“Harmony.”

Vivian, the Head Sorceress called for me to hand over the golden witch’s locket. It was shaped like a small potion vial. Vivian snatched it from me and handed me a smoky- quartz encrusted, silver raven instead. This was my first step to ascending from Witch to Sorceress. The next step was an Enchantress. Their lockets were platinum crescent moons. They had different wands and robes too. For Witches it was elm wands and satin robes, Sorceresses, willow wands and silk robes and Enchantresses, ebony wands and velvet robes.

There was a “ching” as Vivian thrust a pair of small, hummingbird thread scissors onto the tree stump we were using as our workbench. I took a shaky breath in and picked up the piece of an old ascension spell. It was yellowed with time.

I took a sharp inhale and winced as I nicked my thumb and stained the paper with scarlet blood. I passed the blade over, bowed my head and uttered

“accipe sacrificium carius placet parentibus.” A Latin sentence, roughly translating to “please accept my offerings, dear ancestors.”

Vivian slit her thumb too. She didn’t react. She had done this countless times before. She then inserted the now crimson fragment of paper into the locket, along with the down feather of a raven. For Witches it was a sliver of a crystal potion bottle. For Enchantresses it was a gemstone of their choice, charged by a full moon.

She handed it to the eldest Enchantresses of the group, who were sitting on raised benches, magically levitating. In a few years I would be able to join them.

They all added their own signature beads to the necklace. Lissa was rose quartz, Victoria had jade, Cynthia had ruby, Sage had amethyst, and the Highest Enchantress, Rosa was diamond.

I received a glittering beauty of a locket back. I gently clasped it around my neck. The raven nestled on my chest, flying through

the midnight sky of my formal robes. The assorted, glassy crystals around it shimmered like a spectral rainbow.

Vivian glanced up at the sky, checking we were situated directly under the gleaming Halloween moon; it shone like a beacon in the velvet night sky, even behind its cloak of wispy clouds.

Then everyone rose from their seats.

“Ascendo ad materiam huius mundi claustra auxilium discere ad esse sursum ex loco superiore in veneficiis” We all chanted in unison.

And the clouds seemed to condense, creating some misty pillar from the heavens. The Moon sat atop this pillar, shrouding me in moonlight. I felt an intense jolt of pain, searing through every fibre of my being. It took a minute for it to fade. But when it was over, and the shock of the pain wore off, I felt really good. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but it was like physical strength, and emotional confidence swirling together into a beautifully intoxicating cocktail of power. I sat back down, in a daze.

The rest of the group had seen my successful transition and smiled to themselves.

Vivian got up from her seat, a delicately crafted stool, made from oak bark and surrounded by a frame of wild berry brambles and honeysuckle. There was a Latin inscription at the base of it; roughly

translated it read:

“If our charms keep me going

Then our legacy is strong

If our legacy is strong

Then our enemies will quaver

If our enemies do quaver

Then our weaknesses are scarce

And who do we have to thank for our

Magic blood which keeps us safe

Well our mothers and our fathers are worthy of this fame”

It was a poem written by the previous Head Sorceress Lissa, before she became an Enchantress.

Vivian pulled out a slim, oak, intricately carved box from her satchel. She extended her arm and handed it to me. I took it from her, gratefully. There was a faint "click" as I turned the ornate key in the the engraved, brass latch, with trembling hands. The lid swung back on its hinges to reveal a beautiful, slender, willow

wand. I lifted it from its plush velvet case. It was a beautiful milky cream colour, moss spilling from the tiny cracks in it's surface. There was a single train of leaves running from the tip to the base of the wand. A willow branch. Supposedly it helped to channel the magic from the hand, through the wand, the leaves helped it disperse evenly throughout the wand, so the magic wasn't too powerful. I would have time to practice later. I tenderly shut the case, slipped it into my satchel and held onto the wand.

“Gratias tibi.” I thanked her.

We had to speak Latin for formal gatherings. It was a slight pain, but I could deal with it. The Rising Rituals in particular were supposed to be completely silent, with speech being strictly in Latin. The punishment for speaking English during a Rising Ritual or Funeral was a branding with a red-hot iron rod for Witches and new Sorceresses and permanent exile for higher Sorceresses and Enchantresses.

Then everyone sat back down. Vivian motioned to the assortment of damp twigs at my feet. Time to test the advanced magic.

Fire from a Sorceress should start from any flammable substance, regardless of its condition, and revert the fuel back to its original form once the flames are extinguished. On the other hand, a Witch’s fire can only start from dry coal or charcoal and creates ash.

I pointed my wand at the pile of dank wood. Usually with fire, I could ignite a spark within seconds. But I could tell Rosa’s satin grey eyes were trained on me. I was a nervous wreck.

A small spark danced upon the kindling, before being snuffed out almost immediately. I let out an aggravated sigh. I could feel Both Vivian and Rosa do the same.

This time a flame, half a foot high erupted from the timber. I myself fanned it out when I saw grey dust emerging from the blackened

wood.

This was not working for me. Maybe my wand formation was wrong?

I tilted my wrist left a tiny bit. On the clockwise loop, I slowed down. On the diagonal swipe I tried adjusting my grip.

An inferno sprang from the lumber. Amber ribbons, double my size reached for the sky.

Behind the blazing frenzy Vivian gave me a nod and tossed me my old Witch’s locket. She had taken off the beads, removed the artefacts inside it and ridden it of any spells for me; burning an enchanted item was beyond disrespectful. I fumbled around in my own leather satchel for my witch’s belongings. Satin robes, elm wand in its roughly carved mahogany box and golden locket.

I threw them into the fire. The symbolic action was mandatory for all Rising Rituals. It was a bittersweet moment, seeing your belongings, the things you treasured for years burning away into embers.

Then Rosa clapped twice. The flames were extinguished. And I was wearing elegant silk robes. The robes of an official Sorceress.

The silk felt different.

It wasn’t just softer than satin — it felt aware. The fabric clung to my shoulders like it recognized me, like it approved. When I flexed my fingers, the air seemed to shift with them.

Rosa descended from her levitating bench, the diamond at her throat flashing like captured starlight.

“Again,” she said simply.

No Latin this time.

That meant this wasn’t ceremony. This was evaluation.

The pile of wood was restored to its damp, untouched state. Not a scorch mark remained. Sorceress fire left no memory.

I steadied my breath and raised my willow wand.

This time I didn’t rush.

Magic wasn’t about force — that was Witch thinking. Witch magic was survival. Contained. Borrowed.

Sorceress magic was command.

I felt for it — that new current inside me. It wasn’t wild like before. It was deeper. Heavier. Like a river beneath ice.

I rotated my wrist once, clean and deliberate.

The wood ignited instantly.

Not a violent inferno. Not chaotic ribbons clawing at the sky.

A controlled column of silver-laced flame rose three feet high, steady and silent. The mist from earlier swirled around it but did not disturb it.

No ash formed.

No smoke.

The damp bark dried under the heat but did not blacken.

Rosa nodded once.

Vivian allowed herself the smallest smile.

“Extinguish,” Rosa instructed.

I lowered the wand slowly.

The flame folded inward like a closing flower and vanished.

The wood returned to its original damp state.

Perfect.

A murmur moved through the benches.

I had done it.

But Rosa’s gaze did not soften.

“Power is simple,” she said. “Control is rare.”

She circled me once.

“You felt the surge during ascension, didn’t you?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“That euphoria fades,” she said evenly. “What remains is what matters.”

Vivian stepped forward, folding her hands inside her sleeves.

“There is another reason we rushed your Rising,” she said.

My stomach tightened.

Rushed?

“The veil has thinned earlier than expected this year,” Vivian continued. “The Halloween moon is not merely symbolic. It is a gate.”

The air seemed colder suddenly.

“A gate to what?” I asked.

Rosa answered.

“To those who resent what we guard.”

That explained the tension I hadn’t noticed before. The way the Enchantresses were positioned in a semicircle. The way the mist had lingered longer than ritual required.

“Something has been pressing against the boundary,” Vivian said. “Testing it.”

“And we need more Sorceresses,” I said quietly.

Rosa stopped pacing.

“We need steady ones.”

That landed.

I straightened.

“What do you need me to do?”

Vivian reached into her satchel again, but this time she withdrew no box, no ornament.

Instead, she scattered a handful of dark sand across the tree stump.

The grains shifted.

They weren’t sand.

They were ash.

Not ours.

“This appeared at the eastern perimeter at dusk,” she said. “Sorceress fire leaves no residue.”

Meaning—

“Another coven?” I asked.

Rosa’s expression hardened.

“No.”

The mist behind us began to coil again, thinner this time, stretching like fingers across the clearing.

“Something older,” she said.

My new locket felt warm against my chest.

Vivian looked at me — not as a student.

As an ally.

“Your first task as Sorceress,” she said calmly, “is not to prove your strength.”

The mist at the edge of the woods darkened.

“It is to stand your ground.”

A low tremor rolled through the earth beneath our feet.

The Halloween moon flickered behind the clouds.

Rosa lifted her ebony wand.

“Positions.”

The Enchantresses rose.

Vivian stepped beside me.

“Remember,” she murmured, “Witches borrow. Sorceresses command.”

The mist condensed at the treeline.

And something stepped forward inside it.

For the first time, I didn’t feel nervous.

I felt ready.

“Then let it come,” I said.

And the forest answered.