a moment for yourself.”

Mira swallowed. “I…I have to finish…”

Agatha reached out, brushing a loose strand of Mira’s hair behind her ear. A slow, careful touch, fingers grazing the shell of her ear before lingering, just briefly, against her jaw.

“You work too hard,” Agatha murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Intimate. She tilted her head, letting her breath ghost against Mira’s cheek. “You should let someone take care of you for once.”

Mira inhaled sharply, her pulse stuttering beneath her skin. A forbidden thing, laced with the kind of danger that made it irresistible.

Agatha knew what she was doing. She had learned, with time, that the right kind of attention could bend a person’s will better than force ever could. And Mira wanted.

Wanted to be noticed. Wanted to be chosen. Wanted something more.

Her resolve cracked. Her lips parted.

“…You’ll finish for me?” Mira asked, hesitant, but already halfway convinced.

“Of course,” Agatha promised, her fingers trailing down Mira’s wrist before she pulled away, slow enough to leave a phantom sensation behind.

Mira hesitated for only a breath longer before setting her brush down and slipping away down the corridor, her steps quick, unsteady.

Agatha did not watch her go. She was already turning her attention back to the door.

She took Mira’s place, but her hands did not reach for the brush.

Instead, she tilted her head, listening.

Inside, voices murmured, Evanora’s among them. The words were not yet clear.

But she had time. She always listened. And this time, she would hear the truth.

Inside the dimly lit chamber, the air was thick with the scent of burnt herbs and candle wax, the heavy silence disrupted only by the rustling of fabric as the witches shifted uncomfortably. Their tension was palpable, their unease a tangible force pressing against the walls. The only one who remained unshaken was Evanora.

Her voice sliced through the murmurs like a knife.

"Do you not see?" she demanded, her tone sharp, biting. "This is not a coincidence."

She stood tall in the center of the room, a figure wreathed in authority, the dim candlelight casting jagged shadows across her face. The other witches, though powerful in their own right, kept their gazes averted, their hands clutching at their robes as if seeking reassurance in the fabric itself.

A hesitant voice rose from the huddled figures.

"But how can we be certain?" There was doubt there, edged with fear. "There have been no signs… The cycle remains intact. The balance…”

"The balance is fracturing beneath our feet," Evanora snapped, her patience thinning like a thread stretched too far. She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping over them, her presence suffocating. "Tell me, then, why the numbers do not add up. Why our rituals,our rituals,fail to return what is owed?"

A murmur passed through the group, uncertain, uneasy.

Evanora did not wait for an answer. She never did.

"How many have vanished without another to take their place? How many offerings have been left unanswered? You claim the cycle remains unbroken, but if that were true, we would not be standing here."

The silence that followed was deep, suffocating.

Agatha pressed herself against the wooden door, breath held, listening with a stillness she had perfected over years of obedience. The words drifted through the thick air like smoke, wisps of meaning, half-caught before they dissipated.

Then, a voice, low and uncertain.

"It’s impossible…"

"Nothing is impossible," Evanora said darkly. "Only hidden."

There was a shift, a hesitation that Agatha could sense even without seeing them.

"You believe it is her?" someone asked. Their voice was hushed, as if speaking the words too loudly might summon something best left undisturbed.

Evanora hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for doubt to creep into the room like a slow-moving fog.

"I believe something has returned," she admitted. "And if we do not sever the root now, it will drag us all into the dirt with it."

The witches exchanged glances, unreadable expressions flickering between them. Their voices blurred after that, fragments of conversation, clipped whispers. Agatha could not catch every word, but she did not need to.

She had never heard Evanora sound like this before.

Never heard worry in her voice.

Never seen the witches,these women who prided themselves on control, afraid .

And if they were afraid, then something was very, very wrong.

She forced her hands to remain steady, even as her mind spun in frantic circles.

The cabin.

The thought struck her like lightning, sudden, undeniable.

She had to go back. She had to return to that place, to the voice in the darkness, to whatever it was that whispered secrets only she could hear.

A chill prickled along the back of her neck.

"Come to me, Agatha."

The voice was closer this time, curling around her like breath against her skin. Silken, knowing, waiting. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a summons.

Her pulse pounded.

She turned sharply, scanning the corridor. It stretched out before her, empty and still. The flickering lanterns cast shifting shapes along the stone walls, but no figure stood there. No shadow moved where it should not.

She was alone. Or at least, she was supposed to be.

"Okay... I'm here. You called me, and I came..." Agatha's voice was playful, dripping with her usual boldness. "Look... I think I deserve at least a name for this constant squeaking in my ear."

She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her posture casually defiant, though her pulse was quickening. The air around her felt heavy, electric, but Agatha refused to show any sign of unease. Instead, she leaned into the tension, intrigued. Who was this voice that dared to think it could control her? And why did it think she’d be intimidated?

The voice came again, closer now, as though it had been savoring the moment, enjoying Agatha’s defiance.

“You really don’t know, do you?” it said, the tone rich with something darker, more ancient. “You’ve always known. I’ve been here, always watching.”

Agatha couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, the sound sharp and confident. "Oh, please. If you think I'm going to start trembling because of that, you’ve got another thing coming. I don’t take orders from voices in my head, sweetheart, especially not ones that think they can hide in the background for ages and only just now decide to show up."

The air thickened, crackling with an unseen force, but instead of fear, Agatha felt a pulse of excitement. There was something undeniably compelling about this voice, something dangerous, and it intrigued her more than it frightened her.

“You’re cute,” the voice mused, its mockery only spurring Agatha on. “But you're more than just stubborn, aren’t you? You have no idea who you're dealing with.”

"‘Cute’?" Agatha scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk. "You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart."

Her stance remained defiant, her body relaxed but her eyes sharp, never wavering. She’d spent her life under the iron fist of her coven, controlled by forces far stronger than anything this voice could throw at her. No, she wouldn’t bend. Not now, not ever.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension, and Agatha felt the pressure in the air growing heavier, as though something unseen was building around them. The challenge had been set.

“I could show you how much control I have,” the voice purred, every word laced with promise and threat alike.

Agatha’s laughter was dark, almost cruel. "Is that so? Well, I’ve been controlled my entire life, darling. You think you can just waltz in and take over? Not a chance." She shook her head, her smirk widening as her heart raced with anticipation. "You’ll have to try a hell of a lot harder than that."

The voice paused, as though intrigued by her resistance, then the temperature in the room seemed to drop sharply, a chill settling into the air around her.

Suddenly, a shadow coalesced before Agatha, stretching across the floor like ink spilling from the darkness itself. It swirled, swirling with a life of its own, slowly taking shape. As it solidified, Agatha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat. The figure that emerged before her was a woman, tall, just a little over Agatha’s own height, her presence commanding and mesmerizing.

The woman’s features were striking, almost sculpted by the darkness itself. Her face was oval, but angular, with sharp cheekbones that caught the light as she moved, giving her an almost ethereal edge. Her skin was pale but had a subtle warmth, as though it carried an internal fire. Her lips were full, a deep, rich red, as though kissed by frost and left permanently tinted with the lingering chill.

Her eyes, though, were what drew Agatha in. They were large, almond-shaped, and dark brown,nearly black in the dim light, but with a shimmer of something ancient, dangerous, and knowing. Those eyes glowed with an unsettling intensity, as though they could pierce through Agatha’s very soul, reading her every thought, every flicker of emotion. There was something almost hypnotic about them.

Her hair was long, falling past her shoulders in waves of deep, dark brown, almost black, cascading like silk down her back. It moved with an almost unnatural fluidity, as though alive, brushing the edges of her green cloak with every step she took. The strands caught the faintest glimmer of light, making them appear almost otherworldly.

The woman was dressed entirely in green, her gown a deep, dark shade that seemed to absorb the light around her. It was fitted at the waist, flowing down into soft folds that cascaded around her legs, almost like liquid. A matching cloak, long and sweeping, draped over her shoulders, the fabric whispering softly as she moved. Her shoes were sleek, pointed, matching the dark green of her outfit. It was an ensemble that demanded attention and respect.

Her cheeks were lightly flushed, as if perpetually kissed by a cold wind, giving her a delicate, yet unsettling, appearance, her lips, redder than any natural shade, only added to the effect. She looked as if she was frozen in time, as though nothing could touch her, yet there was a fire in her eyes, an undeniable force of will that could consume everything in its path.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable but tinged with fascination. “Now this... this is more like it,” she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. “You're full of surprises, aren’t you?”

The woman’s lips curved upward into a faint smile, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Those dark, mesmerizing eyes gleamed with amusement, and maybe something else, a touch of wickedness, or perhaps... something more? She took a step forward, the air growing thicker with her presence, her every movement smooth, calculated.

“Surprises…?” she repeated, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “Maybe you’re the surprise, Agatha.”

The tension between them was palpable, suffocating in its intensity. Agatha’s pulse quickened, not from fear, but from something else, something far more dangerous and alluring. She could feel the power emanating from the woman, the almost magnetic pull of her presence. It was the kind of energy that would draw anyone in, but Agatha was no stranger to power. She wasn’t about to let it control her.

"You think you can intimidate me?" Agatha taunted, her voice dropping an octave, her defiance clear. “You’ll have to do a lot more than that to make me bend.”

The woman’s smile deepened, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in her eyes. “I don’t need to intimidate you, Agatha,” she said, her voice low and thick with meaning. “You’re already intrigued.”

Agatha leaned in, her face inches from the woman’s, her breath quickening. “I don’t bend,” she said, the words tinged with a playful but dangerous edge. “You’ll never control me.”

The woman’s laughter was like silk, smooth, deadly, and seductive. “You’re right about one thing,” she whispered, her voice rich and dark, pulling Agatha closer, until their faces were almost touching. “I don’t intend to control you.”

Agatha’s smirk widened, her lips brushing the woman’s ear, her voice low and teasing. “Then what are you trying to do? Play some game with me?”

The woman’s breath hitched, her composure never faltering. “No games, Agatha.” Her voice thickened, laden with an intimacy that sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine. “Just... a very tempting offer.”

Agatha’s heart skipped, the pull of the woman undeniable, but the fire in her chest burned brighter still. “I’m listening,” she murmured, her voice low and challenging.

The woman’s gaze deepened, studying Agatha with an intensity that felt as though she were peeling back every layer of her soul. For a moment, the playful tension that had crackled between them seemed to dissipate, replaced by something far more knowing,something dark, insightful.

Agatha’s bravado, her cocky attitude, was nothing new. The woman could see that it was a shield, a carefully constructed mask to hide the vulnerability that Agatha rarely let anyone see. It was a weapon, yes, but it was also a barrier. The woman’s lips curled into a knowing smile as she recognized the truth beneath the surface: Agatha didn’t just wear this boldness, she needed it. She used it to keep the world at bay, to protect herself from ever feeling truly exposed. But the woman saw through it.

"You're clever," she said softly, her voice a dangerous mix of admiration and something else. "But this…" She gestured to Agatha’s stance, her arms crossed, her eyes defiant. "This is just a mask. A wall you've built around yourself."

Agatha froze for just a second, her guard flickering, but she quickly recovered, her smirk returning as she leaned in a little closer.

"Is that so?" Agatha’s voice was teasing, but there was an edge of irritation underneath it. "You think you know me that well already? You think this is just some... mask?"

The woman stepped closer, the space between them narrowing with each calculated move she made. "I don’t think," she murmured, her breath cool against Agatha’s skin. "I know. You wear your boldness like armor, but underneath, you’re desperate. You’re desperate for more. For control. For power. For knowledge."

Agatha’s pulse quickened at the words, not from fear, but from something else,something darker, something that burned with her own desire. It was as if the woman had laid her bare, and she hated it. She hated that she felt exposed in front of someone she barely knew. But there was also something thrilling about it, something intoxicating.

Agatha straightened, refusing to let the woman see how deeply her words had cut. "And what if I am?" she shot back, her voice colder, but her gaze never wavered. "What are you going to do about it?"

The woman’s lips curled into a faint smile. "You know what I can do," she said, her voice smooth, almost too calm. "You’ve always known. I can give you what you crave, the knowledge, the power you think you deserve. But I won’t just hand it to you. You’ll have to ask for it."

There was a silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken promises, and Agatha could feel the weight of the woman’s words pressing down on her. She didn’t like it, not one bit. The idea of asking for anything felt like weakness, a surrender she wasn’t willing to make. She had never asked for anything from anyone. Not even her coven had given her the power she truly desired. She’d taken it, one piece at a time.

And yet, despite the surge of resistance that clawed at her, there was a flicker of intrigue. The woman was right, Agatha’s hunger for power, for control, for knowledge, it wasn’t something she could ignore. The voice in her head, the whispers of magic, the secrets that had always danced just out of reach. She wanted it all. No, she needed it.

Her gaze softened, and a challenge slipped past her lips. "Alright," she said, the words carrying the weight of an unspoken demand. "Teach me. But I’m not going to beg, and I sure as hell won’t sit here and pretend I’m some obedient little student. I want more than you’re offering."

The woman’s smile deepened, her eyes glimmering with a knowing spark. "I never expected you to beg, Agatha," she said softly, her voice low and almost hypnotic. "But make no mistake, you’ll ask, whether you want to or not."

Agatha’s chest tightened. Her mind screamed at her to keep control, to hold on to that spark of defiance, but the woman’s presence was so overwhelming, it was hard to focus on anything else. Her words were like tendrils curling around Agatha’s thoughts, coaxing her, enticing her to give in. She didn’t want to, but something about this woman made her want to know more, to push further.

But there was one thing Agatha wasn’t about to let slide.

"You know everything about me," Agatha said, her voice sharp with indignation. "Yet you still haven’t told me your name. Don’t you think that’s a little... absurd? I’m supposed to trust someone who won’t even give me their name?"

The woman’s lips quirked into a smile that was both dangerous and teasing. "Trust?" she mused. "You’re right. It is absurd. But you see, Agatha, names are power. And if you want to take what I’m offering, you’ll have to earn the right to it."

Agatha's heartbeat quickened. She could feel the challenge simmering beneath her skin, the urge to push, to break the woman’s calm composure and force her into submission. But something told her that doing so would only make the game more dangerous. And yet, the idea of not knowing this woman’s name, the one who had been lurking in the shadows of her mind, who had watched her, who had seen her, it was unbearable.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze narrowing as she met the woman’s eyes, refusing to let her frustration show. "Fine. I’ll earn it. But mark my words, I won’t play by your rules forever."

The woman’s presence was imposing, commanding even in the stillness of the night, her every movement deliberate, calculated. Agatha’s mind raced, unsure of what to expect, but not willing to let any of it show. The power that had drawn her here hummed beneath her skin, undeniable, but there was also something about her that seemed to pulse with a danger Agatha couldn’t quite name.

“Do you think you’re ready for what I can teach you?” The woman’s voice broke the silence, and Agatha's pulse quickened at the cool, almost playful challenge in her tone. "I know you’ve been craving this power, some control, but understand this, Agatha..." The woman's gaze locked onto hers, unblinking, her eyes dark and deep, “It’s not going to be easy. Learning to command what you desire, to step beyond the limits of what you’ve been told… It’s a struggle. And that’s if you can even make it past the first hurdle.”

Agatha stood tall, a wisp of a smirk playing on her lips, her arms crossed over her chest. “Struggle?” she echoed, her voice dripping with feigned arrogance. "You think that’s going to stop me? You underestimate me, then.” Her words held a challenge that wasn’t just for the other woman, but for herself. Every instinct in her screamed for this. Every part of her life had led to this moment. If there was one thing Agatha couldn't stand, it was being underestimated.

She chuckled softly, her lips curling at the edges. "Underestimate you?" She stepped closer, her body language predatory, her presence intoxicating. “Maybe it’s not about underestimating you. Maybe it’s about seeing how far you’re willing to go to prove you can learn. The question isn’t if you can do this, Agatha. The question is if you want to. The path I’ll put you on... there will be no turning back. You’ll be stepping into a world you’ve only ever heard of in whispers.”

Agatha swallowed the lump in her throat, but didn’t back down. Her gaze never wavered, and a fierce light burned in her eyes. “I’m not scared of what’s waiting for me. You may think I don’t know what I’m getting into, but I’m already in too deep to turn back. So, why don’t you start showing me?”

The woman’s lips quirked into an amused smile, almost as if she were enjoying Agatha’s confidence. "Very well. You’re right about one thing, you are already in too deep to turn back. But what you don’t know, Agatha, is that what I’m going to teach you requires something more than simple desire. It requires your soul, your essence... and yes, it will hurt. I’m not here to give you the soft, easy lessons you learned for yourself. This will be hard. But if you’re willing to commit, I’ll show you what you can become.”

Agatha’s heartbeat quickened. She didn’t need to be told twice. The challenge in her voice, the promise of power, was too enticing.

“What do you mean by commit?” Agatha asked, her voice softening just slightly. The words were wrapped in an undertone of something darker, something more dangerous.

The woman’s eyes glinted with a knowing look, and she stepped even closer to Agatha, her presence overwhelming. “To gain this knowledge, you must give up control. Let me show you how to take what’s yours, how to demand your power. You think you’re ready for that, but I’m not so sure. Control is not something you can just take. It’s something you earn, something you learn to hold and wield. And until I see you prove you can truly want it... you won’t get it.”

Agatha was silent for a moment, the weight of the woman’s words settling heavily over her. She had no intention of backing down, but there was something about she that made her wonder whether the price of this knowledge might be more than she had anticipated. Still, the pull was undeniable, and her thirst for it was stronger than ever.

“Fine,” Agatha said, her voice tinged with impatience and resolve. “But if you’re not going to give me a name, you’d better start teaching me already. I don’t have time to waste.”

The woman’s smile deepened, amused and almost approving. “A name, hmm? You’re not quite ready for that. Not yet. But if you’re still asking tomorrow, perhaps I’ll consider it.”

The words stung, but Agatha was used to that, she was used to being pushed, to being forced to earn everything. This wasn’t going to be any different. She squared her shoulders, taking a step closer, her voice lowering. “Tomorrow. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

The woman’s gaze held hers for a long moment, and the air between them thickened with tension. Then, her lips parted in a grin that spoke of a challenge and a promise.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice smooth as honey. “But you’ll need to come to me at midnight. That’s the only time you’ll be able to escape the prying eyes of your coven. You do have them watching you, don’t you?” Her tone was playful, but there was an edge of knowing beneath it, as though she understood Agatha’s life better than Agatha did herself.

Agatha’s expression hardened, but her heart skipped a beat. “Midnight,” she repeated, the sound of it almost like a spell. “I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be waiting,” The woman said, stepping back just enough to let the distance linger, but not so much that the pull between them disappeared. "Until then, Agatha. And remember, the road we’re about to walk... it’s one you’ve chosen. No turning back now."

Agatha’s pulse raced, but she didn’t flinch. “I don’t plan on turning back.”

With one final glance, she faded into the shadows of the trees, her figure blending with the night as if she had never been there at all.

Agatha stood still, her mind racing. Midnight. One lesson, the first step to something she could barely understand, but wanted more than anything. And yet, in the pit of her stomach, there was a flicker of something unsettling, a whisper that told her not all was as it seemed.

But for now, there was only the promise of what that woman could teach her, and Agatha was going to claim it, whatever it took.

The night air was cool and crisp, with the quiet whispers of the forest, but Agatha’s heart raced as she approached the small, secluded cabin. Her footsteps were light but cautious, every sound seeming louder than it should have been in the stillness of the night. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might have noticed her absence, Evanora’s eyes were always sharp, always watching. She had to sneak out under the guise of completing Silent tasks, and it wasn’t the first time she’d taken a risk, but tonight… Tonight was different. This was a lesson she couldn’t afford to miss.

Agatha paused just outside the cabin door, her eyes darting around in the darkness. The quiet was oppressive, and she strained her senses, searching for any sign that someone might have caught wind of her departure. But the shadows remained still, and the forest around her seemed undisturbed. With a final breath, she made her way to the door, pushing it open with a soft creak. The cabin’s interior was dim, lit by the soft, flickering glow of a fire.

And there, standing by the hearth, was the woman.

She was already there, waiting, her figure framed by the firelight. Her presence was commanding, as always, but there was a calm in her, a stillness that seemed to absorb the very air around her. Agatha’s breath caught for a moment. Even in the dim light, the woman was a vision, unmoving, elegant, with the weight of knowing something Agatha had yet to understand.

For a brief moment, Agatha hesitated. She had expected to feel nervous, unsure, but when her eyes met the woman’s, she felt something else. That same tension from before, a pull between them. A challenge.

She quickly shook off the unease and adopted her usual confident demeanor, stepping into the cabin and closing the door behind her with a soft thud. “Well, I’m here,” Agatha said, her voice casual, though her heartbeat betrayed her. “Didn’t think I’d be able to make it. I’m not exactly... invisible, you know.”

The woman’s lips quivered into a smile, one that could have been either amused or approving. She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes scanning Agatha with that calculating look that made Agatha’s stomach flutter with something she refused to name. Instead, she gestured for Agatha to come closer.

“You’re here now,” the woman said softly, “and that’s what matters. But know this: what you’re about to learn won’t be easy. It’s not just about power, Agatha. It’s about balance.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, intrigued but also somewhat skeptical. “Balance? Between what and what?”

The woman took a step closer, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s. There was something about her, a calm, almost timeless aura, that made Agatha feel both at ease and overwhelmed.

“Between life and death,” the woman replied in a serious, almost grave tone. “You cannot understand true magic without realizing that these two elements are not opposites. They are intertwined, and the secret to mastering them lies in understanding where the balance is.”

Agatha tried to focus on the words, on the lesson that the woman was offering. But it was hard to ignore how close she was now, how the air between them seemed charged with something that wasn’t just knowledge. The woman’s presence was intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

Agatha felt a shiver run through her, something mysterious in the air, as if those words resonated deep within her. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, as if the woman’s words held more weight than she had anticipated. There was no empty promise in her voice; she spoke of something real, something beyond ordinary understanding.

“So, you’re going to teach me how to find this balance?” Agatha asked, her tone now more curious than skeptical. “How do I do that without losing my mind in the process?”

The woman didn’t flinch at Agatha’s tone. Instead, she stepped even closer, just inches from Agatha’s face. Her presence was overwhelming, her scent, an earthy, floral fragrance, lingering in the air between them. “First, you’ll need to open your mind to something much older than you can imagine. This magic... It doesn't care about power or control. It’s about understanding the essence of life itself. You’ll have to feel it, not just learn it.”

Agatha swallowed, her defiance still evident but less certain now. Something in the woman’s words, in the way she said them, made her pulse race in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “And how exactly am I supposed to feel it? You’re not exactly handing me a manual here.”

The woman’s eyes gleamed, almost with amusement. “You don’t need a manual. You need awareness. To feel the pulse of the world. To recognize what lives, what dies... and what happens in between.”

The air between them crackled with energy, and for a brief moment, Agatha wasn’t sure if it was the lesson, or the woman herself, that was affecting her so deeply.

“Alright,” Agatha said, though her voice wavered slightly, betraying the sense of excitement she was trying to suppress. “I’ll give it a shot. But I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”

The woman chuckled, her voice smooth and dark. “That’s part of the lesson, Agatha. You’ll learn to embrace the unknown. Now...” She took a deliberate step back, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s. “Before we begin, I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you my name.”

Agatha’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening. She hadn’t expected the woman to offer it so easily, and yet, there was something about the way she spoke that felt... deliberate. Almost like a subtle invitation.

Agatha’s brow furrowed, and for a brief moment, she had to remind herself to keep her cool. “About time,” she said with a smirk, trying to mask the sudden flutter in her chest. “It’s a bit ridiculous that you’ve known my name all this time, and I’m still left in the dark.”

The woman’s smile deepened, a knowing look in her eyes. “It’s Rio,” she said, her voice soft but certain. “Rio Vidal.”

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat. The name felt weighty, like it carried an entire universe behind it. It sounded... ancient. Powerful. Agatha was momentarily taken aback, but she quickly masked her reaction with a forced nonchalance.

“Rio Vidal,” Agatha repeated, as if testing the name on her tongue. It felt dangerous, enticing. Perfect.

“You’re not the only one with secrets, darling,” Agatha added, a playful edge to her voice. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze now shifting with curiosity. “Now that I know who I’m dealing with... what’s next?”

The woman smiled slowly, but without humor. “You have more than what’s needed, Agatha. But the real question is: are you ready to see beyond what you know? To set aside control and learn to feel?”

The challenge in her words was clear, and Agatha felt a heat rise within her. It was an invitation, a challenge she couldn’t refuse.

“I’m ready,” Agatha replied, her eyes locked on the woman’s, feeling the tension build between them. “But don’t expect me to become a compliant pupil. I’m not that kind.”

Rio’s smile deepened, amusement flickering in her eyes. She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her presence filling the space. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I wouldn’t be interested in teaching someone who simply obeyed.”

There was something about the way Rio said it, almost like a compliment, and Agatha could feel her pulse quicken despite herself. She quickly masked it with a confident smirk. “Good. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Rio’s expression shifted, the teasing edge disappearing for a moment, replaced by a quiet intensity. “But don’t mistake my patience for weakness,” she said, her voice now low, each word deliberate, as though weighing something far heavier than Agatha could understand. “This lesson is going to take everything you have, Agatha. You won’t learn it by just fighting your way through. This magic… It's not about control. It’s about understanding what lies beneath it. You’ll need to surrender to it, in a way.”

Agatha scoffed lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Surrendering is not exactly my style. I don’t need to give in to anything.”

Rio stepped closer, her dark eyes never leaving Agatha’s, the intensity between them escalating. “We’ll see about that,” Rio murmured, the weight of her words making Agatha pause for a fraction of a second. “You may think you can control everything, but you’re going to need to learn patience. To let go of that arrogance you carry so well.”

Agatha stiffened, her defiance surging again. “Don’t expect me to sit here and let you dictate everything, Rio. I’ll learn your lesson, but I’m not some docile student who will fall into line.”

Rio’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “The very thing you’re trying to control is what keeps you from controlling anything.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued despite the still-burning resistance inside her. “Life and death? That’s what this is all about?”

Rio nodded, her voice softening just a touch. “Yes. They are not opposites, Agatha. They are not enemies. They are part of the same cycle, and if you can learn to understand them, to feel their pulse, then you can learn to harness something greater than power.” She stepped back then, as if allowing the weight of her words to sink in. “Tonight’s lesson isn’t about wielding that power, it’s about feeling it. About understanding the balance between them. Only then can you hope to wield the forces that bind everything together.”

Agatha’s defiance was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something about Rio’s calm authority made it difficult to hold onto her skepticism. There was a quiet magnetism to the way Rio spoke, to the power she wielded effortlessly. And for a moment, Agatha couldn’t help but feel as though she was standing on the edge of something vast, something that both terrified and intrigued her.

“Fine,” Agatha said, her voice more serious now, though the smirk never fully left her lips. “Let’s see what this balance is about. I’m not here for theory. I want to feel it.”

Rio regarded her for a long moment, as though deciding something in the space between them. Then, with a slow nod, she stepped forward again, her hands raised gracefully. “Close your eyes,” she said, her voice now gentle but commanding. “Feel the pulse of life. Feel the rhythm that connects everything, earth, air, fire, water. All things are alive, Agatha, even in death. You’ll have to learn to listen to it.”

Agatha stared at her for a moment, then obeyed, though with reluctance. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe deeply, trying to block out the noise of the world around her. For a moment, everything seemed to still.

But then, she felt it, a soft pulse beneath her skin, a rhythm that seemed to resonate with the very air she breathed. It wasn’t just her heartbeat; it was something older, deeper. It thrummed in her bones, her soul. The ground beneath her feet seemed to hum with life, the fire crackling more intensely in the hearth, the shadows shifting in time.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had no idea what it was, but it was real. And for the first time, Agatha felt something other than defiance and power. Something far deeper.

Rio’s voice broke the silence softly, “You’re beginning to understand. It’s not about controlling what you feel, it’s about embracing it.”

Agatha opened her eyes, and in that moment, she understood. Something inside her had shifted. Something had changed.

The stillness in the room felt almost tangible, as though time itself had slowed to an unnatural crawl. Agatha stood in the center, her body alive with a pulse she couldn’t quite name. It was as though the very air around her had thickened, vibrated, hummed with energy. But it wasn’t just the air, it was inside her. Beneath her skin, something ancient stirred. A pulse. A heartbeat. But not hers. Something… deeper.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to make sense of the sensation, but it eluded her, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to grasp it too tightly. The fire crackled in the hearth, a deeper, warmer crackle than usual, and the shadows on the walls shifted in rhythm with the strange pulse under her skin.

For a brief, disorienting moment, it felt like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting.

What is this? she thought, her mind swirling in confusion and awe. What’s happening to me? She had known power before, the cold satisfaction of commanding the forces of nature, the sharpness of a spell unleashed. But this? This was something else. Something alive.

She shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of the magic pressing against her. It was as though the ground beneath her feet was humming, her bones resonating with something she couldn’t yet understand. The pulse inside her surged and then settled, as if the magic was testing her, pushing against her walls.

Her breath hitched as she opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Rio’s. The older woman was watching her with a look of calm curiosity, her expression a mix of admiration and something else, something that hinted at an understanding Agatha couldn’t quite place.

“You’re feeling it, aren’t you?” Rio asked softly, her voice lilting with amusement.

Agatha nodded slowly, unsure whether to be awed or terrified. “I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling.” She let out a breath, the words coming out sharper than she intended. “How do you know so much about me?” Her voice held a touch of challenge, but there was something playful beneath the tension.

Rio’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes glinting with a secret she wasn’t ready to share. “I know a lot of things,” she said with a smirk, stepping closer, her presence warm and yet unsettling in the way only Rio’s proximity could be. “Some things you’ll come to understand, too. If you stop fighting it long enough.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you do it? Just… stop fighting?” Her voice dropped slightly, teasing. “You make it sound so easy.”

Rio’s smile widened. “You make it sound like it’s impossible.” She tilted her head, her gaze softening. “Don’t worry, Agatha. You’ll figure it out. But the first thing you need to learn is that it’s not about control.”

Agatha bristled at the word “control.” It was the very thing she had always craved, always believed she could master. Magic, power, people, they all bent to her will, or they didn’t last long. But this… this felt different. “Then what is it about?” she asked, her voice low, full of suspicion and curiosity.

Rio’s expression softened as she watched Agatha, her gaze full of something like understanding and something else Agatha couldn’t quite define. “It’s about connection,” she said simply. “Feeling it. Understanding it. Letting it flow through you without trying to tame it. You don’t need to control the magic, Agatha. You need to be it.”

Agatha’s chest tightened at the words, her mind racing. “So you’re saying I’m supposed to just let it… take over?” She could feel a bit of her usual bravado slipping, replaced with something deeper. She couldn’t deny the fear crawling at the edges of her confidence.

Rio’s eyes locked onto hers, and there was a strange intensity in her gaze. “Not take over,” she said softly, but firmly. “Flow with it. Trust it.”

A beat of silence passed between them, a quiet tension that felt thick enough to cut. Agatha wanted to push back, to challenge the idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Not with Rio so close, her presence stirring something that wasn’t just the magic inside her, but something else entirely.

The older woman stepped back, lifting her hand, and Agatha’s attention snapped to it. In Rio’s palm, a small ember flickered to life, its golden glow bright and steady. “This,” Rio said, “is like your magic. It burns, it illuminates, it can warm and it can destroy, it's alive and it consumes something in the process.”

Agatha watched the flame, the glow casting shifting shadows across Rio’s face. It was beautiful, hypnotizing, and terrifying all at once. “The wick and the wax,” she murmured, recognizing the metaphor.

Rio nodded. “Exactly. You feed it with your essence. The more you use it, the more it burns through you. And if you’re not careful, the flame will snuff out.” She let the ember hover in her hand, its warmth radiating in the cool air.

Agatha took a step forward, her heart pounding. “So every time I use magic, it costs me something? I just lose a piece of myself?”

Rio’s eyes softened, but the seriousness behind them didn’t falter. “Yes. In every spell, every enchantment, it takes a bit of your essence. If you don’t learn to manage it, if you don’t find balance…” She paused, her voice lowering. “You’ll burn out. Just like a candle with no wax left.”

Agatha’s stomach churned, the fear she had been suppressing rising in her chest. “And if I burn out?”

Rio’s lips twitched, as if she was considering how to answer. “You won’t be able to use magic anymore. It’ll just…flicker out.”

A long silence stretched between them, and Agatha felt the weight of the words settle in her chest. This wasn’t like the stories. Magic wasn’t some endless well to draw from. There were limits. There were consequences.

But she wasn’t sure whether to be more afraid of running out of magic, or of not knowing how to control it when she had it.

Rio stepped closer, her voice dropping, almost a whisper. “But there’s a way to learn,” she said, the hint of a smile returning. “A way to keep the flame alive. You just have to learn when to feed it, and when to let it rest.”

Agatha swallowed hard, the playful edge to Rio’s tone doing nothing to ease the tension in her chest. “And when do I learn that?”

Rio’s smile deepened, a touch of something mischievous in her eyes. “You’ll learn fast enough. And I’ll be right here, watching.”

The following morning, Agatha felt strangely detached as she moved through the Silent’s spaces, she had a purpose today, and that was something she clung to, tasks, order, routine. But nothing felt as certain as it once had. After Rio’s revelations the night before, there was a constant hum beneath her skin, a pulse she couldn’t ignore. It had unsettled her. Magic wasn’t just power, it was something that could slip through her fingers if she wasn’t careful, something she could lose as easily as a candle’s flame flickering out. She had always thought she could control everything. Magic, people, even herself. But last night had made her wonder.

Still, she couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

Today, she had work to do.

Agatha made her way to the room of Elder Selene, one of the most ancient witches, to assist with a task. The elder’s chambers were dim, filled with the musty scent of dried herbs and ancient spellbooks. Agatha had seen these rooms countless times before, but today they felt oddly unfamiliar, like she was moving through a space that didn’t quite belong to her.

With a practiced motion, she began to prepare the ingredients for a protective charm, ingredients she had read about in one of the books she’d found at the cabin. The bark of the silverwood tree, crushed with precision; the delicate petals of nightshade, handled with care; a few drops of oil, darker than shadow, that would bind the ingredients together.

Her fingers moved automatically, but her mind was elsewhere, trailing to the memory of Rio’s quiet, intense presence the night before, her voice like a whisper of command and seduction in the dark. That pulse. The power beneath her skin. It made her question everything, even herself. Agatha hadn’t expected to feel vulnerable, but something about the way Rio had spoken, the way she’d felt the magic, had broken down a part of Agatha she hadn’t realized needed breaking.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. The grind of the herbs beneath the mortar and pestle was grounding, even as her thoughts flickered back to Rio’s smile, the way she had looked at Agatha with that knowing intensity. It wasn’t just about magic, was it? There was something else there, something Agatha wasn’t ready to face yet.

Focus, she told herself again, tightening her grip on the pestle. She had more important things to worry about than some fleeting connection.

The door creaked open, cutting through her thoughts. Agatha didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Busy?” a voice asked, smooth and low.

Agatha glanced up, just enough to catch the playful glint in the other woman’s eyes. The voice belonged to Beatrix, another Silent who worked in this room. Tall, dark-haired, with sharp features and a quiet sort of beauty, Beatrix was no stranger to Agatha. She had always caught Agatha’s attention in the same way a flame catches the eye, a brief and intense blaze of interest that quickly becomes something more dangerous if you get too close.

Beatrix stood at the door with a basket of fresh herbs, her eyes lingering on Agatha’s work with a slow, deliberate gaze. There was a subtle tension in the air, one Agatha recognized immediately, the kind of tension that hummed between them like a secret, unsaid. Beatrix had noticed the way Agatha’s gaze had flickered over her the last few times they’d crossed paths. And now, it was her turn to make the first move.

Agatha smiled faintly, not missing a beat as she continued to crush the herbs. “Just getting things ready. You’re late.”

Beatrix didn’t seem offended by the comment. Instead, she walked into the room with a lazy confidence, placing the basket down on the nearby counter. She took a step closer, her presence undeniable, like the weight of a storm gathering just beyond reach.

“Late?” Beatrix repeated, her tone teasing, almost amused. “I thought I’d give you some time alone to work.” She leaned against the table, just enough to be close without crowding Agatha’s space. “It’s not like you need help.”

Agatha allowed her gaze to flicker over Beatrix for a moment before returning to her task. There was something in the way Beatrix’s posture held,casual, but entirely aware,that sent a slight pulse of heat through Agatha. She didn’t let her expression shift, though. The thrill of the game was in control, and Agatha was always in control.

“I’m sure you’d just slow me down.” She gave a small, sarcastic smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

The words were meant to push Beatrix away, but the other woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out a low laugh, stepping closer.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to disturb you,” Beatrix said, her voice dropping to a softer register. “But I can’t help noticing how you’re working so hard.” She let her fingers brush lightly over the edge of the counter, her gaze never leaving Agatha’s face. “Careful you don’t burn out that candle of yours.”

For a split second, Agatha’s heart skipped a beat, her thoughts immediately flashing to Rio’s words. Your magic is like a candle. She had never been so aware of her own energy, of how fragile it could become. But she wouldn’t let Beatrix know that, wouldn’t let anyone see the unease that had begun to settle in her chest.

Instead, Agatha leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving Beatrix’s. She let her lips curl into that same playful, almost daring smile. “I’m not one to burn out,” she said coolly. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to distract me.”

Beatrix tilted her head, a knowing glimmer flashing in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure I could think of a few ways,” she said softly, her gaze moving down to the delicate herbs Agatha had been preparing. “But I’ll leave that to you, for now. You seem like you’re in the zone.”

It was a subtle tease, an unspoken challenge, and Agatha felt the slight tug of tension between them, the unacknowledged pull that seemed to hum in the air. But just as Agatha was about to lean in closer, to push her advantage, the door creaked open again, this time with a harshness that startled them both.

The figure that entered the room was tall, imposing, and unmistakable. Evanora, the matriarch of the Silent, moved with a certain authority that could freeze anyone in place. Her gaze swept over the room with cold precision, and it didn’t take long for her sharp eyes to lock onto Agatha and Beatrix standing close to one another.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Where Beatrix had been playful, Evanora’s presence was like a sudden thunderstorm. Agatha felt her pulse quicken, but she didn’t break her stance. She was Silent,she didn’t show weakness.

Evanora’s gaze hardened as she took in the scene. The tension was palpable, and without a word, she turned her sharp gaze to Beatrix.

“Enough,” she said curtly, her voice carrying the weight of command. “You’re wasting everyone’s time. Go.” The dismissal was almost imperceptible, but Beatrix’s expression flickered, the subtle grace she usually wore disappearing in an instant. She turned with a soft click of her heels, collecting her basket and heading for the door without another word.

Agatha didn’t have time to react before Evanora’s cold eyes were on her, a slight frown pulling at her mouth.

“You’re done with this,” Evanora stated, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. The command was sharp, final, and without room for argument. “When you’ve finished with all your tasks, you will come home. You’re expected.”

Agatha’s heart skipped a beat at the words. Home. It wasn’t a word she associated with comfort or warmth. It was a place that weighed heavy on her shoulders, where expectations were constant and unforgiving. The mention of it stirred something deep inside her, an ache in her chest that she could never fully shake. The thought of returning to that suffocating place was as disorienting as it was terrifying.

Her mouth went dry, and she forced herself to nod once, a tight, almost mechanical gesture. She had no choice. Her mother’s authority was absolute, and no matter how hard she fought to escape it, the chains of expectation and duty always pulled her back.

Evanora didn’t wait for any further response. She turned on her heel with the same cold precision she always carried, her footsteps purposeful, heavy, and deliberate. The air seemed to thin in her wake, a sense of finality filling the room as the presence of her mother receded.

The silence that followed felt like a weight pressing down on Agatha’s chest. She stood there for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as though they were the only thing holding her in place. The playful, teasing mood she had so carefully cultivated with Arlen shattered like glass against the unforgiving reality of her mother’s interruption. The sting of humiliation, sharp and unexpected, burned in her gut. In front of someone else, in front of her, Agatha had been dismissed like a child, a fleeting attempt at independence swept aside by her mother’s cold authority.

Beatrix had already gone. The brief, subtle tension between Agatha and her was now a distant memory, replaced by the heavy weight of her mother’s presence. Agatha could still hear the echo of Evanora’s words, ringing in her ears like a bell tolling. “You’re expected.” It was a command, not a request. It was a reminder of who Agatha was, or more accurately, who her mother insisted she be. A reminder that there was no escape from the expectations placed on her.

Her chest tightened, her breath shallow, and she exhaled slowly, trying to quell the wave of frustration that threatened to rise. It wasn’t just the dismissal. It was the reminder that she was always being watched, always being measured. Her every move scrutinized under the cold gaze of her mother. Agatha had tried for years to break free of that gaze, to escape the suffocating expectations of the Silent. But with every step forward, she always found herself bound tighter to her roots.

And yet, even as she stood there, grappling with the sting of being humiliated in front of Arlen, Agatha’s thoughts inexplicably wandered to someone else.

Rio.

The name flickered through her mind like a whisper, a thread of fire that refused to die out. Despite everything, the anger, the frustration, the sense of failure that seemed to overtake her, Agatha couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who had shown her the pulse of magic beneath her skin, the woman who had stirred something in her, something more than just power. Why? Why now, of all times, when she was feeling the weight of her mother’s command crushing her chest, was Rio the one who lingered at the edge of her thoughts?

She shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake the feeling loose, but it didn’t work. That connection, that strange pull, wouldn’t be ignored. And it scared her. Because if she allowed herself to think about it for too long, it might start to mean something more. It might shift her, and Agatha wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

Her hands trembled slightly as she continued to grind the herbs, the mortar and pestle clicking together with a rhythm that only deepened the silence around her. She focused on the task, but the feeling of her mother’s presence lingered like a shadow at the edge of her consciousness. The fear of being discovered, of being caught again, gripped her. She wasn’t even supposed to be here, not like this. Not so... unrefined.

Her power was a wild thing, something she had only begun to understand. And yet, it felt more dangerous than ever. The idea of it, that hum beneath her skin, that flicker of flame inside her, was terrifying. Magic, after all, wasn’t something that could be controlled without consequences. It was like a knife, sharp and beautiful, but it could cut through the wielder just as easily as it could its target.

Last night, Rio’s words echoed in her mind: Your magic is like a candle. The metaphor had lingered with Agatha, a persistent reminder of how fragile her control could be. Every spell she cast, every charm she used, drew from her, consumed a part of her. What if there wasn’t enough wax to keep the flame alive? What if she burned herself out, trying to grasp something she couldn’t hold?

And here she was, standing in the very place where it had all started, surrounded by power, surrounded by control, and yet feeling so far from both.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter tighter, the cool stone beneath her touch grounding her. Focus. But her mind kept straying, and now, instead of thinking of the task at hand, all she could think of was how she had almost lost herself in that brief moment with Beatrix, how the teasing, the flirtation, was a good distraction. And it wasn’t just Beatrix, it was that pull again, the one she couldn’t deny, that magnetic force that had come alive between her and Rio.

Agatha couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. She couldn’t afford to let herself slip. Her power, her control, was the only thing that could give her what she wanted, the strength to stand on her own. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the harder thing to do. Not because she couldn’t. But because, deep down, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She sighed deeply, the weight of everything pressing down on her as she finished her work, eyes scanning the room once more. But even now, even in the silence of the space, all she could think about was that flicker of magic, that burning ember inside her, and the question that haunted her.

Who will be burned first?

The door closed behind Agatha with a soft but final click, the sound of it echoing through the dimly lit entryway. Her heart drummed in her chest, each step heavy as she walked into the darkened house. The air inside felt thick, oppressive, like it had been steeped in ancient dust and secrets long buried. It was different from the usual heaviness she felt here, as though a greater darkness had seeped into the very wood of the walls, suffocating everything. The smell of old stone and lingering herbs clung to the air, but there was a bitter edge to it tonight,a stark reminder that her mother was waiting, ready to deliver whatever punishment she thought fit.

Evanora stood in the middle of the large sitting room, the firelight flickering across her sharp features, illuminating the intricate symbols woven into the fabric of her dark robe. She looked every bit the matriarch of their lineage, a woman who had wielded power for decades, a woman whose blood was rich with ancient, unspeakable magic. And now, she was waiting for Agatha, her daughter, to step into the ring of judgment.

"Late," Evanora’s voice cut through the silence with a chilling finality. Her eyes, cold as the stone hearth behind her, locked onto Agatha. "Again. I trusted you to follow the tasks I set for you, and yet you continue to waste your time with... distractions."

Agatha felt the heat of her mother’s gaze, the pressure of her eyes sinking into her skin. She stood in the doorway, biting back the immediate surge of frustration. She had learned to suppress her anger, to endure whatever venom Evanora spouted. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, the weight of her mother’s disapproval felt unbearable, like a thousand pounds pressing down on her chest.

"I did what was asked," Agatha replied, keeping her voice steady, but the flicker of a challenge still lingered behind her words. "I completed my tasks."

Evanora turned slowly, her eyes narrowing as she observed Agatha. There was something colder, darker, in her gaze tonight. It made Agatha feel like a child again, smaller than she was. "Do not lie to me. You were with her again, weren’t you?" Her words were quiet but dripping with venom. "The other Silent. A woman. This," She made a sharp gesture, as if Agatha's actions could be dismissed as easily as dust from a shelf. "Is beneath you. It is beneath us."

The words struck Agatha with the force of a slap, making her feel as if her breath had been stolen from her. She fought to keep the tremor from her hands, to keep the rage in check. Her mother’s disgust was palpable, more suffocating than any physical blow could ever be.

"I don't," Agatha bit the words back before they could escape. She knew better than to speak without thinking. But the anger still bubbled beneath the surface, hot and volatile.

Evanora took a step forward, her presence suffocating the space between them. "You do not understand, do you? What you’re doing. You squander your power, your heritage, for what? For what? Some fleeting... desire?" Evanora's lips curled, and her voice dropped lower, thick with disdain. "You are a witch of Salem. Do you think we were forged in the fires of history, in the depths of the earth, only to stoop to the base, animalistic desires of men and women alike?"

The words cut through Agatha like a blade, and for a brief, horrifying second, she imagined herself as nothing but an empty vessel, a tool to be used for some greater purpose. She felt small, inconsequential.

"You will not tarnish our name by engaging with those unworthy of it," Evanora continued. "You will not shame your lineage further." Her mother’s eyes gleamed with a cold, unwavering resolve. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Agatha clenched her fists at her sides, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the sharp retort that threatened to escape. Do I understand? No, she didn’t. Not really. Her power, her true power, was as much a mystery to her as it was to her mother. And even as the harsh words of judgment rang through the air, Agatha’s mind flickered with images of the last night, the pulse, the fire, the strange connection to something deeper than she had ever known.

But no. No, she couldn’t think about that now. Not with Evanora standing there, looming over her like a storm waiting to break.

"You will not be involved with any woman," Evanora’s voice was clipped, like the finality of a death sentence. "Especially not one like her."

Agatha’s throat tightened, and she knew if she said anything now, she would break. She swallowed hard, her mother’s words echoing in her head like a constant drumbeat. She felt sick, her stomach twisting painfully, but she forced herself to keep quiet, to keep her temper in check.

"You will stop embarrassing yourself," Evanora said, each word dripping with contempt. "You are a tool of power, Agatha. You will not reduce yourself to the depths of whatever this is. You will return to your work, your studies, and you will do it as a Silent should. A proper Silent."

Agatha stood still, her heart racing in her chest. The silence in the room grew thick as her mother waited for her to speak, to apologize, to accept her place in the world. But Agatha couldn’t. She couldn’t pretend anymore. Not when her heart burned with a strange, unfamiliar fire, not when her magic felt like it was pulsing beneath her skin, taunting her.

Something deep inside her wanted to explode, to fight back, but she held herself back. She had no idea where this power came from, this sudden surge of energy that made her feel like she could break the world apart with a thought, but it was as fleeting as it was dangerous. She couldn’t control it. She couldn’t control any of it.

Agatha closed her eyes for a moment, her jaw clenched tight, and then she finally spoke.

"I’m not you," she said, her voice trembling just slightly, though she fought to keep it steady. "And I never will be. I’m not just a tool, and I’m not here to fulfill your perfect little picture of me."

Evanora’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, Agatha saw something flicker in her mother’s eyes, a flash of something real, something that wasn’t just the cold, calculated matriarch. It was the briefest of moments, but it filled Agatha with dread.

Evanora took a sharp breath, straightening herself. "I don’t care what you think," she said in a voice as cold as the grave. "You will obey me. Do you understand?"

Agatha felt the words choke in her throat. She was suffocating, drowning in the sea of her mother’s control, but she nodded. Her heart burned, but her body remained still.

"Go to your room," Evanora ordered, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken commands. "And when you’ve learned your place, come to me again."

Agatha didn’t move for a moment, staring at her mother with burning eyes. Then, without another word, she turned and walked up the stairs, every step feeling like an eternity. She slammed her door behind her, the noise a defiant act against the silence of her mother’s suffocating expectations.

Sitting at her desk, Agatha felt the anger still seeping through her veins, but now it was mixed with something else, something more dangerous. She thought of Rio. The fire, the pulse beneath her skin. She thought of that connection, that force that seemed to hum with a life of its own. She didn’t know what it was, but she would find out. She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t remain powerless in the face of her own magic.

Next time, she thought, her fingers tightening on the edge of the desk, I will make her teach me. I will make her teach me everything.

Because if she didn’t, she might lose herself forever.

The early morning mist clung to the trees like a shroud, wrapping the forest in a cool, eerie silence. Agatha’s boots sank softly into the wet earth as she made her way deeper into the woods, a familiar, steady rhythm to her steps. The coven was consumed with the ritual today, leaving her alone. No one would miss her absence. She had never been one for their grand ceremonies anyway,her place was somewhere different, somewhere she could feel her own power crackle, raw and untamed.

She arrived at a small clearing, the towering trees around her forming a natural circle that felt like an ancient cathedral. The air was thick with life, and yet it was quiet, expectant. She set down the bundle of herbs, stones, and candles she had gathered the night before, each item a piece of a ritual she had stumbled across in one of the forbidden texts she’d discovered at the cabin. She had no idea if it would work,hell, she didn’t even know if she could trust it,but she needed answers. She needed something to shift inside her, something to fill the gnawing emptiness she had been carrying since her conversation with Rio.

Agatha knelt and began arranging the circle. Her hands moved automatically, almost reverently, despite the uncertainty gnawing at her gut. She set the candles around the perimeter, the herbs at the center, her fingers brushing over each ingredient as though they were old friends, whispers of things long buried but never forgotten.

When the circle was complete, she sat in the center, her body trembling slightly,not with fear, but with a mix of anticipation and hunger. There was a rawness to what she was about to do, a primal need to connect with something beyond the walls of her mother’s expectations, beyond the limitations that had always kept her tethered.

Agatha closed her eyes, steadying her breath as she grounded herself to the earth beneath her. She could feel the pulse of the world around her, its rhythm in tune with her own.

Her voice, barely more than a whisper, cracked the silence. “Grant me strength. Grant me power. Show me why this is happening to me. Why I’m like this… always pulled between what I want and what I fear. Let me understand what I can’t seem to control.”

She leaned forward, her hands pressed flat against the soil, grounding herself further as she felt the energy from the earth seep into her skin. Her fingers twitched as if the earth itself were answering, humming beneath her fingertips, drawing the energy through her.

Her breath came faster as the feeling intensified, the pull stronger. But then, something unexpected happened,without meaning to, her thoughts slid to Rio. The memory of her eyes, her presence, the quiet intensity of their last encounter,it was impossible to push her away from her mind.

“Rio,” she breathed before she could stop herself.

The air around her thickened, as though the forest itself had taken notice.

And then, as if summoned, Rio appeared. The air shifted again, this time with a presence that made Agatha’s heart skip. Rio stepped into the clearing with a fluid grace, her eyes glowing with that sharp, knowing intensity that made Agatha feel as though Rio could see right through her. The way she moved,the ease, the confidence,made Agatha’s pulse stutter.

“Quite the ritual,” Rio murmured, her voice like velvet against the rawness of the forest air. “I felt you calling for something... or someone.”

Agatha’s heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. “Did I?” she said, though she knew she had. The words had slipped from her lips before she even realized the weight they carried. But there was no turning back now.

Rio knelt down beside her, her gaze lingering on Agatha for a moment longer than necessary, as if drinking her in. The intensity of Rio’s stare sent a tremor through Agatha, making her feel exposed, raw. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken words.

“You’ve connected with it, haven’t you?” Rio’s voice was quieter now, more intimate. “You’re reaching for something more than just magic. You’re reaching for your own truth. It’s... beautiful to watch.”

Agatha felt a rush of warmth flood her chest at Rio’s words, but she couldn’t hide the hesitation in her voice. “I don’t know if I can handle it, though,” she admitted, her tone almost too vulnerable for her own liking. “I’m... I’m afraid. Afraid of what I might be, of what I might lose.”

Rio’s expression softened for a moment, her gaze never wavering from Agatha’s. “You don’t lose anything, Agatha. You gain. But you have to be willing to face it. You’ve been hiding from your own power. Hiding from your own truth. And maybe… just maybe, the real magic is in accepting it, not running from it.”

The words settled like a weight on her chest, heavier than any spell or incantation. The last remnants of the tension she’d been holding in her body loosened, just a little. Still, there was something else gnawing at her, a deeper, more insistent pull,a need to know more, to understand more.

Agatha swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “Then teach me.”

Rio’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Teach you? Oh, Agatha, you’ve already started the hardest part. Accepting that you can’t control everything. That’s the first lesson.”

There was something in the way Rio said it, a playful challenge lingering beneath her words. Agatha couldn’t help but meet her gaze, her own smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “And what else?” she asked, her voice daring, teasing.

Rio raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You think I’m going to give you all the answers? You’ve got to learn to ask the right questions first, sweetheart.”

Agatha couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and easy, something she hadn’t realized she’d been craving. She leaned forward slightly, their faces only inches apart. “And what if I ask the wrong questions?”

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t get the answers you’re hoping for,” Rio replied, her voice low, almost a growl. Her breath mingled with Agatha’s, her proximity making the air between them feel charged, full of possibility.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them thick and almost suffocating. Agatha’s heart hammered in her chest, her pulse racing,not just from the power she had felt earlier, but from the magnetic pull of Rio, the undeniable connection between them.

“I didn’t come here to teach you today,” Rio said, her tone changing again, softer now, almost playful. “But I do think we’ve both learned something, haven’t we?”

Agatha nodded, her mind still racing with thoughts she couldn’t quite grasp. “I think we’ve both got a lot to learn,” she replied, her voice steady, though there was a hint of longing beneath it.

Rio stood up, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for that,” she said, her smirk never fading.

Agatha hesitated, her hand lingering in Rio’s for a beat longer than necessary, before she pulled away. But she didn’t walk away just yet. “We’ll see,” Agatha said, her voice a mix of defiance and curiosity. “But next time, don’t keep me waiting so long. I’m not sure I can stand the suspense.”

Rio’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as Agatha reluctantly let go of her hand, the lingering heat of the touch hanging in the air between them. Neither of them moved immediately, the moment stretching long, filled with unspoken words and something else, something more electric than the energy of the forest surrounding them.

“So,” Rio finally spoke, her voice low and teasing, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s, “since you’re so eager for lessons, maybe you can tell me about your little life in that coven of yours. What was it like being... tethered to them?”

Agatha’s lips quirked into a sly smile, a flash of amusement crossing her face. “The usual, I guess,” she said, crossing her arms defensively but with a hint of mockery in her voice. “Strict rules, endless rituals, an obsession with conformity. I never quite fit the mold they wanted me to. Its good i'm great at pretending you know, i’ve always been more interested in... the other side of things.”

Rio’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous dancing in her eyes. “The other side? And what’s that side, hmm? The one where you break all the rules, stir up chaos, and pretend you don’t know what's happening?”

Agatha’s laugh was short and bitter. “Exactly that. Though it’s not really pretending. It’s easier to exist on the edge when you are pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Rio chuckled, the sound like a challenge. “I like that,” she said, her voice dripping with approval. “You’ve got fire. I bet they couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t handle someone like you, huh?”

For a moment, Agatha’s gaze flickered to the trees, her features hardening for just a second before the mask returned. “You’d be surprised how much people don't know about it. But my mother, I can't fool her. She... she doesn’t quite understand my approach. She wants me to stay in line, follow the rules. But I’ve never really fit that mold. And I never will.”

Rio tilted her head, a wicked smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Ah, mommy issues. I know that story too well. What, she doesn’t want you to be your own person? To explore and discover your own path?”

“Something like that,” Agatha muttered, though her tone softened at the mention of her mother. But she quickly masked it with a smirk. “I guess she’d rather I be like everyone else, locked in their little boxes. But that’s never been me.”

“Yeah, boxes suck,” Rio said with a dramatic shiver, as if the thought repulsed her. “I prefer leaving mine wide open, no walls, no limitations. Maybe that’s why you ended up out here, huh? Searching for answers, trying to break free from all that. And maybe... finding something more.” Her voice dropped lower, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her gaze.

Agatha’s heart skipped a beat at the implication, her breath catching in her throat. “I... I guess you could say I found something,” she whispered, taking a step closer without meaning to. Her body gravitated toward Rio like a magnet, the tension between them unbearable. “But I think... I think it’s more than just answers. It’s something else. Something is pulling me in.”

Rio’s eyes darkened, and she took a slow step closer, closing the distance between them. The air hummed with an electric charge that Agatha couldn’t ignore. “I know what you mean,” Rio said, her voice low and intimate, just above a whisper. “You don’t need answers, Agatha. You need to stop fighting it. You need a way to embrace it.”

A shiver ran down Agatha’s spine, her heart racing as Rio’s gaze seemed to see straight through her. “It’s not that simple. I don’t even know how to control it... let alone embrace it. It feels like I’m on the edge of something dangerous.”

“You’re right,” Rio murmured, her lips curling into a wicked grin. She took another step forward until there was barely a sliver of air between them. “But danger can be a good teacher, don’t you think?”

Agatha’s breath caught, her chest tightening with a combination of fear and anticipation. “Danger? Maybe. But what if I end up burning myself alive in the process?” Her voice was a barely audible whisper, laced with longing and hesitation.

Rio’s smirk deepened, her eyes flickering between Agatha’s lips and her eyes, her gaze a blaze of want. “If you burn, I’ll be right here to watch you. To make sure you don’t burn out completely.”

Agatha felt herself weakening under Rio’s intense stare. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. It felt as though Rio had an undeniable hold over her, a magnet pulling her closer, body and soul. “And what happens when the fire gets too hot to handle?” she whispered, the words trembling with the weight of something she wasn’t sure she understood.

Rio’s eyes glistened, a promise in them. Her voice dropped even lower, seductive and smooth. “Then you let it consume you. Or you let someone else help you learn how to control it.” She leaned in just a little closer, her breath ghosting across Agatha’s ear. “But you’d have to trust me first.”

Agatha’s heart pounded in her chest. The air between them was thick, her skin tingling with the heat of Rio’s proximity. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think clearly with the weight of it all. Every instinct told her to pull back, to push this away... but there was something inside her that ached for this moment. For Rio. For everything this could become.

“I trust you,” Agatha whispered, her voice shaking just slightly. “Enough to... see where this goes.”

Rio’s smile deepened, dark and knowing. She pulled back slightly, just enough to see the effect her words had on Agatha. “That’s all I need,” Rio said, her voice laced with both amusement and something far more dangerous. “Trust me, Agatha... you’re going to enjoy this more than you think.

The air between Agatha and Rio crackled with something far more dangerous than mere magic. It was a tension that thrummed between them, thick with unspoken desire and untapped potential. They stood inches apart, neither moving, neither speaking,yet the silence felt almost too loud. A low hum of electricity pulsed in the space between their bodies, like a storm ready to burst.

Agatha, ever the master of control, was the first to break the silence. She smirked, her eyes flicking up to meet Rio’s with a challenge lurking beneath the surface. "You think you know me, huh?" she said, her tone dripping with a mix of humor and something else,something that might’ve been a little too real for her liking. “You don’t. Trust me, if you did, you’d be running for the hills by now.”

Rio’s lips curled up at the edges, her gaze never wavering, her stance lazy but predatory. “I’m not running, Agatha. If anything, I’m leaning in.” She took a step closer, closing the gap between them with a slow, deliberate pace. “I don’t need to know everything. I just need to see you,really see you. And I do. I see the parts you hide so damn well.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, just a fraction, as Rio’s words landed like a weight on her chest. She hated how easy it was to be seen by this woman,how easy it was to feel understood when she’d spent so much of her life pushing everyone away with her sarcasm, her cynicism, and her carefully crafted iron walls.

Agatha laughed,sharp, bitter, and entirely too self-aware. “Oh, you see me, huh? Well, aren’t you just the psychic of the year? Let me guess... you see a rebellious witch with a bad attitude who likes to stick it to the man? Is that it?”

Rio tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Something like that,” she said softly. “But I also see more. I see someone who’s been fighting against everything, trying to carve out their own path... and yet, still afraid to walk it.” Her voice lowered, the teasing edge gone. It was almost too soft. Too real.

Agatha felt something shift in her chest at the weight of Rio’s words. Her cynicism rose to the surface as a defense mechanism, but it came out half-hearted, as though the cracks in her walls were growing too wide to ignore.

“Afraid? Oh please. I’m not afraid of anything,” Agatha retorted, her tone dismissive, but it lacked its usual bite. “Except maybe disappointing my dear mother, but you know, that’s just family drama. Nothing to worry about.”

Rio’s eyes softened, and she reached out, brushing a stray lock of Agatha’s hair behind her ear with a tenderness that sent a shock straight through Agatha’s spine. “Don’t sell yourself short. I can tell there’s more to you than the sarcastic act you put on. You’re not fooling me.” Her touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of her fingers a direct challenge to the icy shield Agatha had kept in place for so long.

“Fool me? I’m not the one doing the fooling here,” Agatha shot back, her voice thick with irony, trying desperately to retreat into the comfortable armor of her humor. “But sure, go ahead. Keep peeling back layers. See how far you get before you hit the core of pure, unfiltered cynicism. It's a fun place to visit. You’d probably love it.”

Rio didn’t flinch at the jab. Instead, her eyes darkened with something far more intimate than Agatha had anticipated. “I’m not scared of your cynicism. I’m not scared of you, Agatha. I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to show you that you don’t have to be alone in this fight. You don’t have to keep pushing everyone away because you’re afraid of getting hurt.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and potent. Agatha’s mind screamed for her to dismiss it, to laugh it off, to turn the moment into a joke, like she always did. But this time, the words felt different. They slipped past her defenses, and for the briefest of moments, Agatha allowed herself to feel the weight of them.

“I’m not afraid,” Agatha muttered, her voice quieter now, but there was a crack in it that betrayed her. She immediately regretted it, the vulnerability feeling like acid in her throat. She forced a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just easier to be the jaded, sarcastic witch. I don’t need your pity.”

Rio’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes softened with understanding. “It’s not pity, Agatha. It’s... something else. Something I think you’ve been searching for all along.”

Agatha swallowed hard, her chest tight. She could feel the ground beneath her shifting, her emotions swirling in a way she hadn’t allowed in a long time. And Rio... Rio was the storm that was going to tear her apart. But maybe, just maybe, it was the kind of storm she needed.

“Is that so?” Agatha’s voice was thick with a kind of sharp humor she didn’t quite believe. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. But don’t get any ideas. I’m not some damsel in distress looking for a knight in shining armor. I don’t need saving.”

“I’m not here to save you, Agatha,” Rio replied, her voice low and steady, the heat between them rising. “I’m here to see you. All of you. Even the parts you’re too scared to look at yourself.”

Agatha’s breath caught at that, and for a second, the sarcasm slipped away completely. She stared at Rio, her heart hammering in her chest, the words, the heat, the pull between them all too overwhelming. "And if I let you see it? What then?" she asked, voice barely a whisper. “What happens if you see the real me and decide I’m too much for you?”

Rio stepped closer, closing the space between them until they were nearly touching. The air between them was electric, her words brushing over Agatha’s skin like a kiss. “Then I’ll burn with you. We’ll burn together.”

For a long moment, Agatha said nothing, her chest tightening at the sheer intensity of Rio’s words. She could feel the ground beneath her feet disappearing, the walls around her heart crumbling little by little. And yet, for once, Agatha didn’t care.

“I think I might be starting to believe you,” Agatha whispered, her voice barely audible, the sarcasm gone, replaced by something raw. “Maybe... maybe you’re not as crazy as I thought.”

Rio smirked, her eyes gleaming with both amusement and something darker. “I told you. I see you. I’m not running anywhere, Agatha. Not now. Not ever.”

When their lips finally met, it was not with the softness of a gentle kiss, nor the slowness of a hesitant touch,it was sharp, urgent, and raw. A collision of everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d danced around, and everything they both wanted but never allowed themselves to feel. Agatha’s mind briefly short-circuited, caught in the storm of Rio’s sudden closeness, the pulse of heat that surged between them like lightning. It was as though the world around them fell away, and the only thing that mattered was the press of their lips together, the weight of their bodies closing the space that had once felt so insurmountable.

The kiss was unrestrained, almost desperate, as though the two of them had been holding their breaths for too long and finally found release. Agatha’s cynicism, her sarcasm, the armor she had so carefully built around herself,everything cracked, breaking apart like brittle stone under the fierce intensity of Rio’s touch. Her hands, which had always been so composed, gripped the front of Rio’s shirt with a mix of urgency and disbelief. She couldn’t pull away. She didn’t want to.

Rio’s lips were hot, pressing against hers with a ferocity that made Agatha’s heart race, her chest tightening, every nerve in her body coming alive. There was no teasing here, no games,only fire, the kind that would scorch and consume, and Agatha was powerless against it. Her breath caught as Rio’s hands slid up her back, pulling her even closer, deepening the kiss. The world tilted, everything that had been solid in Agatha’s life suddenly crumbling under the weight of this moment, as though her entire identity,built on walls, on control, on distance,was being rewritten with each breath, each touch.

It was chaos. It was an unraveling of everything she’d ever known about herself.

And yet, it felt like coming home.

For just a fleeting moment, there was no sarcasm, no humor hiding the vulnerability, no wall of ice she could hide behind. There was only this,the feeling of Rio, steady and real, anchoring her in the fire that roared between them. Agatha’s thoughts scattered like smoke, dissipating into the heat of the kiss, and all she could feel, all she could think of, was Rio. The way she moved against her, the way their lips met with a hunger Agatha had never allowed herself to feel before.

Agatha’s hand, still gripping Rio’s shirt, tightened involuntarily, and she was aware, in some part of her mind, of how much she was letting go. How much she wanted to let go. Her chest burned, but it wasn’t pain,it was the kind of ache that came with breaking free, the kind of ache that said this was what she had been searching for, even when she didn’t know it. Rio’s lips moved with the kind of knowledge that Agatha could never articulate,touching, tasting, taking what had always been just out of reach.

Agatha’s knees threatened to buckle, but Rio’s hands steadied her, pulling her closer still, forcing her to feel every inch of her. She could feel the tremor in her own hands as they slid from Rio’s chest to her neck, the need to feel more,everything,almost overwhelming. Agatha’s breath was ragged as she fought to keep herself in control, but control was slipping through her fingers, just like everything else that had ever mattered.

And then, when the kiss finally broke,just enough for them both to gasp for breath,Agatha’s heart still hammered in her chest, her skin electric from the contact. Her lips tingled, still tasting the lingering warmth of Rio’s kiss, and she fought to maintain the mask of sarcasm, the façade she always wore. But even Agatha knew it was gone. Her voice was shaky when she spoke, but there was no bitterness, no cynicism in her words. Just the raw, unspoken truth that Rio had cracked open like a promise.

“Hell,” Agatha muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, breathless, “I guess I wasn’t prepared for that.”

Rio didn’t smile at the remark. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she stepped back slightly, her gaze intense and steady, still holding Agatha in place with just her eyes. Her fingers brushed against Agatha’s jaw, tender yet possessive, as if she had every right to touch her like this. The silence that followed was thick, filled with everything neither of them dared to say aloud, but both of them felt deep in their bones.

“You don’t have to be,” Rio replied softly, her voice low, almost a whisper, the words seeping into Agatha like a spell. “But you’ve got me now.”

And in that moment, despite the irony, the sarcasm, the sarcasm that clung to Agatha like a second skin,she didn’t need to say anything else. Rio had already seen her. Every part of her. The parts Agatha didn’t even acknowledge. And, for once, she felt... seen.

The kiss had been more than a spark. It had been an ignition. And there was no going back now.

And for the first time, Agatha let herself burn.

Agatha hesitated outside the cabin, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She wasn’t nervous. That would be ridiculous. She had faced death, curses, and ancient forces beyond mortal comprehension. But this? This was worse.

How the hell was she supposed to act after last time?

Their last meeting had ended with a kiss—one she hadn't exactly planned, nor had Rio. And now, with that hanging in the air, Agatha felt like a character in one of those awful romance novels she secretly read when no one was looking.

With a sharp exhale, she squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.

Rio was already inside, flipping through a book as if she hadn’t been mentally tormenting Agatha for days. Her expression was unreadable—too blank, too carefully neutral.

Oh, fantastic.

Agatha cleared her throat. "So… do we talk about it, or do we just shove it into a deep, dark hole of repression?"

Rio looked up, unimpressed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Agatha opened her mouth. Shut it again. Crossed her arms. "No."

"Good. Let’s start the lesson."

Agatha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Thank the gods. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Rio walked over and handed her a book—familiar, old, with pages worn from use. Agatha recognized it immediately.

"Wait, this is the first book I found here," she said, flipping through it.

"Turn to the section on practical magic."

Agatha did.

“The Art of Movement

All objects possess energy, an extension of their essence. To move something without physical force, one must establish a connection with that essence and guide it.

• Perception: Before influencing an object, you must sense its presence beyond sight. Close your eyes, extend your awareness, and acknowledge its weight in the world.
  
  

• Persuasion, Not Force: Objects respond best to gentle influence. Moving something is not about commanding—it is about guiding. Start small. Feathers, leaves, and water react most easily.
  
  

• Size vs. Essence: The difficulty of movement does not solely depend on mass. Some objects carry strong resistance, while others yield naturally.
  
  

• Living Beings: Unlike inanimate objects, living creatures have their own will and energy. Moving them requires not just connection, but negotiation. Think of it as shifting the current of a river rather than lifting a stone.”

Agatha scanned the page, then shot Rio a deadpan look. "So basically, sweet talk the objects and hope they move?"

"More or less."

"Fantastic. I’ll try whispering compliments to a rock next time."

Rio ignored her sarcasm. "Start with this." She gestured to a small feather on the table.

Agatha sighed, extending a hand toward it. At first, nothing. Then, as she focused, the feather twitched. Quivered. Lifted slightly into the air.

Her lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Amazing. I have the supernatural ability of a light breeze."

"Try the book next."

Agatha narrowed her eyes. "Oh, we’re just jumping straight into heavy lifting, huh? No warm-up?"

Rio gave her a look. "Are you complaining or are you going to do it?"

Agatha muttered something under her breath but turned to the book. It was heavier, more solid, but she could feel it, its weight, its presence. She focused, willing it to move. The book resisted at first, but then, slowly, it inched forward.

She let out a breath, grinning. "I’m basically a god now."

Rio rolled her eyes. "Now try something harder."

Agatha smirked. "Oh, you mean like moving you?"

Rio blinked. "Wait—"

Too late.

Agatha extended her focus toward Rio, but unlike the feather or the book, this was different. She could feel Rio in a way she hadn’t felt the objects, like a current of energy pushing back against hers, something strong, something stubborn.

It was supposed to be a small pull. A nudge. But the moment she grasped onto Rio’s energy, something clicked, like an invisible thread snapping into place…

And suddenly, Rio was flying toward her.

"Shit—"

Rio crashed into her, and they both went tumbling to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs.

Agatha groaned, her back hitting the wooden floor, Rio landing right on top of her.

There was a long pause. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Agatha blinked up at Rio. "Well. That escalated quickly."

Rio was frozen, her hands braced against the floor on either side of Agatha’s head. Their faces were inches apart. Too close.

Agatha swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. It was different from last time. Before, the kiss had been a mistake. A moment of impulse. But now…

Now she could feel the space between them. Every inch. The warmth of Rio’s breath against her skin. The press of her body, solid and real.

And Rio wasn’t moving away.

Agatha wet her lips. "So… are you gonna get off me, or is this just my life now?"

Rio’s lips parted slightly, her expression unreadable. But there was something in her eyes, something so intense, something that made Agatha’s breath catch.

Then…

"You really need to work on control," Rio murmured.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I think I did perfectly fine."

Rio exhaled sharply, shaking her head, but she still wasn’t moving.

Agatha tilted her head, a slow, teasing smirk creeping onto her lips. "Unless, of course, you just like being thrown at me."

Rio’s face went red instantly. "I—! You—!"

Agatha laughed, pushing Rio off of her, rolling them over so she was on top now. "See? This is much better positioning."

Rio groaned, covering her face. "You’re impossible."

"Yes, and?"

Rio peeked at her from between her fingers, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something like a smile.

Agatha leaned down slightly, their noses almost brushing. Her voice softened, dropping the sarcasm. "Should I stop?"

Rio’s breath hitched.

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then, barely a whisper…

"No."

Agatha didn’t hesitate. She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against Rio’s.

It was different from last time. Less hesitant, less fleeting. This was slow, deliberate. A spark of heat that spread through her like wildfire.

Rio’s hands curled around Agatha’s waist, fingers pressing into fabric, pulling her closer. Agatha melted into her, into the warmth, into the feeling of Rio’s lips moving against hers, like gravity itself was pulling them together.

Then,

Thud.

"Ow—!" Agatha pulled back with a wince. "Damn it, my elbow hit something sharp."

Rio laughed breathlessly beneath her, and Agatha groaned. "I swear to every god, magic ruins every dramatic moment."

Rio shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from Agatha’s face. "Or maybe you just need to stop throwing me around."

Agatha grinned. "No promises."

Rio’s fingers lingered at her jaw, and for a moment, they just looked at each other.

Agatha exhaled. "So. We’re not ignoring this anymore, huh?"

Rio smirked. "Looks like it."

Agatha hummed. "Good."

Then, still smirking, she rolled off of Rio and pushed herself up. "Alright, teacher. What’s next?"

Rio groaned. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you like me."

Rio didn’t answer. But the way she smiled, just a little, told Agatha everything she needed to know.

Agatha stepped into the cabin, shaking off the dampness from the evening mist. The scent of old books, herbs, and something uniquely Rio clung to the air. She hadn’t even seen the other witch yet, but she could already feel the shift in energy, the way the room seemed more alive when Rio was near. It was annoying. And distracting. Especially after last time.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. “The coven is getting worse,” she muttered, finally breaking the silence. “The Elders are on edge. It’s like they’re trying to push through initiations as fast as possible—forcing Silents to take the trial even when they’re obviously not ready.” She crossed her arms, her brows furrowing. “And the worst part? Most of them are failing.”

Agatha hesitated, staring at the wooden floorboards as if they held an answer. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not normal. They’re desperate for something, and I don’t like it.”

She expected Rio to make a sarcastic remark, maybe tease her about actually caring, but the witch only studied her, sharp and thoughtful. It was infuriating how hard Rio was to read sometimes.

“Noted,” Rio finally said. “But if you’re expecting me to say something comforting, you’ll be disappointed.”

Agatha scoffed. “As if you even know how to be comforting.”

That earned her a smirk, but Rio quickly turned away, moving to the shelves. “Come on. You didn’t come all the way here to stress about the coven. We have a lesson to finish.”

Right. The lesson.

Which meant pretending last time hadn’t ended in a kiss.

Agatha swallowed and followed Rio deeper into the cabin.

“Practical Magic: Movement and Control

The manipulation of objects and bodies through magic is an extension of willpower. To move something is to first understand its weight, not only its physical mass, but the weight of its presence in the world. Everything carries essence, and essence responds to intention. The caster must align their focus with the target, bridging the gap between thought and action.

Beginners should start small: a stone, a feather, a candle. Observe how the object exists in stillness before attempting to disrupt it. Magic is not about force; it is about suggestion. The world listens to those who know how to speak its language.”

Agatha sighed, flipping the book shut. “You know, every time I read something about magic, it makes me wonder why witches don’t just write ‘Think really hard and hope for the best.’”

Rio snorted. “Because then we’d sound like idiots.”

“You sound like idiots anyway.”

Rio ignored that and motioned toward the wooden table in the center of the room. Several small objects were laid out—a quill, a candle, a book, and, of course, Rio’s favorite cup of tea.

“Start with the quill,” Rio instructed. “Connect to it. Feel its weight, its presence, and then push.”

Agatha rolled her eyes but did as told. She narrowed her focus on the quill, reaching out—not physically, but with something deeper. At first, there was nothing. But then, like a thread catching in her fingers, she felt it. A pull. A whisper of something beneath reality.

The quill twitched. Then it rolled across the table.

Agatha grinned. “Hah! I did it.”

Rio clapped sarcastically. “Amazing. You moved an entire three inches.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The next object was the candle, then the book, and finally, Rio’s cup of tea. By the time Agatha got to it, she was feeling confident—maybe too confident.

“I swear to every god, if you spill my tea—”

The cup shot off the table.

Agatha gasped. Rio lunged.

They both crashed to the floor, Agatha landing on top of Rio in a tangle of limbs. The tea cup hit the ground nearby, mercifully unbroken, but neither of them were paying attention to that.

Because their faces were inches apart.

Because Rio’s breath was warm against Agatha’s lips.

Because the tension that had been crackling between them since the last lesson was suddenly unbearable.

And because, before Agatha could stop herself, before she could think about what a terrible idea it was,

She kissed her.

Again.

And this time, Rio kissed back.

The moon hung high in the night sky, its silvery light casting an ethereal glow over the forest as Agatha approached the cabin. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. But inside her, a storm of thoughts swirled, and the tension in her chest wasn’t just from the magic she was about to practice. It was the weight of what she had left behind at the coven.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath as she reached the door. She knocked, waiting for Rio’s usual gruff greeting. “It was hard to get away tonight. The coven’s busy with the full moon rituals. They’ve been running us ragged, trying to get more Silents initiated, and most of them don’t even make it.” Agatha shook her head, frustration clear in her voice. “It’s like they’re trying to drain every last bit of energy out of us.”

Rio opened the door just as Agatha finished speaking. Her expression was unreadable as usual, but the sharpness in her gaze was unmistakable. “Then it’s a good thing you made it here, huh? The night’s not getting any younger.”

Agatha snorted, brushing past Rio into the cabin. “Yeah, I’m not sure whether I’m here to learn magic or just escape for a while.”

“You could learn both.” Rio closed the door behind them. “Let’s get started. Full moon’s not going to last forever.”

The cabin was dimly lit by candles, the moonlight filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the walls. On the table were several objects: a dagger, a small mirror, and a handful of rocks. Rio gestured to the table.

“We’re going to start with protection magic,” she said, her tone serious. “Creating shields, barriers against physical and magical attacks. You’ll need to understand how to protect yourself before you can go out there and break through someone else’s protections.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “I’m more interested in the illusion part, to be honest. I can’t wait to mess with someone’s head.”

Rio smiled faintly, an expression that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll get to that. But protection first. You can’t play around with illusions if you don’t know how to keep yourself safe.”

Agatha exhaled dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Let’s do the boring stuff first, I guess.”

Rio’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll be the judge of what’s boring.”

Rio demonstrated first. She raised her hand, and a shimmering, translucent shield formed in the air, swirling with energy. Agatha watched intently as Rio moved the shield around, manipulating it with a calm, fluid motion.

“Protection Magic

Creating Energetic Barriers

Protection magic is the art of creating shields and barriers to defend against external threats, whether they are physical or magical in nature. It requires not only concentration but the ability to align one’s energy with the environment to create an impenetrable force.

Steps to Create a Shield:

• Focus your mind on the concept of protection.
  
  

• Draw energy from the environment, feel the space around you. The more you feel connected to it, the stronger your shield will be.
  
  

• Visualize the barrier forming as a protective bubble, swirling in energy, surrounding you completely.
  
  

• As the shield forms, push your intentions into it. The shield will reflect back any external force.
  
  

Protection Against Physical and Magical Attacks:

A shield’s purpose is twofold: to reflect physical attacks like objects or weapons, and to ward off magical influence. The power of the shield will depend on the caster’s skill, focus, and energy alignment.

Enchanting Objects for Protection:

You can imbue objects with protective magic. The object becomes an extension of your own energy, creating a physical anchor for the protection. Common items for this purpose include pendants, rings, and even tattoos.

Identifying and Breaking Other Protections:

Understanding how other magic works is essential in being able to protect yourself. Use your energy sensitivity to feel when a protection is active. To break through someone else’s protection, you must understand its structure. Sometimes, brute force will work, but subtlety often proves more effective.”

“Creating a barrier is about more than just force,” Rio explained, “It’s about aligning your energy with the space around you. The barrier forms through intention, not through power. It reflects what’s thrown at it and protects you in return.”

Agatha watched, impressed despite herself. “That’s actually kind of cool. But can you make it… stronger?”

“Stronger comes with practice. Now, it's your turn.” Rio moved to the side, grabbing one of the rocks from the table. “I’m going to throw this at you. Try to block it with your shield.”

“Wait, what?” Agatha’s eyes widened.

“You’ll be fine. Focus on creating the barrier around you,” Rio said, her voice calm but with an edge of challenge.

Before Agatha could respond, the rock flew through the air toward her. Reacting on instinct, Agatha raised her arm, and a faint shimmer of light appeared in front of her. The rock collided with it, bouncing off harmlessly.

“Not bad for a first try,” Rio remarked, though there was a slight amusement in her voice. “But I think we need to try it with more force.”

“More force? You’re insane.” Agatha’s sarcastic tone was back in full force.

But Rio didn’t wait for her to protest. She hurled another rock at her, this time with more speed, and Agatha’s shield flared to life just in time. The impact shook her arms, but the rock didn’t make it through.

“That’s better,” Rio said, crossing her arms. “But don’t get cocky. A shield’s no good if you’re relying on it to take every hit.”

Agatha nodded, feeling the weight of the energy she had to exert. Her mind was already working out how she could make the shield more solid.

After the protection lesson, Rio moved on to the next part of the training.

“Manipulating Perception

Illusion magic plays with the senses, bending reality and causing the mind to perceive something different from what truly exists. It’s a subtle art, requiring skill to not only deceive others but to control the perception of what they experience.

Types of Illusions:

• Mental Illusions – These affect the mind directly. They manipulate thoughts and perceptions, causing the target to experience something that isn’t there, or to misinterpret what they see or hear.
  
  

• Physical Illusions – These affect the environment, creating visual, auditory, or tactile changes that only exist for the one who is perceiving them. These can fool the senses into seeing an object or scene that is completely imaginary.

Steps to Create an Illusion:

• Visualize the object or scene you wish to create clearly in your mind.
  
  

• Focus your intent on making it real for someone else—draw their attention to the area you want to alter.
  
  

• With the image in your mind, push your energy outward, creating a distortion in the environment. The clearer the image in your mind, the more solid and convincing the illusion will appear.
  
  

• Control the illusion. It’s important to maintain the image in your mind while manipulating it. The illusion will disappear once your focus wavers.
  
  

Camouflage and Concealment

You can also use illusions to hide yourself or others, blending into the surroundings. This is particularly useful for stealth or protection in dangerous situations.

When to Use Illusions

Illusions can be used to confuse enemies, mislead them, or even create a distraction. However, they can be dangerous if overused—especially in situations where reality needs to be clearly understood.”

“Now, illusions,” Rio said, her voice taking on a more playful edge. “What’s reality if you can’t manipulate it?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “This is the fun part, right? Making people see things that aren’t really there?”

“Exactly. You’ll start with something simple. Focus on a single image in your mind, then project it into the environment around you.”

Agatha closed her eyes, visualizing a simple image of a butterfly. When she opened them, she could see the faint outlines of it in her mind’s eye, but nothing in the room had changed.

“Focus, Agatha,” Rio said, watching her closely. “You’re not doing it right.”

“I’m focusing!” Agatha shot back, exasperated. “This is harder than it looks.”

“Yeah, but you’re supposed to make it real, not just in your head.” Rio reached for a small mirror on the table and placed it in front of Agatha. “Try again, but focus on creating something you could see in this mirror.”

This time, Agatha took a deep breath, narrowing her focus. She imagined the butterfly fluttering in front of her, and this time, the air seemed to shift. A faint shimmering appeared in the mirror, a small butterfly hovering just above it.

“Oh, wow,” Agatha muttered, almost impressed.

But as she let her concentration slip, the butterfly grew larger, its wings beating so rapidly it seemed to fill the room. The mirror cracked.

“Uh… oops,” Agatha muttered, blinking as the illusion faded. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Rio let out a breath, her lips curling into a grin. “You’re good at creating chaos. But maybe try not to break everything next time?”

“Hey, I was trying to be impressive,” Agatha shot back, rolling her eyes.

The lesson stretched into the early hours, the moon climbing higher in the sky as Agatha and Rio continued practicing. By the end, Agatha was exhausted, but the sense of accomplishment lingered.

As they gathered their things, Agatha found herself standing close to Rio once more, her breath catching for a moment.

“Not bad,” Rio said quietly, her voice suddenly softer. “You’re learning faster than I expected.”

Agatha’s lips quivered into a smirk. “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached. I might mess up the next lesson just to piss you off.”

Rio’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but then she shrugged. “I’ll be ready for it.”

The quiet stretched between them for a beat, a new tension settling in the air. And despite everything, despite the lessons, despite the coven, Agatha felt a spark of something else entirely.

Maybe the moon wasn’t the only thing shining tonight.

Agatha never claimed to be a responsible witch. That was the problem with everyone’s expectations, once you let them think you were learning, suddenly, they wanted you to be wise. Controlled. Boring. But magic wasn’t about control. It was about possibility. And right now, she was feeling particularly inspired.

The illusions started small. Just enough to mess with people.

A flicker of movement in the shadows that wasn’t really there. The sensation of something brushing against the nape of their necks. Whispers in their ears, saying their own names in voices that weren’t their own.

Agatha didn’t even have to try hard to get results. Silents were a jumpy bunch. Super serious. Always pretending they were above the little, mortal things like fear, but the moment the unknown knocked on their door, they folded like cheap fabric.

She hadn’t even been trying that hard when the first Silent lost her composure. A girl named Isabel, nervous, constantly second-guessing herself, had been passing by a mirror when Agatha twisted her illusion just right. Isolde had turned, and in the reflection, her other self hadn’t moved fast enough. The mirrored version blinked twice.

Isabel screamed.

Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

The second one had been an accident. Sort of.

She’d been experimenting with the weight of illusions, layering them, making them feel more real. A brush of cold fingers against the back of someone’s neck, a whisper carried on nothing but empty air. A girl named Thalia had stiffened, glancing around wildly, breath coming short as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

Then, Agatha had gotten an idea.

She let the illusion build, shifting shadows, dark shapes in the corners of the room, hands that weren’t there gripping her shoulders. Thalia turned. There was no one behind her. But the look on her face? Agatha had never seen terror bloom so quickly.

That was when she realized how much power illusions could have.

That was also when she realized that maybe she wasn’t just doing this for fun.

Something was wrong in the coven. The Elders were pushing more initiations. Testing the Silents in ways that no one quite understood. And the ones who didn’t make it? They weren’t just being turned away. They were disappearing.

No one talked about it. No one dared.

So, Agatha decided she’d find out for herself.

The ritual chamber was sealed, but that had never stopped her before. She didn’t make herself invisible, true invisibility was inefficient. Instead, she twisted her magic, bending perception, making sure the world saw her as something unimportant. Something not worth noticing.

She slipped inside.

The Silents stood in a circle, waiting. The Elders moved around them like silent sentinels, eyes heavy with judgment. The air was thick with something Agatha couldn’t name. It made her skin prickle.

She watched.

She waited.

And then she tried something reckless.

She sent her magic out, weaving an illusion, not to deceive, but to see.

To see what the Elders saw.

The effect was instant.

The room shifted. The Silents… changed.

Their bodies were the same, but something beneath them was different. Some glowed with strange symbols, burning just under the surface of their skin. Others had fractures forming along their bodies, like they were breaking apart from the inside.

A few had… nothing.

Just hollow, empty space where something should have been.

Agatha’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t right.

Then, before she could pull back, something tore through her illusion.

Not like someone resisting it. No. This was something else entirely.

It was ripped away.

Like something had reached through the magic itself and shattered it.

The room turned deathly silent.

One of the Elders turned, slow and deliberate, eyes locking onto her instantly.

Agatha’s heart skipped a beat.

“Curious,” the Elder murmured.

Shit.

For a single, agonizing moment, Agatha didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The Elder’s eyes bored into her like they could strip her to the bone, like they already knew.

Think. Move. Do something.

The trick to getting out of bad situations, one of the very first things Agatha had learned, was to never look like you were trying to get out of a bad situation.

So she let the illusion drop. Not all at once, not in a way that made it obvious. Just a slow unraveling, like she was fading naturally into the dim candlelight at the edges of the room. A shadow retreating, a draft slipping out a cracked door.

She stepped back. One pace. Then another.

No one spoke. The Elders' attention was heavy, almost suffocating. She swore she felt something in the air, the weight of a spell being readied, coiled and waiting to strike.

Then…A distant crash.

Someone had knocked over a brazier. The flames spat angrily against the stone, and for a split second, every head turned.

Agatha ran.

She didn’t stop to think. Didn’t stop to plan. She moved, twisting through the temple halls, shoving through doors, sending flickering illusions behind her to hide her tracks.

A turn left. A sharp right. Steps, she hated steps, but she flew down them, taking two at a time.

The moment she hit open air, she let her magic explode outward, scattering a dozen different versions of herself into the trees. Some running east, some darting west. Some not running at all, just standing in the clearing, staring blankly ahead before vanishing into mist.

A distraction. A bluff. A way to cover her tracks.

She didn’t stop until she was far beyond the temple grounds, deep into the wild thickets of the forest. Only then did she let herself collapse against the trunk of an old, gnarled oak, her breath coming fast and sharp.

She was alive. She had gotten out. Somehow.

But the panic didn’t fade.

Because now came the worst part. The waiting.

For the next few days, Agatha felt hunted.

She wasn’t sure if it was real or if it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but every glance in her direction felt heavier than usual. Every murmur she couldn’t quite hear sounded like someone whispering her name.

Had they seen her? Had they known?

No one had called her out. No one had confronted her. The Elders weren’t acting differently. Not in any way that she could prove.

But she still felt like she was being watched.

She had always been reckless, always danced the line between getting caught and getting away. But this… this was different.

She couldn’t shake the image of what she had seen in that room. The burning symbols. The fractures in the girls' skin. The ones who had been hollow.

The Elders weren’t just testing Silents. They were breaking them. Or worse—discarding them.

And now Agatha knew.

And maybe, just maybe, they knew she knew.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she had made the right move.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure she was safe.

She had seen things she wasn’t supposed to see. Heard things that still echoed in her mind when she tried to sleep. The way those girls, those failed initiates, had stood there, empty, as if something vital had been ripped from them. As if they weren’t even people anymore.

And now, she could feel it creeping up her spine, the weight of her mistake.

It was in the glances thrown her way during meals, in the way conversations shifted when she entered a room. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe it was just guilt.

But Agatha wasn’t used to guilt.

She was used to getting away with things. With tricks, with mischief, with games played on the edge of a knife. But this wasn’t a game. There was no mischief in the Elders’ silence, no playfulness in the way their eyes lingered on her a fraction too long.

She felt like a deer in the sights of a hunter, waiting for the arrow to strike.

And then Evanora called her.

Agatha sat stiff-backed in the high-backed chair of Evanora’s chamber, doing her best not to let the dim candlelight cast shadows on the tension in her face.

"You’ve been restless," Evanora observed, voice smooth as silk, but sharp enough to cut.

Agatha smirked. "Maybe I’ve just been getting in touch with my rebellious side you talk about so much. You know, coming of age and all that."

Evanora hummed, taking a slow sip of her tea. Her gaze never left Agatha. "Speaking of coming of age... your twenty-first birthday is approaching, isn’t it?"

The air in Agatha’s lungs turned to ice.

There it was.

The words seemed casual, like an innocent remark about time passing. But nothing was ever innocent when Evanora spoke.

Agatha forced a chuckle. "You say that like I should be expecting a grand celebration. Will there be cake?"

Evanora smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Oh, Agatha. You know what twenty-one means. It’s the age of initiation. The moment you truly become one of us."

The ice in Agatha’s chest cracked into splinters.

Her initiation. The ceremony.

She had always known it was coming. But now, after what she had seen, the thought of standing in that circle, of being tested…

Her hands curled into fists in her lap.

Evanora leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. "You are ready, aren’t you?"

There was something there. A sharpness. A hook hidden beneath the words, waiting to catch her if she answered wrong.

Was this a test? Did Evanora know? Was she waiting for Agatha to trip over her own lie, to reveal herself?

Or…

Agatha swallowed.

Or was Evanora simply preparing her for the same fate as those other girls?

Her mind spun, every possibility worse than the last. If Evanora knew she had snuck into the ritual, then this was a trap, a game of cat and mouse to see how long Agatha could keep up the facade before she was dragged into the open.

And if she didn’t know…

Then that meant Evanora had every intention of leading Agatha to the same altar where she had watched those other girls crumble.

There were no good options.

So she did what she always did. She smiled, sharp and defiant, swallowing down the cold fear in her throat.

"Of course," she said.

Evanora held her gaze for a long, stretching moment, as if weighing her answer.

Then, slowly, she smiled. "Good. You can go back to your chores."

Agatha left that night with her heart hammering against her ribs.

Because one thing was clear.

No matter what Evanora knew, no matter what the truth was…

She was running out of time.

Two weeks had passed since Agatha’s last lesson with Rio, and the tension in Agatha’s life had only deepened since then. The secrets she had uncovered about the coven, the disappearances of the Silents, the twisted rituals the Elders had been conducting, had started to haunt her every moment. Her heart raced every time she passed a shadowed corner, half-expecting someone to jump out at her. But no one did. The Elders kept their gaze upon her like hawks circling over a wounded animal, waiting for her to slip. And what if they know? What if they’ve known all along?

As Agatha arrived at the cabin, her chest tightened. She had so much to say to Rio. So much to confess, to spill out, to ask for guidance. But the instant she saw Rio, sitting by the table, her dark eyes scanning through an old tome with practiced ease, Agatha hesitated. She wanted to pour out everything she had learned. To ask if Rio knew. If she was a part of it all. But as she opened her mouth to speak, Rio raised a finger to her lips.

"Before you get lost in your thoughts, Agatha," Rio's voice cut through her nerves, calm and sharp, "we’re starting the lesson now."

Agatha blinked, the words caught in her throat. Not now. Her pulse thrummed with an uneasy anticipation. But she nodded, setting her concerns aside for the moment. Rio wasn’t the kind to allow distractions, and today, that same unspoken command in her tone seemed to keep Agatha in line.

"Set aside what’s bothering you, Agatha. We’ll deal with it later. You’ll need to focus for this," Rio said, her voice firm but somehow gentle.

With an almost reluctant sigh, Agatha nodded and reached for the book Rio passed her. The pages were worn, edges frayed from years of use, the ink fading slightly in places, as though they, too, had witnessed too many secrets. The room around them felt thick with unspoken tension, like the weight of everything Agatha hadn’t said yet hung in the air.

Rio continued, her eyes meeting Agatha’s in a quiet challenge. “These pages outline the basic concepts of gesture magic, incantations, and rune crafting. All of these require a delicate balance between intent, power, and control.”

“Gestures — The Art of Movement in Magic

Gestures are the language of the body, the silent commands that direct the flow of energy within the universe. Every movement of the hand, each flick of the wrist, is more than just a simple action, it is the shaping of power. In the ancient traditions, magic was not merely a matter of will or words; it was the dance of the body in harmony with the cosmos.

The following gestures are essential for channeling magic, each corresponding to a specific element or force:

• The Arc of Air: To summon wind or to manipulate air, raise your arm high above your head, then sweep it forward in a wide, sweeping arc. The energy of the air responds to the direction of the gesture, flowing from the heavens to the earth.
  
  

• The Flame’s Embrace: To ignite fire, create a small circle with your fingers, as though holding the spark in your palm. Then, draw your hand outward, expanding the circle. This gesture harnesses the ignition point, causing fire to burn with intensity and purpose.
  
  

• The Earth’s Claim: To connect with the earth or ground objects, place your hand flat against the surface, palm down. Slowly drag your fingers across the surface as though drawing power from the very foundation of the world beneath you. The earth will respond to your will when the gesture is executed with the right intention.
  
  

• The Waters of Life: To summon water or manipulate liquids, extend your hand outward, palm up, as if cradling the very essence of life. Then, curl your fingers gently, bringing the water closer to you. Water moves in response to gestures of both gentleness and force.
  
  

• The Binding Circle: To protect, bind, or imprison, form a circular motion with both hands in front of you, palms open. Envision the magic binding itself as you draw the circle, enclosing a space or a person. This gesture is one of the most powerful and versatile, especially when used in conjunction with runes and incantations.
  
  

These gestures are not mere symbols but living acts of magic, each infused with intention. The magic will respond only when the body’s movements align with the caster’s will, and the caster’s mind is focused and clear. A shaky hand or an unsteady thought can cause a spell to falter. Practice these movements in solitude, until they become as natural as breathing.

Incantations — The Spoken Words of Magic

In all the realms of magic, words hold immense power. The spoken word is not merely a string of sounds; it is a conduit to the very forces that shape reality. The true art of incantation lies not in the words themselves, but in the energy with which they are spoken.

When casting an incantation, speak with purpose, for each word carries its own resonance. The strength of the spell lies in the intent behind the voice. Whether in a language long forgotten or in a tongue understood by all, the magic responds to the sincerity of the words.

Guidelines for Proper Incantation:

• Clarity of Intent: Before speaking, clearly define what you desire. Magic cannot distinguish between vague or contradictory wishes. Be specific. If you wish to summon fire, speak of flame, not heat. If you desire protection, invoke shields, not safety.
  
  

• The Power of Rhythm: Incantations flow in rhythm, much like a heartbeat. The rise and fall of the voice are integral to shaping the magic. A steady, deliberate pace will ensure a strong connection to the magical currents. Too rapid, and the magic becomes scattered; too slow, and the magic grows weak.
  
  

• Vowel and Consonant Balance: The balance of vowels and consonants affects the nature of the spell. Soft vowels create fluid, flowing magic, while hard consonants summon strong, binding forces. Know the effect of each syllable before you speak it.
  
  

• Emotional Resonance: Magic is deeply connected to emotions. Fear will fuel destructive magic, while love will evoke healing. Speak with emotion that matches the spell you cast. The deeper the connection between your feeling and the magic, the stronger the spell will be.
  
  

• Repetition and Focus: Some incantations require repetition to gain momentum. In such cases, it is the rhythm and cadence that fuel the spell’s power. Repeating an incantation three times or seven times is traditional in many cultures, invoking the power of sacred numbers.
  

  ---

Runes — The Written Symbols of Magic

Runes are the oldest and most enduring form of magical writing. They are the keys that unlock doors to realms of power, their meanings embedded in ancient languages and secrets long lost to the modern world. To understand runes is to understand the very foundation of magic itself. Runes work by binding specific energies to specific shapes. Each rune is a symbol, but it is more than just a shape, it is a living force, a conduit through which power can pass.

Commonly Used Runes:

• Fehu (ᚠ) – The Rune of Wealth and Prosperity
  This rune is often used in spells for material gain, success, and abundance. Its shape is indicative of movement—of the flow of resources and wealth. To use Fehu, carve it into your palm or into an object related to your desire.
  
  

• Ansuz (ᚨ) – The Rune of Wisdom and Communication
  Ansuz is used for matters of speech, learning, and connection to higher powers. This rune is carved on scrolls of wisdom or in places where communication is key, such as letters or contracts.
  
  

• Algiz (ᛉ) – The Rune of Protection
  One of the most revered runes, Algiz is used to invoke shields and protection. It is commonly carved onto weapons, shields, and doorways to ward off malevolent forces.
  
  

• Laguz (ᛚ) – The Rune of Water and Flow
  Laguz is the rune of the waters, associated with intuition, healing, and transformation. When this rune is inscribed near water or placed on an altar to promote emotional healing, it can be used to summon the flowing power of the element.
  
  

• Sowilo (ᛋ) – The Rune of the Sun and Vitality
  Sowilo is a rune of light, of vitality and strength. It is often used in spells of rejuvenation, energy, and empowerment. Carve it into objects that you wish to imbue with strength, or use it to purify spaces or spirits.
  
  

Runic Crafting:

• Shape Matters: A rune’s shape is as important as its meaning. The clearer the carving, the more powerful the connection. Use smooth, deliberate strokes when inscribing runes, for jagged edges may cause the magic to fracture or dissipate.
  
  

• Wood and Stone: The material on which a rune is inscribed affects its potency. Wood absorbs magic, while stone holds it. For powerful, long-lasting spells, inscribe runes on stone. For temporary spells, wood is sufficient.
  
  

• Use of Ink: When carving runes into parchment or scrolls, the ink used matters. Ink made from crushed herbs, stones, or even blood can strengthen the connection between the rune and its intended magic.
  
  

• Circle of Protection: When drawing runes for protection, it is essential to complete the symbol within a circle. This act seals the power within, preventing it from dissipating.
  
  

To master rune magic, one must practice both understanding and craftsmanship. Take time to learn each symbol and to feel its resonance within your very bones. With patience, a practitioner can begin to weave complex spells using a combination of gestures, words, and runes, unlocking potent magic that shapes the world around them.”

Agatha didn’t speak, her eyes tracing the words on the pages, but her thoughts drifted. She wanted to know how much Rio actually knew about what was happening in her coven. About the Silents, about the disappearances. Was Rio involved? Or was she a part of the few who were trying to stop it all, hidden in plain sight? Agatha’s stomach churned. Who was she after all? Agatha had let a complete stranger take over her life. Why was she helping Agatha? What does she want ?

She glanced up at Rio, catching her gaze for just a moment. The older woman’s expression was unreadable, but there was something in the softness of her eyes that unsettled Agatha. Something that whispered that Rio knew more than she was letting on.

But before Agatha could voice any of her thoughts, Rio broke her concentration, her voice smooth, authoritative. “Let’s start then.”

“Gestures,” Rio began, her fingers moving with fluidity as she spoke, “are not just movements. They are a direct extension of your will. Every flick of your wrist, every arc of your hand, carries a weight, either of intention or of hesitation.”

With a slow motion, Rio raised her hand above the table. A faint green glow followed the trail of her fingers as she traced a simple motion through the air. The flame of a candle flickered to life, its light dancing in the darkening room.

Agatha watched, her eyes following Rio’s movements with a sharp focus, mesmerized. She could feel the magic swirling in the air between them, palpable, thick. Rio made it look effortless, one gesture, and the world bent to her will.

Now it was Agatha’s turn. She raised her hand, feeling a strange, almost nervous energy rush through her fingertips. But the flame didn’t respond. Agatha clenched her jaw. She tried again, her movement sharper, more controlled, but the candle only flickered briefly before dying.

Rio watched in silence for a moment, then leaned in, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not about forcing your will, Agatha,” Rio murmured, voice low, almost teasing. “It’s about allowing your magic to flow through you. You must feel it, not control it. Magic is like a breath, it comes and goes in its own time. Let go of the pressure you’re putting on yourself.”

Agatha swallowed, the proximity of Rio so close to her drawing her senses into overdrive. Rio’s words, while soothing, felt like a spell of their own, wrapping around her, making her mind drift to thoughts she hadn’t planned on having.

She exhaled, trying to quiet the thoughts in her head. When she raised her hand again, she tried to let go of the tight grip she had on her emotions. Slowly, the flame responded, a tiny flicker of light igniting in the darkness.

“Better,” Rio whispered, her voice laced with something unspoken. “But there’s still tension. You’ll need to relax, Agatha. Magic cannot work under pressure. You must let it.”

Her words felt like a caress, and Agatha’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Rio’s lips, noticing the soft curve of them as she spoke. The air between them grew thick with something electric, an unspoken pull Agatha could no longer ignore.

Rio moved to the next section of their lesson, her voice taking on a deeper, more serious tone. “Now, we’ll focus on incantations. Words are power. Words can shape reality itself, if spoken with conviction.”

She demonstrated the spell for levitation, the tone of her voice firm and commanding. The stone she set before her lifted effortlessly into the air, hovering just above the table as if obeying her very breath.

Agatha’s turn. She took a breath, inhaling the spell, her tongue forming the incantation. Her voice trembled as the words left her lips. The stone did not lift.

Rio stepped close again, a small smile on her lips, her eyes dark as she observed Agatha with an intensity that made Agatha’s pulse race. “The words are powerful, Agatha. But you must believe in them as you speak them.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You must trust your magic as much as you trust yourself.”

Agatha’s heart thundered in her chest. Rio’s breath was warm against her skin, and the tension between them was unmistakable now. Agatha tried again, this time with more confidence. The stone quivered slightly, then lifted. Not much, but enough to show promise.

“Good,” Rio said softly, her lips curling into a small, approving smile. “You’re learning.”

Rio now turned to the last part of the lesson, rune crafting. The symbols were ancient, their meanings as old as the world itself. “Runes bind magic. They give it structure,” Rio explained, drawing one in the air with her fingers, the glow of it illuminating the shadows around them.

Agatha watched, captivated, her attention split between the intricate runes and Rio’s graceful hands.

Rio handed her a piece of chalk. “Draw a symbol of protection. A simple one.”

Agatha bent to the task, her hand trembling as she drew the shape, the lines faltering as she tried to focus. Rio was close behind her again, her presence surrounding her like a shield.

Her fingers brushed against Agatha’s as she corrected the rune, the touch sending a ripple of warmth through Agatha’s entire body. “You’re almost there,” Rio murmured, leaning in, her voice now barely above a whisper.

The air around them shifted, the space between them growing smaller, tighter, as though the lesson had become secondary to something else. Agatha’s heart raced. This tension, what was it?

Agatha’s breath hitched as she raised her eyes to Rio’s face, her gaze locked with Rio’s dark, unreadable eyes. And then, before she could stop herself, Agatha leaned forward, closing the space between them. Her lips met Rio’s, tentative at first, testing the waters. But the moment their mouths connected, everything else faded away.

For that brief, stolen moment, there was only them, no lessons, no secrets, no looming danger, no secret intentions. Just the quiet, intimate heat between them.

When they pulled apart, neither of them spoke. The air between them was charged, filled with a thousand unspoken words.

Agatha’s heart was still pounding in her chest, but she knew one thing: the lesson wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But whether it was about magic, or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure yet.

For a moment, the world fell away. The lesson, the secrets, the looming threat, it all vanished, leaving only them, caught in a breathless stillness. The air between them seemed to crackle with energy, as if the space itself were alive with the magic that bound them.

Agatha’s pulse quickened, not from fear, but from something else, something deeper, more intimate. She felt the warmth of Rio’s breath against her skin, the heat of their proximity seeping into her bones. In that fleeting second, it was like nothing else existed, just the two of them, standing on the edge of something unknown and irresistible.

Rio’s eyes held her in a silent gaze, intense and searching, as if she were weighing Agatha, testing the unspoken tension that had wrapped itself tightly around them. Agatha’s heart pounded harder in her chest, and she realized, with a mix of dread and longing, that this wasn’t just about magic. It wasn’t just about what they’d been learning or the power they’d been wielding. It was about something more primal, more dangerous, a pull between them that neither could deny, no matter how much they tried.

And then Rio’s hand moved very slowly, almost deliberately. It brushed against Agatha’s, fingers grazing, a tentative touch that held more weight than any words. Agatha’s breath hitched, her fingers instinctively curling around Rio’s, anchoring her to the moment. It was an invitation. A challenge. An acknowledgment of something unspoken but deeply felt.

Without thinking, Agatha closed the small space between them, her lips meeting Rio’s in a kiss that was both soft and overwhelming. It was a spark, a sudden blaze that ignited between them, the world around them blurring, fading into a haze of warmth and sensation. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, as if neither of them wanted to rush it, each moment drawing them deeper into the magic of it all.

Rio’s hand moved to Agatha’s neck, fingers brushing the delicate skin there, sending a shiver down her spine. Agatha responded instinctively, her own hands finding their way to Rio’s waist, pulling her closer, feeling the undeniable warmth of her body, the rhythm of their hearts beating in sync. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding, as if they both needed this, as if the gravity of their connection had finally taken hold, undeniable and unrelenting.

Every touch felt like a spell, magic weaving between them with each shift of their lips, every whisper of breath shared. Agatha felt as though she were losing herself in it, letting go of everything, her fear, her uncertainty, the constant tension she carried with her. There was only Rio now, only this moment, and Agatha allowed herself to fall into it completely, to trust in the pull between them.

When they finally pulled away, it wasn’t because they wanted to. It was because the world around them had started to intrude again, the weight of their lessons, the complexity of their lives pulling them back to reality. But even as they separated, their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breaths mingling in the space between them.

The air between them still held the remnants of their kiss, charged and raw, but the weight of the conversation they were about to have pushed everything else to the background. Agatha pulled away slightly, her fingers still grazing Rio’s hand, but her mind was miles away, replaying the images she had seen in the temple. The fractured girls. The hollow eyes. The way the Elders had discarded them like they were nothing more than tools.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the room had gone cold. She could see it so clearly in her mind, the fear, the destruction and the unsettling truth that it might be coming for her too.

“I need to tell you something,” Agatha said, her voice shaky despite herself.

Rio, who had been watching her intently, didn’t speak at first. She only tilted her head slightly, waiting, sensing that something heavy was about to spill from Agatha’s lips. The tension in the room had shifted, where once it had been charged with the heat of their kiss, now it was thick with something darker. A quiet fear, swirling beneath the surface.

“I... I went into one of the initiation rituals,” Agatha continued, her voice growing softer as she spoke. “I thought I was just watching, just…just learning. But what I saw… it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

Her heart raced, and the words she had been holding in for so long felt like they were choking her. But she couldn’t keep them locked away anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

“The girls…they weren’t chosen,” Agatha said, her voice faltering. “They were broken.” She swallowed hard. “They weren’t just tested. They were discarded. And it wasn’t… it wasn’t like we thought. They weren’t just being trained! they were sacrificed, Rio. Like they were nothing.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and she met Rio’s eyes, the raw vulnerability in her gaze something she had never shown before. The truth of it hit her like a slap, and she could feel the weight of it sinking deeper into her chest with every word.

“And I’m scared. I’m scared that’s what’s coming for me.” Agatha’s voice was barely above a whisper now, a fragile thread of sound. “I don’t know what’s happening in the coven. I don’t know what they’ve planned for me. But I…” She broke off, her hands trembling slightly. “I don’t think I can escape it. Not without being caught. Not without becoming like them.”

There was a long, painful silence between them, filled only with the heavy sound of their breathing. Agatha was bracing herself for Rio to pull away, to step back from her, maybe even to judge her for being reckless, for throwing herself into something so dangerous without thinking of the consequences.

But Rio didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand reached out, gently brushing against Agatha’s cheek. Her touch was soft, but there was an urgency in it, as if it were holding Agatha together, as if it were trying to anchor her to the present, to this moment where she wasn’t alone.

“Agatha, you shouldn’t have done that,” Rio said, her voice a mix of frustration and worry. “You know you don’t have control of your magic. You could have…” Her voice faltered for a moment, and her eyes softened with something that almost felt like pain. “You could have destroyed everything. You could have destroyed yourself.”

Agatha’s chest tightened. She wanted to pull away from Rio’s touch, to retreat, to push the fear and the vulnerability away, but Rio held her there, a steady presence that Agatha didn’t know how to escape. She hadn’t been expecting this… this tenderness, this care.

“I don’t want to lose you, Agatha,” Rio continued, her voice low, almost hesitant. “I don’t want to see you slip into something so dangerous, something you can’t control. I… I’ve seen what happens when people like us lose their way. And I won’t let it happen to you.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, her heart racing in her chest. Rio’s words were simple, but they cut deep. And when Rio reached up, her fingers gently brushing the strands of hair from Agatha’s face, it was like a piece of armor had been stripped away, leaving Agatha feeling more exposed than she had ever been.

Despite herself, Agatha leaned into the touch. She couldn’t help it. There was something about the way Rio was looking at her, something so sincere and raw, that it made her feel like she might shatter at any moment.

“I’ve learned to care about you, Agatha,” Rio said quietly, her voice trembling slightly as if the words themselves were foreign, but necessary. “Despite everything, your cynicism, your reckless bravado, there’s something about you. I can’t just stand by and watch you throw yourself into the fire. I care too much.”

The words were like a shock, and Agatha didn’t know what to do with them. She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to being cared for like this. The intimacy, the trust, it was all so overwhelming, so raw. And yet, despite the storm of emotions swirling in her chest, despite the fear and the uncertainty of it all, Agatha didn’t pull away. She stayed. She let herself be vulnerable, let herself feel what she’d been holding back for so long.

“I don’t know what to do,” Agatha whispered, her voice barely audible, the words feeling like they were slipping from her before she could stop them. “I don’t know if I can fight this.”

Rio’s gaze softened, and for the first time in a long while, Agatha felt like maybe, just maybe, someone understood.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Rio said, her voice steady and reassuring. “I won’t let you do this alone.”

Agatha closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Rio’s words were a lifeline, something to hold onto in the middle of the storm. And in that moment, despite the overwhelming fear and uncertainty, Agatha felt a glimmer of hope, a spark of something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.

Agatha moved through the temple halls as she had done a thousand times before, her steps precise, her hands steady. She had been trained for this, molded into it, shaped like wax beneath careful, unyielding hands.

She knelt before the altar, lighting the candles one by one, the flickering flames casting shifting shadows along the stone walls. The scent of burning herbs filled the chamber, familiar, grounding. And yet, tonight, it did nothing to ease the weight pressing against her chest.

Her hands trembled as she carved symbols into the wax, her fingers tightening around the blade as though it could ground her, as though it could stop the thoughts from creeping in.

This is my place. This is where I belong. This is what I was born for.

She had told herself that for years.

But the truth was a far more tangled thing.

She wanted this. She wanted to be part of something greater. She wanted to be worthy. To be accepted. To feel the warmth of belonging in the eyes of her coven, in the voice of her mother.

But all she had ever felt was watched. Scrutinized. Judged.

You cannot slip. You cannot break.

The thought came in Evanora’s voice, calm, detached, edged with quiet authority.

Her mother had never needed to raise her voice to command obedience. It was in her presence, in the way she carried herself, in the way she looked at Agatha, not with warmth, not with pride, but with calculation.

Agatha had spent her whole life trying to be something worthy of that gaze. Trying to earn what had never been freely given.

And yet…

What had she seen in that chamber, in the ceremony she was never meant to witness? What had they done to the Silents who had stepped forward, who had embraced the initiation?

She didn’t know. But she knew it was wrong. And she knew that soon, it would be her turn.

The realization curled in her stomach like sickness, poisoning every breath.

The weight of expectation pressed against her like iron chains, and she had spent so long trying to mold herself into something acceptable, something deserving, only to realize too late, that no matter how hard she tried, it was never going to be enough.

Not for them. Not for Evanora.

Her mother’s voice had always been cool, distant, calculating. Agatha had grown used to it, had taught herself not to need softness from a woman who saw her more as an asset than a daughter. And yet, despite everything, she still wanted…wanted that love, that recognition, that proof that she was more than just another Silent waiting to be broken.

Her hands trembled. The blade slipped. A sharp sting, a bead of blood blooming against her fingertip before smearing onto the wax.

Agatha sucked in a sharp breath, watching as the crimson droplet was swallowed by the candle’s golden glow. A bad omen. Or perhaps a warning.

She pressed her lips together, forced herself to finish the ritual. Forced her breathing to steady. Forced herself to be still.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. The weight wouldn’t lift.

She had spent her whole life preparing for this, and yet, now that it was so close, all she felt was trapped.

She wanted to be part of something greater. To belong. To be seen as deserving.

But she wasn’t sure if she was willing to pay the price. And worse, she wasn’t sure if she even had a choice.

Later, she sat on the edge of her cot, staring at the candlelight flickering along the walls. The temple was quiet, the silence pressing in on her, too tight, too heavy.

Her thoughts drifted away from the temple, away from the rituals, away from her mother’s cold, distant eyes.

They drifted to her.

To Rio.

Rio, who had become an anchor in the chaos of her mind, and yet remained a mystery all the same.

Agatha didn’t know where she had come from, why she had agreed to teach her, why she lingered in that cabin as if she were waiting for something unseen. She didn’t know if she could know. Because Rio was like smoke, just when Agatha thought she had a grasp on her, she slipped through her fingers, leaving nothing but the ghost of warmth behind.

And yet, despite that, despite the uncertainty, despite the not knowing, Agatha wanted her.

Wanted her in a way that terrified her.

Because Rio made her feel seen. She made her feel real, not just a Silent, not just a vessel to be filled, but something more.

And Agatha had never known what it was like to be wanted for who she was, rather than what she was supposed to be. Or despite whoo she was.

But was it real? Or was she just reaching for something that wasn’t truly there?

Rio said she cared. She kissed her like she meant it. But Agatha had spent her whole life learning that words could be hollow, that affection could be conditional.

To trust was way too dangerous.

So she did what she had always done, what she had been taught to do.

She pulled back.

Because if there was one thing she knew, one thing she could count on, was herself.

And that would have to be enough.

Agatha moved through the temple halls with careful precision, her hands steady as she arranged ritual tools, measured dried herbs, and performed the mundane duties expected of a Silent. On the surface, she was composed, another obedient girl in the endless cycle of rites and ceremonies. But inside, her thoughts twisted like tangled roots, her mind gnawing on a single, inescapable truth.

She wasn’t safe.

The weight of what she had seen during the last initiation had not lessened. If anything, it had festered, growing into something sharp-edged and impossible to ignore. The sight of those girls, their bodies rigid with pain, their eyes hollow and lost—was burned into her mind. She didn’t know exactly what was happening to them, but she knew enough.

Enough to be afraid.

The air in the temple felt different tonight. Heavy. Suffocating. The flickering torchlight sent long, twisting shadows against the stone walls, making the halls seem narrower, the ceilings lower. As if the entire place was pressing inward, closing around her like a fist.

Then there was Beatrix.

Agatha felt the weight of her gaze before she saw it. The other girl stood across the chamber, hands folded neatly in front of her, posture as disciplined as ever. But her dark eyes were fixed entirely on Agatha.

It wasn’t the usual kind of scrutiny. It wasn’t the watchful eye of an Elder or the casual, impassive stares shared between Silents. It wasn’t the longing from before.

It was something else.

Beatrix wasn’t just looking at her, she was studying her. Testing her.

Agatha forced herself to keep moving, to act unaffected, but her heart pounded beneath her ribs.

What did she know? Did she suspect something? Had she seen Agatha at night? Had Evanora told the others? Or was this some cruel game, watching Agatha crumble under the weight of her own paranoia?

She gritted her teeth, setting down the bowl of crushed herbs with a little too much force. Steady. She had to be steady. She couldn’t afford to let her mask slip.

But Beatrix didn’t look away.

A soft chime rang through the temple, one of the Elders’ ritual bells, a sound that always demanded attention. Instinctively, the Silents straightened, their motions disciplined and synchronized.

Agatha turned toward the source of the sound just as Elder Vesper entered the chamber.

She was a tall woman, her presence precise and unnerving. She moved like something floating rather than walking, her pale robes trailing behind her as she approached. Agatha’s stomach tightened as those cold, unreadable eyes settled on her.

“Walk with me.”

The words weren’t a request.

Agatha swallowed hard and fell into step behind the Elder, keeping her breathing even as they moved through the labyrinthine corridors of the temple. The deeper they went, the quieter it became. The distant murmurs of other Silents faded. The torchlight grew sparser, leaving pools of flickering shadow in their wake.

She hated these halls.

They were too quiet. Too vast and empty, yet somehow suffocating all at once.

Finally, Vesper stopped.

Agatha did the same, though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run.

“The next initiation ceremony is approaching,” Vesper said, her voice smooth as polished glass. “You will participate.”

The world tilted slightly.

Agatha had known this moment was coming. It had always been inevitable. But hearing the words spoken aloud, final, absolute, sent a cold wave of fear crashing through her.

She had to respond. She had to speak.

She forced herself to meet Vesper’s gaze, though the very act of looking into those pale, knowing eyes made her stomach turn. “Of course,” she said, her voice even. Controlled.

Vesper studied her with the patience of someone waiting to see if an animal would flinch. Then, she tilted her head ever so slightly.

“You have always been… unconventional, Agatha.”

It wasn’t a compliment.

“But Evanora has high expectations for you.” A pause. “I trust you will not disappoint.”

There was something in the way she said it. A weight beneath the words. A warning, maybe. Or a threat.

Agatha’s fingers curled into the fabric of her robes, hidden from sight. “I won’t.”

A slow, satisfied tilt of the Elder’s lips. Not quite a smile, but something close.

And then, as if she had already dismissed her, Vesper turned and disappeared into the dim corridor, her robes whispering against the stone as she left.

Agatha didn’t move.

The silence pressed against her ears, a dull ringing settling into the back of her skull.

The next initiation.

Her initiation.

She didn’t know what was worse, the thought of what they would do to her… or the fact that a part of her still wanted to belong.

Still wanted to be worthy.

Still wanted her mother to look at her with something other than cold expectation.

Her throat tightened.

I have to get out.

The night was deep and restless, the forest alive with shifting shadows. Agatha moved through it like a ghost, her thoughts too loud, too tangled to let her feel the cold properly. The sharp twigs that snapped underfoot, the distant calls of night creatures, none of it touched her. Her mind was still back in the temple.

The next initiation ceremony is approaching. You will participate.

The words had slithered into her bones, settling like lead in her stomach. She had felt the finality in them, the expectation. There had been no room for refusal, no opening to escape.

She had always known this was coming. Hadn’t she?

And yet, some foolish, reckless part of her had thought, hoped, she had more time.

Her feet carried her forward, instinct more than choice, until the cabin’s silhouette rose in the moonlight. The sight of it should have eased something in her, but instead, a fresh wave of tension coiled in her gut.

She wanted to be here. Gods, she wanted to be here.

She wanted Rio’s voice grounding her, the way it always did. Wanted the sharp wit and steady confidence, the quiet strength that made Agatha feel, just for a little while, like the ground beneath her feet wasn’t slipping away. She wasn’t sure she could keep herself from unraveling tonight.

Still, she knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, and Rio stood there, dark eyes flicking over her like she could see everything, every thought, every fear that Agatha was trying to bury.

“You’re late,” Rio murmured, stepping aside to let her in.

“Time’s an illusion,” Agatha muttered, stepping inside.

Rio’s brow arched, but she said nothing. No teasing. No knowing smirk.

Agatha wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

The cabin was warm, the air thick with the scent of herbs and ink. It had become familiar, almost comforting. But tonight, the walls felt too close. Her skin itched, her fingers curling into fists before she forced them to relax.

She expected Rio to press, to demand to know why she was barely holding herself together. But instead, Rio simply turned, picking up the worn leather-bound book from the desk.

“Lesson first. Brooding later.”

Agatha blinked. “That’s an option?”

“Not really.”

She let out a short, breathy chuckle, but it was hollow. She felt hollow.

Rio handed her the book, and Agatha took it with fingers that didn’t quite feel steady.

She flipped it open, eyes skimming the aged page.

“Precision and Impact: The Art of Energy Projection

Magic, at its core, is energy. Directing it outward requires more than raw power—it demands control. A successful projection of magical force must be precise, balanced between effort and intent.

When throwing magical energy at a target, consider the following principles:

• Direction and Intent: Magic does not move blindly. The more focused the intent, the sharper the force. A vague or unstable intention will dissipate the energy before it reaches the target.
  
  

• Efficiency of Motion: A caster’s stance and movement dictate the flow of power. A solid foundation and proper form ensure that energy does not scatter aimlessly.
  
  

• Emotional Regulation: Magic is deeply tied to emotion. A controlled mind leads to a controlled spell. Frustration and fear can cause energy to lash out unpredictably.
  
  

Exercise: Begin by gathering energy in your dominant hand. Visualize it as a weight, solid and contained. With a sharp, deliberate motion, release it toward a designated target. The goal is to strike precisely, not simply with force, but with accuracy.”

Agatha stared at the words, but they barely made sense. They blurred, her thoughts still trapped in the temple, still circling that one sentence.

You will participate.

You will participate.

Her hands trembled as she shut the book.

“Alright,” Rio said, stepping back. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Agatha swallowed. Focus.

She raised a hand, magic curling at her fingertips, restless and coiled too tight. She locked onto the wooden post across the room, inhaled sharply, and…

Nothing.

The energy fizzled, barely forming before dissolving into nothing.

Rio hummed, unreadable. “Again.”

Agatha grit her teeth. She tried again. And again. Each time, the magic scattered before it could take shape. Her frustration clawed higher with every failed attempt, panic simmering beneath her skin.

She wasn’t in control. Not of this. Not of anything.

Rio’s voice cut through the haze. “Again.”

Something inside Agatha snapped.

The next time, the energy lashed outward, unfocused and wild. It crackled through the air, knocking over books, shaking the shelves.

She barely noticed.

Her breath was too fast, too shallow. The room felt wrong. Too small. Like the walls were closing in. Her magic wasn’t listening to her. She wasn’t listening to her. She wasn’t ready. She had thought she had time, that she could learn, that she could be better before they forced her into the fire. But she wasn’t.

And if she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t going to survive.

Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists, nails biting into her palms.

“Hey.”

Rio’s voice was quieter now. Steady.

A warm hand covered hers, grounding her, stilling her shaking fingers.

Agatha sucked in a breath, sharp and uneven.

“Breathe,” Rio murmured. “You’re too tense.”

Agatha let out a broken laugh. “Gee, wonder why.”

Rio didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. Just stood there, unmoving. A solid, steady presence. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, voice low, “but whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Agatha’s throat ached. She wanted to tell her. She wanted to. But the words wouldn’t come. If she said it out loud, it would be real.

Rio squeezed her hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “No matter what.”

The words struck something deep inside her. She barely thought before she moved.

One second, they were standing too close, the air between them charged with something heavy and unspoken. The next, Agatha’s lips were on Rio’s, stealing the rest of whatever she had meant to say.

Rio didn’t pull away.

She kissed her back, slow and certain, fingers curling around Agatha’s as if anchoring her in place. The world narrowed to this, warmth, breath, the steady press of Rio’s lips against hers.

When they finally pulled apart, Agatha was shaking again, but for a different reason.

Rio’s hand lingered against hers before she finally stepped back, tilting her head. “Think you can hit the target now?”

Agatha exhaled, rolling her shoulders.

The energy struck the target with a sharp crack, splintering the wood just slightly at the impact point. Agatha let out a slow breath, watching as the faint embers of her magic flickered out.

Rio crossed her arms, observing the result with an approving nod. “Not bad.”

Agatha huffed, shaking out her hands. “Not bad? I just obliterated that target.”

Rio smirked. “Oh, so now you can take a compliment?”

“Only if it’s accurate.”

There was a tension between them, but not the kind that had been eating away at Agatha all day. This was different. Lighter. It still hummed in the air, thick with something unspoken, but it wasn’t suffocating.

For the first time since that awful moment in the temple, she could breathe.

And yet…

The relief was temporary.

Because the truth was still there, sitting heavy in the back of her mind. You will participate.

She should tell Rio. She should say something.

But instead, she curled her fingers, feeling the slight burn of magic still lingering in them. “So, what’s next? More target practice? Should I start throwing lightning bolts now?”

Rio gave her a look. “You can barely throw concentrated force without losing control. You want to add lightning to the mix?”

Agatha wiggled her fingers dramatically. “I could be a prodigy.”

“Mm-hmm.” Rio stepped closer, her voice dropping just slightly. “You’re already dangerous enough.”

Something about the way she said it made warmth crawl up Agatha’s spine. She tilted her head, playing at casual, but her pulse betrayed her.

“I do like the sound of that.”

Rio didn’t step away. If anything, she leaned in just slightly, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, I know you do.”

A shiver ran through Agatha, and she hated, loved, how easily Rio could get under her skin. How quickly she could unravel her.

And how badly she wanted to just stay here, to stay in this moment, away from all of it.

She exhaled through her nose, looking away. “You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

And then, before Agatha could think better of it, she grabbed Rio by the collar and pulled her in again.

This kiss was different from the last.

It wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was deliberate, steady. A slow burn instead of a wildfire.

Rio’s hands settled on Agatha’s waist, firm but not restraining, as if she was giving her space to pull away if she wanted. But Agatha had no intention of pulling away.

Rio tasted like herbs and something warm, something that made Agatha’s chest ache with the force of it.

She didn’t want to think about what came next. About what was waiting for her outside of this cabin.

She just wanted this.

Rio deepened the kiss just slightly, fingers tightening at Agatha’s hips, and it sent a rush of something electric down her spine.

Agatha pulled back just enough to catch her breath, but their lips still brushed when she murmured, “You said you weren’t going anywhere.”

Rio’s grip on her waist tightened. “I meant it.”

Something in Agatha’s chest cracked open.

She could drown in this if she let herself.

But she couldn’t let herself.

So, instead, she smirked, trying to pull herself back together. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

Rio chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before stepping back. “I think I’ll manage.”

Agatha’s heart was still racing, but she took a steadying breath, rolling her shoulders. She turned toward the target again, raising a hand.

This time, when she threw her magic, the energy was sharp. Clean.

And it hit the mark perfectly.

The night air clung to Agatha like a second skin, cold, heavy, laced with the scent of damp earth and pine. Her magic still crackled beneath her ribs, raw from the lesson, from Rio, from the taste of something dangerous and intoxicating lingering on her lips.

She needed to get back. Before someone noticed she was gone. Before she did something foolish, like turn around and press herself against Rio again, just to feel that heat, that pull, one more time.

But the moment she stepped past the clearing, her stomach dropped.

Two figures stood just ahead, half-swallowed by the trees.

Beatrix and Elysia.

A trap.

She didn’t let herself freeze, didn’t let the panic show on her face. Instead, she forced her shoulders to relax, shifting her weight to one side as if this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Wow,” she drawled, tilting her head. “Two Silents lurking in the woods in the dead of night? That’s a bad look.” She smiled, sharp and lazy. “What would Evanora say?”

Elysia hesitated, but Beatrix didn’t even blink. She took a slow step forward, her gaze unreadable in the moonlight. “Going somewhere?”

Agatha hummed. “I was. But now I’m tempted to stick around. Maybe braid each other’s hair, talk about boys—”

“We saw you.”

The words cut through the air like a knife.

Agatha’s blood went cold.

She let out a scoff, masking the way her pulse pounded against her ribs. “Oh no, you saw me? How tragic. I suppose I should be—”

“Practicing magic.” Beatrix’s lips curled into something sharp.

Agatha’s mind raced, scrambling for a way out, for a way to control the narrative. Deny, deflect, turn it back on them.

“And,” Beatrix continued, voice thick with satisfaction, “you weren’t alone.”

Agatha’s breath caught.

Elysia’s gaze flickered, hesitant. “You were with her.”

Not just the magic.

They had seen Rio.

They had seen the kiss.

A weight settled in Agatha’s chest, a slow, suffocating squeeze.

She made a show of rolling her eyes. “You must be mistaken. Everyone knows Silents can’t do magic. That would be—what was the word?—forbidden.” She smirked, feigning amusement. “And as for me not being alone… it’s the woods, darling. I could have been chatting with a squirrel.”

Beatrix’s expression didn’t waver. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Fine,” Agatha sighed dramatically. “Maybe it wasn’t a squirrel. Maybe it was a very interesting tree—”

Beatrix’s patience snapped. “We know what we saw, Agatha.”

The use of her name, spoken with weight and certainty, sent a slow prickle of unease down her spine.

Beatrix crossed her arms. “And so will the Elders.”

For a split second, real fear licked at the edges of Agatha’s mind.

But fear had never been her weapon.

She let out a low whistle, tilting her head as if considering their words. Then, with a slow, practiced smirk, she stepped forward, closing the space between them. “Let me ask you something, Bea.” Her voice was quiet now, almost teasing. “You really think they’ll believe you?”

Beatrix faltered, just for a second.

Agatha tsked, shaking her head. “Two Silents sneaking out at night, watching something they shouldn’t? Sounds an awful lot like you two are the ones in trouble.” She leaned in slightly, just enough to watch Beatrix tense. “Imagine how disappointed Evanora would be.”

Elysia swallowed hard, shifting her weight.

But Beatrix recovered fast. “Nice try,” she said, voice flat. “But we’re not stupid. We saw you, Agatha. And we will tell them—”

“Unless,” Elysia interrupted, hesitant but firm, “you teach us.”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

Beatrix’s smirk returned, slow and confident. “Teach us magic. Show us what you know.”

Agatha stared at them. Then, very slowly, she let out a laugh.

A sharp, delighted, mocking laugh.

“Oh, this is precious,” she said, wiping at an imaginary tear. “You want me to teach you?”

Beatrix’s expression darkened. “We’re not asking.”

Agatha shook her head, still grinning. “Oh, you think this is a threat?” She stepped closer, lowering her voice to something cold and sweet. “Let me explain something to you, sweetheart. If you go running to Evanora, I won’t be the one they punish first.”

Beatrix flinched, just barely.

Agatha’s grin widened.

“They already suspect you, don’t they?” she murmured. “Beatrix, the one who always pushes, always questions.” Her gaze flickered to Elysia. “And you? The one who listens, but never dares speak too loud.”

She leaned back, her amusement turning razor-sharp. “So, no. I won’t teach you a damn thing. And you? You won’t say a word.”

Beatrix’s nostrils flared. “You’ll regret this.”

Agatha grinned, turning on her heel. “I already do.”

She walked past them without looking back, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Every step felt like it might crack the fragile calm she was trying to hold onto, but she refused to stop, to acknowledge them. She had to keep moving.

Stay calm. Don’t look back. Just keep going, Agatha. You’ve made it this far, you can make it the rest of the way.

But the air around her suddenly shifted. The temperature dropped, and an unnatural crackle of energy buzzed at the back of her neck. Her instincts screamed, but it was too late.

A sharp, stinging pain sliced across her shoulder. She gasped as the burn of magic seared into her skin, making her falter for just a moment, her body instinctively jerking back. Her vision darkened for a split second, her breath coming in quick, sharp gasps.

She whirled around, eyes locking on Beatrix. The other girl stood there, trembling, her hands glowing faintly with the remains of the spell she had just cast. But it wasn’t finished.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Beatrix’s expression wavered between triumph and uncertainty. Her eyes were wide, filled with a dangerous mix of exhilaration and fear, as though she hadn't fully grasped what she had just done.

The energy crackling around Beatrix’s fingers was still wild, still unpredictable, but something was different this time. Agatha felt it deep in her bones—an overwhelming pressure, a strange pull, like something inside of her was awakening, responding to the magic.

What was happening?

Before Agatha could react, a crack of magic shot out from Beatrix's fingertips, but it didn’t land where it was supposed to. The bolt of raw, unrefined magic slammed into Agatha's chest, but instead of ricocheting off or dissipating, it sank in.

For a breathless moment, Agatha was suspended in the wildest sensation she had ever felt. The world around her faded as she felt something shift, something dark and overwhelming stirring within her. The magic, her purple magic, wasn’t just responding to the attack. It was feeding.

Her body was reacting involuntarily, as though she were a vessel and the magic had decided to take root inside her, pulling everything it could. And as it did, it began to drain, siphoning from Beatrix.

Beatrix’s eyes widened in realization, her mouth parting in a silent scream. Her hands trembled, unable to control the crackling magic that was now pouring into Agatha’s very being. The color drained from her skin, from her lips, and the spark of life in her eyes began to dim. Her body was collapsing, her legs buckling beneath her as if she had no strength left to hold herself up.

“W-What…” Beatrix gasped, her breath shallow, her voice barely a whisper.

Agatha couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop it. She tried to tear herself away, but her limbs felt frozen, her body locked in place, consumed by the power swirling inside of her. She could feel Beatrix's life force slipping through her fingers, fading, vanishing.

Her fingers started to tremble with the pull of the magic, but she still couldn’t stop it. Agatha wanted to scream, to rip the magic from herself and throw it away, but her body wouldn’t obey. She could feel every bit of Beatrix’s energy draining, a force she couldn’t control. The life force that had once been vibrant and full of fire was now slowly being extinguished, and Agatha couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With one final, strangled gasp, Beatrix fell to the ground, her body crumpling like a ragdoll. The energy that had once burned bright was now completely gone, snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

No.

It was only when she saw the pale, lifeless form of Beatrix lying in the dirt that Agatha’s magic seemed to snap back into place. The flood of energy ceased, leaving her gasping for air, her body shaking uncontrollably. She looked down at her hands, trembling with the aftermath of what had just happened.

Beatrix was dead.

The sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush snapped her back to reality. Elysia. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. She didn’t have to say a word, Elysia’s expression said it all. Fear. Horror. Confusion.

And then Elysia turned and ran, bolting through the trees as if the very ground beneath her feet was a threat. Agatha stood frozen, staring after her, the weight of what had just happened settling over her like a suffocating fog.

She had killed Beatrix.

The thought echoed in her mind, a sharp, cold truth she couldn’t deny.

Elysia was gone.

Agatha stood there, paralyzed, unable to move, to think. The only thing that filled her mind was the image of Beatrix’s lifeless body and the crushing weight of guilt and horror pressing down on her chest.

Then the voice came.

They will come for you.

The thought didn’t belong to her. It was too sharp, too clear.

They will know. Evanora will know.

Elysia would return to the coven. She would tell them everything.

They would find out about the magic, about what Agatha had done. And they would punish her.

The Elders would take their toll. She would never escape this.

She had crossed a line she couldn’t come back from.

Agatha swallowed hard, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on her forehead. But it was no use. The fear was still there. The shame. The guilt. She had to run. To get away.

But where?

Her body was still shaking, her mind screaming at her to flee, but her feet were rooted to the ground. Agatha closed her eyes, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

Agatha stumbled through the woods, her head spinning, heart pounding with panic. The air felt thick around her, suffocating. Every tree seemed to close in on her, every shadow a reminder of what she had just done, what she had become. She felt the weight of her actions pressing down on her chest, but she couldn't stop, couldn't escape the feeling that something, or someone, was following her.

And then, from the darkness between the trees, a figure emerged. At first, Agatha didn’t recognize her. The figure was cloaked in shadow, her face hidden by a veil of mist, the air around her cold and oppressive. Agatha’s breath hitched, her body instinctively tensing, every muscle on edge. The figure stood there, still, like death itself made flesh, as though it were waiting for Agatha to say something first.

Then, the figure’s presence seemed to shift, and for a split second, Agatha thought she saw something... different. A hint of familiarity under the layers of cold, the shadowy mask slowly unraveling. A figure from her memories, one that she had learned to trust, even if just a little.

The woman before her was a living corpse, but Agatha knew her.

"Rio?" Agatha’s voice was barely above a whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she didn’t know whether to run or embrace the feeling of being both terrified and... oddly relieved.

The woman, Rio, stood before her, not as the teacher Agatha had grown accustomed to, but as a spectral figure, the familiar traces of her face hidden under the darkened, skeletal mask. Her eyes, however, shone with a familiar intensity, the same piercing look that Agatha had come to recognize.

“Shh,” Rio’s voice was low, almost a hiss, but Agatha didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the voice of someone who had come to claim her soul, it was the voice of someone who understood.

"I’m here to collect the body."

Agatha's stomach twisted at the words, but it wasn’t because of fear. It was a weight of something else, something far worse. She knew the body Rio was referring to, and the reality of it struck her like a physical blow. Beatrix.

“What... what’s happening, Rio?” Agatha whispered, trying to steady her breath. She felt her chest constrict, the enormity of what she had done pressing down on her with each passing second. “What... what did I do? Why did this happen?”

Rio stepped closer, the chill of death following her every movement, but the warmth of her presence was undeniable, even in this form. Her gaze softened, and she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she raised a hand and gently cupped Agatha’s face in her cold fingers, making Agatha freeze under her touch. She didn't pull away. For some reason, she didn’t want to.

“You did nothing wrong, Agatha,” Rio spoke softly, her voice calm but filled with a strange certainty. She stepped closer, her gaze steady and unwavering as she observed Agatha’s troubled expression. “What happened with Beatrix... it wasn’t something you intended. That power inside you, it’s something far beyond what you should have ever had to face. But now, we finally understand it.”

Agatha’s mind was a whirlwind, her hands trembling as she processed the enormity of what Rio was saying. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, filled with confusion and lingering fear.

Rio’s expression softened, almost pained, but she continued. “The power you’ve tapped into, Agatha, it’s not just any magic. It’s not like the magic of your coven or the spells i’ve taught you. This is something... different.” She paused, measuring her words carefully, as if the weight of the truth was a delicate thing.

“It’s a force that feeds off life, your life and the life of others. That’s why it’s dangerous. When you drew from Beatrix, it wasn’t just an attack; you were unknowingly absorbing her essence, her very life force. It’s how your magic recharges. It’s how you sustain yourself.”

Agatha felt her stomach turn, the reality of what had happened crashing over her. She had killed Beatrix, unintentionally, but still, the weight of it pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. She had drawn power from another person, and now... now she understood why she could feel the strange pull within her when her magic surged.

“I don’t know how to control it,” Agatha whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I didn’t know that’s how it worked. All I wanted was to... to understand how to use it, how to be strong. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Rio's voice softened, her presence steady and unwavering despite the dark truths she was revealing. “I know you didn’t, Agatha. You were searching for something you couldn’t yet understand. The force inside you, it’s like a flame. And flames... they need fuel. They burn brighter, stronger, but they can consume everything around them if you’re not careful. That’s why I’m here. I’m teaching you not just magic, but how to control that flame inside you. Without control, it will burn you up. And everyone around you.”

Her words hung in the air like a heavy warning. Agatha felt the weight of them, of Rio’s words sinking deep into her soul. Everything made sense now, the tension, the fear, the strange power that had surged through her when Beatrix attacked. It wasn’t just a random accident. This was how her magic worked. It fed on the life force of others.

“I can’t change what happened,” Rio continued, stepping closer, her presence a steadying force. “But we can learn how to manage this. How to use it, without losing yourself in the process. You won’t always have to take life to fuel your power, Agatha. There are ways to replenish it. Ways to control it. We’ll figure it out together.”

Agatha closed her eyes for a moment, the overwhelming sense of guilt still weighing on her. She could feel the guilt gnawing at her insides, the image of Beatrix’s lifeless body haunting her. She wanted to say something, to tell Rio she was sorry, to make it all right again, but there was no undoing what had already been done.

Agatha’s breath hitched, her heart racing. “What is happening with my coven? Please i can't take not knowing what's happening any longer.”

Rio sighed softly, stepping back to reveal the body of Beatrix, her lifeless form laid out on the forest floor. The air around them seemed to grow darker, the weight of something ancient and ominous hanging in the air.

“For generations, the witches of your coven, your mother included, have been killing off certain Silents with each new generation,” Rio began, her voice heavy with sorrow. “They do it to harvest their power. The more they kill, the more power they gain. And all of it feeds into something much darker. It feeds into the summoning of Chthon, the very witch who wrote the Darkhold.”

Agatha’s chest tightened. The Darkhold. She had heard whispers of it, the book of dark magic, said to contain spells that could make anyone who wielded it into one of the most powerful beings alive. A forbidden text. A weapon of unimaginable strength.

Rio continued, her words like ice shards stabbing through Agatha’s thoughts. “Your coven has been summoning Chthon for centuries, collecting the energy of the Silents to do so. But recently, they’ve become desperate. Too many of your sisters have died in such a short time. They’ve killed in numbers that threaten the balance of life and death itself.” She paused, her hollowed eyes locked onto Agatha’s. “This is why I can’t let them continue. It’s not just a matter of power anymore. It's tearing the very fabric of this world apart.”

Agatha took a step back, her mind spinning. “But... why are you telling me this? Why are you here?”

Rio’s skeletal mask shifted, as though it were a shadow giving way to the truth beneath. “I can’t stop them. I can’t stop what’s happening. But I can stop you from falling further into this… into the same abyss your coven has already chosen. I can help you, Agatha, because you’re different. You were already seeking answers on your own. I’ve seen the potential in you. You have power.”

Agatha’s throat tightened. She wanted to ask more, but Rio was already continuing, speaking in a softer, almost reluctant tone. “And... I’ve come to care for you more than I should have.”

Agatha’s heart stopped. For a split second, the world around her faded away, the trees, the mist, the fear, all of it blurring into the background. She could hear only the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears.

“Rio...”

Rio’s gaze softened, the hollowed emptiness in her eyes gone, replaced with something else. Something real. “When I first started teaching you, I never meant to get close. I never meant to let myself care for you, but it happened anyway. I’ve seen the fire in you. And I’m not just talking about your magic, Agatha.” She took a step closer, her cold fingers brushing against Agatha’s cheek once more, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’ve come to care for you... deeply.”

Agatha swallowed hard, her thoughts a blur. The storm of emotions inside her left her speechless. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but it wasn’t just fear anymore. It was something else entirely.

Before Agatha could respond, Rio pulled her in gently, pressing her lips to Agatha’s. The kiss was soft, slow, yet full of an undeniable intensity. It was unlike anything Agatha had ever felt before, familiar, yes, but full of unspoken weight and promise. A connection she hadn’t anticipated, but couldn't deny.

When they broke apart, Agatha’s breath was shallow, her heart racing. She felt... something, something deep within her, but it wasn’t fear. It was the pull of something else, something real.

“I will always be here, Agatha,” Rio whispered, her voice softer now, full of an intimacy that both terrified and comforted Agatha in equal measure. “And I won’t let you walk down the same path your coven has chosen. You can trust me.”

Agatha closed her eyes, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. She wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. The world was shifting beneath her, the balance tipping, and she felt utterly lost. But for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t completely alone.

“I have to go now but i'll come back as soon as you can think twice” The air was thick with a suffocating tension, a pressing weight that clung to Agatha's chest as she stood, helpless and bound. Magic, sharp and unforgiving, circled around her like a noose tightening, dragging her forward into the heart of the clearing. The moonlight, pale and cold, cast long shadows on the ground, but it couldn’t erase the darkness that filled the air.

Each step, each movement, was a reminder of what she had done. How she had betrayed them, her coven, her blood, and how far she had fallen from the girl she used to be. Agatha had always wanted to belong, to be accepted by her coven, to be seen as more than just a child to be scorned. But now, as they led her into this final confrontation, she realized that her desire for their approval had led her to this moment: bound and helpless, with the power to destroy, but no control over it.

Her mother stood before her, cold as the stone that surrounded them. Evanora's gaze was piercing, and even though Agatha could feel the crushing weight of her mother’s disappointment, she refused to show weakness. Not now. Not in front of them.

But that didn’t stop the rush of shame and regret that flooded her chest.

“You betrayed us, Agatha,” Evanora’s voice was a razor-sharp blade, each word cutting deeper than the last. “You stole what was not yours. You sought power above your place, above your station. You, my daughter, are a traitor.”

The word felt like a lash across Agatha’s skin. Her heart pounded painfully, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She had wanted to prove herself worthy of them, of her mother, to show that she could be more than just the quiet, obedient daughter. But now, in the face of her mother’s wrath, all of that seemed meaningless. The knowledge she had sought, the magic she had stolen, it had only brought her pain. It had only destroyed her.

She opened her mouth to speak, to plead for mercy, but no words came. The bonds that held her felt like iron, cutting into her skin, stealing her breath. The words she had rehearsed in her mind, her apologies, her explanations, sounded hollow, even to her.

"I did not break your rules. They simply bent to my power.” she whispered, her voice cracked, desperate. “Wait. No. I cannot control it! I... If only you would teach me! Help me! Please! Mother, please! I didn’t…please, I didn’t know what would happen…”

But Evanora’s face remained impassive, her eyes colder than the moonlight itself. The witches around her murmured in agreement, their faces twisted with contempt.

“You didn’t know?” Evanora repeated with a sneer, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “You didn’t know? How convenient. You always thought you were special, didn’t you, Agatha? Always thought you deserved more. But you’re nothing but a failure.”

The sting of her words hit Agatha like a physical blow. Her mother’s coldness, the way she rejected her so effortlessly, crushed her heart. Agatha had always been haunted by the feeling of never being enough, never being seen for who she truly was. Now, in the face of this cruel judgment, all of her doubts seemed to have been confirmed.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had no right to cry. Not when she had already failed.

The witches raised their hands in unison, their magic crackling in the air like a storm. Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the force of their power surround her, squeezing the air from her lungs. The magic was like a tangible weight pressing down on her, threatening to crush her.

Evanora’s voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. “You will die for your betrayal, Agatha. You will die for your arrogance. Your foolishness.”

The words sliced through her, making her chest tighten with an impossible weight of fear and regret. Agatha struggled against the magic that held her in place, but it was no use. She was a prisoner of their will, and there was no escape.

Then, without warning, the first bolt of energy hit her. It struck her chest with a violent force, sending her body slamming back against the post. Agatha gasped in pain, the air knocked from her lungs, her body wracked with the force of the impact. The magic seared through her, burning every inch of her skin, and for a moment, she felt like she was being consumed by the very power she had once craved.

“Please mother… I can be good! I can be good…”

She could barely breathe as the next blast hit her, sending her head spinning. Her body was no longer her own, it was nothing but a vessel for the magic that surged through her, an overwhelming force that threatened to tear her apart.

“Please!” Agatha choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry—please—”

But the witches didn’t listen. The magic continued to crash into her, relentless and unforgiving. Every strike was a reminder of how far she had fallen. How much she had lost. The pain was unbearable, and the words of her mother, their betrayal, stung more than the magic itself.

In the midst of the agony, something inside of Agatha snapped.

Her powers surged.

The magic she had been struggling to control broke free, wild and untamed. Her body glowed with an inner light, the energy she had absorbed flooding her. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold it back anymore.

The magic erupted from her in a surge of raw force. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it was instinct, a reaction to the pain, to the anger, to the betrayal. The first bolt of energy shot from her, reversing its course and slamming into Evanora with a deafening crack. The energy blasted through the coven like wildfire, consuming them one by one, until there was nothing left but the sound of crackling magic and the smell of burning flesh.

The power continued to flow through Agatha, uncontrolled, as the last remnants of the witches fell to the ground, their bodies charred and lifeless.

Her body trembled as the magic finally began to die down, leaving her breathless and shaking. The clearing was silent except for the faint hum of magic in the air, a cold reminder of what she had just done.

And then, her gaze fell on Evanora.

Her mother.

Agatha’s heart twisted in her chest as she saw the woman who had given her life lying motionless on the ground, her body broken by the very magic she had tried to use against her. The woman who had raised her, who had shaped her into the witch she had become—now she was nothing but a corpse.

A sob caught in Agatha’s throat, but she swallowed it down. There was no room for grief, no room for weakness. Not now.

She approached Evanora’s body, her hands trembling as she reached for the brooch at her mother’s neck. Her fingers grazed the cold metal, the symbol of her lineage. A strange, hollow feeling filled her as she pulled it free. The woman who had been everything to her was gone, and in that moment, Agatha felt as if she were drifting in an endless, empty sea.

She stared at the brooch in her hand, the cold weight of it pressing against her palm. There was nothing left for her here.

Agatha closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as she finally released the last remnants of her power. She stood over her mother’s body, feeling nothing but emptiness.

The weight of the world seemed to hang on Agatha’s shoulders as she stood in the clearing, her gaze fixed on the charred remains of her coven, her family. It felt like the ground beneath her feet was unstable, as if the very earth itself might swallow her whole. Her mother’s body, lifeless and broken, was one of the few still recognizable among the scorched wreckage. She took the only thing she could, her family’s brooch.

Her chest tightened with an overwhelming mix of emotions: anger, fear, grief, confusion. She had just killed everyone she had known, everyone who had made her feel both accepted and rejected in equal measure. The power that had coursed through her, so raw and relentless, still thrummed beneath her skin, making her heart race and her thoughts swirl.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. “You are a disappointment, Agatha. Always too reckless. Always too eager to break the rules.”

But it wasn’t just her mother’s words that haunted her. It was the feeling of the magic, the dark energy that had surged through her when she had struck, when she had killed them. For a split second, she had felt unstoppable, like the weight of every slight, every betrayal, had been lifted by the sheer force of her own power. It had felt… good. Terrifyingly good.

She swallowed hard, but the taste of that power still lingered, clinging to her like a shadow. She didn’t know whether to be terrified of it or embrace it. The line between who she had been and what she had become was already blurring. Could she ever go back to the way things were? Could she ever be good again?

And then, just as the silence of the night pressed in on her, she felt it. The familiar hum of magic filled the air, and she knew, before she even turned, that Rio had arrived.

The sight of her, Rio’s skeletal form glowing softly in the darkness, should have felt unsettling, but for some reason, Agatha felt a strange sense of comfort. As if, in the chaos of her own mind, Rio was the only constant she could rely on. The only person who hadn’t betrayed her.

“I’m so sorry,” Rio’s voice, usually so steady, trembled with a quiet, aching regret. “I should have been here. I shouldn’t have left you alone. This…this never should have happened.” Her voice cracked with something Agatha hadn’t expected: guilt.

Agatha looked at her, trying to find the words to say. But they caught in her throat. Everything felt too much, too overwhelming. Her emotions were a storm, and she didn’t know how to navigate them.

Instead, she forced out a weak, bitter laugh. “Well, I didn’t need a refund on my magic lesson, did I?” she said, her voice hollow. It was an attempt to mask the rawness of what she was feeling, but it only made the tension in her chest tighten further.

Rio’s expression softened, though her concern deepened. She stepped forward, her hand reaching out to touch Agatha’s cheek with a tenderness that seemed out of place for someone as powerful as her. “Agatha,” Rio said, her voice thick with emotion, “I never meant for you to be pushed this far. I never wanted this for you. I thought that, by teaching you, I could keep you safe. But I wasn’t there. I should’ve protected you.”

The words hit Agatha like a tidal wave, drowning her in emotion. She had been so alone, so afraid, and Rio had been the one person who had shown up. In a world where betrayal and loss were the only constants, Rio had been a glimmer of something else. Agatha didn’t know what to do with that, or with the feelings that had been slowly creeping up on her.

Agatha didn’t trust easily, but when Rio looked at her like that, with such intensity and care, it was hard to remember the walls she had spent years building around herself.

Her hand shook as she reached up to touch the brooch, the symbol of her mother’s bloodline, now pinned to her robe. She had killed her mother. Her family. She could feel the weight of it, the finality of it.

She gazed down at the brooch, her heart in turmoil, before asking the question that had been gnawing at her for the last few minutes: “Am I a monster for… for feeling good about what I did?” Her voice trembled, the vulnerability in her tone shocking even her.

Rio didn’t answer right away, but when she did, her voice was soft, reassuring. “No,” she said gently, her hand still cupping Agatha’s cheek. “You’re not a monster. You’re human. You were backed into a corner, Agatha. You did what you had to do to survive. They made you do this.”

“I liked it,” Agatha whispered, her throat tight, as if the admission was more of a confession than a statement. The power, the freedom, she had felt when she had killed. She didn’t know if it was right or wrong, but it was real. And it had felt—good.

Rio’s thumb traced the line of Agatha’s jaw as she leaned in closer. Her gaze softened, and Agatha felt a warmth spread through her, an understanding that went deeper than words. “It’s okay,” Rio said softly.

Agatha found herself closing the distance between them, her lips trembling as she pressed them against Rio’s in a kiss that felt like both an escape and a confession. It was desperate, as if they were both clinging to something that might slip away.

The kiss deepened, and Agatha let herself fall into it, letting go of everything, every fear, every doubt, every insecurity, that had plagued her for so long. For once, it was just her and Rio, and nothing else seemed to matter.

When they finally broke apart, Agatha was breathless, her heart racing. She couldn’t help but meet Rio’s eyes, her hands still trembling, though she couldn’t tell if it was from fear or something else entirely.

“Take me away from here,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with uncertainty and a longing she hadn’t known she could feel. “I need to leave. I can’t stay here. I can’t be here anymore.”

Rio smiled, that gentle yet fierce smile that made Agatha’s heart ache. “I’ll take you anywhere you want,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “We’ll leave it all behind. We’ll leave everything behind, Agatha. Together.”

Without another word, Rio extended her hand. Agatha hesitated for only a second before taking it, the moment their hands touched a surge of energy filling the air. They rose together, high into the sky, away from the ruins of her past, away from the dark shadow of the coven. The moonlight bathed them as they flew, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Agatha allowed herself to feel something that wasn’t fear.

Maybe she wasn’t alone after all.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t broken.