I walked slowly through the bustling market, filled with the aroma of toasted bread, damp earth, and the clamor of merchants competing to sell their goods. My tired feet stepped across uneven cobblestones as people passed by, busy with their own affairs. The sun hung low in the sky, casting soft light over the slanted, weathered rooftops.
In the midst of the market's noise, I stopped at a small stall run by an old woman selling vegetables and spices. Her face was lined with wrinkles, her eyes sharp but weary, and her lips pressed tightly together as if guarding a secret.
"You're late today, Joule," she rasped, her hands busy tying a bundle of onions with coarse thread.
"I woke up a bit late," I replied casually, picking up an apple and inspecting it before handing it to her.
The old woman frowned. "Girls your age should be married by now, not wandering around alone like this. I've heard the Church is starting to investigate independent women. They don't like women who don't submit."
I merely shrugged, avoiding her worried gaze. I knew exactly what she meant. Ever since the Church began sniffing out witches in this village, any woman without a husband or family had fallen under suspicion. Widows were pressured to remarry quickly, young girls pushed to accept any suitor who came. A woman living alone? That was practically an invitation for accusations.
"There's news," the old woman continued. "Someone caused a stir at the bar last night. They say someone went mad after a disturbing magic performance."
I offered a faint smile, pulled a small pouch from my pocket, and handed her a few coins. "Just entertainment. Nothing more," I said flatly, taking my groceries and walking away.
I returned to my modest home at the edge of the village. As I opened the door, I was immediately greeted by Rimia's sour face—my teacher. Her sharp eyes stared at me in disappointment, and I could feel the wave of emotion she was struggling to contain.
"You've drawn too much attention," she said coldly.
I set the groceries on the table and looked at her. "It was just a small trick. A few surprises. No one went mad."
"No one?" she snapped. "Several people were raving in the streets after your show! They talked about gold pouring from their mouths, about darkness creeping into the corners of the room! That's more than just a surprise!"
I sighed, sat in a chair, and crossed my arms. "So what? We can just move to another village."
"We can't just run away!" Rimia snapped. "The Church's cleansing envoys have heard of this. They're coming! And they won't stop until they burn every witch they find."
Her voice was laced with fear—more than just ordinary worry. I stared at her, trying to grasp the depth of the trauma behind her eyes.
Leaning back in my chair, I said casually, "Then why don't we cooperate with other witches? We could protect each other."
"No." Rimia shook her head firmly. "The more of us gather, the more likely they are to find us. I've spent long enough pretending to be dead just to stay safe."
I clicked my tongue. "So what's your plan? Hide forever?"
Rimia let out a deep sigh, leaning back into her old wooden chair. "You really do enjoy attracting attention, don't you?"
"If only you were more careful, we wouldn't have to worry about Church envoys."
I smirked, sitting across from her while pouring tea from a clay teapot. "I just wanted a little fun. Don't you ever get tired of hiding all the time?"
Rimia raised an eyebrow. "Tired? Witches don't have the luxury of boredom, Shinna. We live in shadows, always alert. Even in sleep, one eye must stay open."
I sipped my tea, pondering her words. I had never truly felt fear the way Rimia did. Maybe because I came from a different world—a world where witch hunts were just a grim chapter in history books.
I remembered how modern people viewed the European witch hunts as absurd. People burned simply for looking different or because of baseless rumors. When I read about that in my old life, I felt pity. But now, I was living it.
I looked at Rimia, sipping her tea in silence, her face hardened by unseen scars and experience. "Ever wonder if we were just born in the wrong era?" I asked, half-joking.
"If we were born in another era, we wouldn't be who we are now," she replied calmly. "Even if the world changes, people don't. They'll always fear what they don't understand. That never changes."
I couldn't argue with her.
I exhaled, set aside my teacup, and stood. "I'm heading to my room. Got something to prepare."
Before heading upstairs, I stopped by the kitchen to grab a few ingredients.
"Oh, by the way, I've formulated my own magical principle."
Rimia raised an eyebrow, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "What is it?"
I smiled faintly. "Sorry, but aren't witches supposed to keep their secrets? I don't even know yours."
After gathering the ingredients, I headed upstairs to my room without waiting for a reply.
She was silent for a moment, then snorted. "Good. At least you're learning."
Once inside my room, I immediately removed the magical makeup disguising my face. I looked at my reflection in the blurry mirror. My black hair slowly turned silvery white. My dull, angular face became rounder and cleaner. I also shrank a little in height, making me look younger. From a woman in her late twenties, I returned to my true form—a seventeen-year-old girl.
This body once belonged to someone who had died. A poor albino girl accused of being a witch just because of her appearance. I still felt sorry for her. If there's one constant across worlds, it's human ignorance.
Even so, the fact that witches are real—and I've become one in this body—is ironic.
I walked to a wooden table cluttered with books, stacks of paper, and blank cards. Sitting down, I began creating new card sets.
In this world, witches understand two types of magic: internal and external. Witches with internal magic draw power from within. It's limitless—so long as they obey the principle they create. A magical principle is a unique concept devised by each witch. No two are alike. That's what makes each witch special.
After finishing the blank cards, I flipped them over. On the back was a probability symbol: two overlapping circles with an eye in the center and stars surrounding it. I gathered the cards and began preparing the ritual ingredients.
I took candles, essential oils, and sandalwood and jasmine flowers. I arranged the candles in a specific pattern, burned the flowers, and applied the oils to my hands. I covered the cards with both hands and recited a prayer in three stanzas:
"I will by my name, soul, and body. Before the singular fate, I stand firm, though not without doubt."
"To this blank slate, I plant my desire and conviction. In every stroke, let there be an answer. In every line, let there be direction."
"I accept willingly—if each answer carries a burden, I shall bear it. If the path leads to an abyss, let it be my trial."
Each line of the prayer held meaning. The first was a vow to myself. The second, an acknowledgment of my desire and hope. The third, acceptance of any consequences to come.
I felt my magic being absorbed into the cards. Slowly, I opened my hands and flipped them over. Minor Arcana: Seven of Swords, Two of Coins, Nine of Wands.
I stared deeply at the combination, letting my mind analyze the meaning. Challenge. Initiative. Purpose.
I grinned.
I gathered the cards and left my room—not through the front door. Something far more interesting was waiting for me out there.