“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.

The mist did not break.

It recoiled.

Whatever had been pressing at the treeline withdrew as the Enchantresses lifted their wands in unison.

Silence followed.

Rosa lowered her ebony wand first. “It retreats,” she said. “For now.”

“For now,” Vivian echoed.

A soft crunch of boots against frostbitten leaves sounded behind us.

No one turned immediately.

Which meant whoever approached did not require alarm.

“She’s late,” Rosa muttered, though there was no real irritation in it.

A figure emerged from the darker edge of the clearing — tall, composed, wrapped in layered silk the color of storm clouds just before rain. Unlike our ceremonial robes, hers were practical. Fitted. Travel-worn.

Her hair, streaked silver though her face was not old, was bound in a long braid that fell over one shoulder. A platinum crescent moon rested at her throat.

Enchantress.

But not one who sat on benches.

She carried her wand unsheathed — willow, though darker than mine, nearly ash-gray with age and use. The carved leaves along its spine were sharper, more defined.

Her eyes found mine first.

“Sienna Devereaux,” Vivian said formally, inclining her head.

So this was her.

I had heard the name in lower whispers among Witches — the Sorceress who crossed boundaries alone. The one who negotiated with spirits that did not speak Latin. The one who never levitated during gatherings because she claimed the ground was more honest.

“You felt it too,” Sienna said. Her voice was low, smooth, controlled. Not loud — but it carried.

“Yes,” Rosa answered. “It tested the eastern veil.”

Sienna stepped past the tree stump and crouched where the mist had thickened moments earlier. She pressed her palm flat against the soil.

The clearing held its breath.

After a long moment, she stood.

“It’s not probing randomly,” she said. “It’s searching.”

“For what?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Her gaze returned to me.

Up close, her eyes were not grey like Rosa’s. They were green — sharp, almost luminous in the moonlight.

“For instability.”

My jaw tightened.

Rosa watched us both.

“Sienna,” Vivian said carefully, “this is—”

“I know who she is,” Sienna interrupted gently. Not dismissive. Certain. “You rose tonight.”

I nodded.

“And you struggled with ignition control,” she added.

Heat rushed to my face.

She had arrived after—

“No,” Rosa corrected evenly. “She corrected herself.”

Sienna studied me another second.

“Good,” she said. “Correction under pressure matters more than first success.”

That felt deliberate.

“You crossed the boundary tonight?” Vivian asked.

Sienna nodded once. “Three miles east. The thinning is uneven. It’s weakest where the old river once ran.”

“The river dried a century ago,” Rosa said.

“Water leaves memory,” Sienna replied. “So does magic.”

She stepped closer to me then, not threatening — but direct.

“Show me your flame.”

Rosa’s eyebrow lifted slightly. Vivian said nothing.

This was a test.

I didn’t hesitate this time.

I raised my willow wand, centered my breath, and drew a slow clockwise loop — deliberate, grounded — followed by a controlled diagonal sweep.

A column of steady flame rose from the damp wood.

Sienna circled it once, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Then, without warning, she flicked her own wand toward the base of the fire.

The flame warped.

Twisted.

Darkened at the edges.

My heartbeat spiked — but I did not drop it.

I adjusted my grip. Slowed the current. Anchored it.

The silver returned. The column straightened.

Sienna withdrew her interference.

The fire dissolved at my command.

She nodded once.

“Good. You feel the river now,” she said quietly. “Don’t fight it when it surges. Guide it.”

I swallowed. “Was that what pressed the veil?”

Her expression shifted — subtle, but real.

“No,” she said. “What pressed the veil was patient.”

A chill moved down my spine.

“This,” she gestured lightly to the distortion she’d created, “was careless. Curious. Testing you.”

Testing me.

“Why?” I asked.

Sienna glanced toward the treeline again.

“Because something beyond it knows a new Sorceress has risen.”

The clearing went still again.

Vivian’s voice cut through the quiet. “How would it know?”

Sienna’s gaze lifted to the Halloween moon.

“Ascensions are not silent,” she said. “They echo.”

Sienna looked back at me — not with doubt.

With expectation.

“You don’t have years to grow comfortable,” she said plainly. “If the boundary fails, it will fail where you stand.”

Rosa folded her hands into her sleeves. “Then she trains with you.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question.

Sienna considered me one last time.

“Dawn,” she said. “Eastern perimeter. Alone.”

Then she turned, silk whispering against fallen leaves, and walked back toward the dark edge of the woods — not waiting to see if I would agree.

Vivian exhaled slowly.

“Well,” she said.

Rosa’s diamond caught the moonlight again.

“You wanted to be more than a Witch,” she said to me.

The mist at the treeline thinned.

And at dawn, I would step beyond the veil with Sienna Devereaux.

The first stars of night were swallowed by thick, rolling clouds. The clearing, now quiet after Sienna’s departure, felt hollow in comparison to the ritual’s crescendo. My silk robes clung to me, absorbing the cold, the mist curling around my ankles like living smoke. The locket pulsed faintly over my heart, reminding me that the Rising wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

Vivian approached, carrying a satchel heavier than it looked. She didn’t look at me as she set it down. Instead, she spoke softly to the air itself.

“Others will join you before dawn,” she said. “Sorceresses are rare. But tonight, you are not alone.”

A rustle came from the far side of the clearing. A figure stepped into the moonlight. The first was tall, wiry, with hair the color of midnight and eyes that glittered like fractured mirrors. A small crescent tattoo curved beneath her left eye. She moved like a predator, and even the air seemed to part for her. Vivian whispered her name.

“Calyra Thorne,” she said. “Shadow Sorceress.”

From behind a veil of mist, another figure emerged: Sable Wren. She moved differently from Calyra — grounded, sure-footed, but with a lightness that seemed to challenge gravity itself. When her eyes found mine, they sparkled. Not like mirrors or mirrors of steel, but warm, curious, teasing.

“Looks like we’re paired together,” she said softly, her smile inviting. “Hope you don’t mind a little company.”

I couldn’t help the small upward tug at my chest. Something about her presence eased the tension in my shoulders. Friend. Ally. Maybe more.

Calyra’s mirrored eyes flicked between us. “Cute,” she murmured. “Trusting a stranger before you even see the danger. How… naive.”

I exhaled slowly. That edge in her voice could have cut steel. This was going to be a test — not just against the veil, but against her.

Sable stepped closer, brushing the edge of my sleeve with her hand. A small, fleeting contact, but enough for my pulse to jump. “Don’t mind her. She’s… competitive.”

I swallowed. “I can handle competition.”

Sable’s grin was a promise and a warning. “I know you can.”

The mist before us began to ripple, like black water disturbed. Faint shapes pressed against it, twisting, reaching.

“The veil reacts to intent,” Sienna's voice called from the shadows. She stepped forward, willow wand extended. “You cross together. Learn each other’s rhythm.”

Calyra snorted. “Learn? You’ll barely survive without tripping over each other.”

Sable caught my gaze and winked. “Then don’t trip.”

I followed Sienna’s lead, stepping toward the shimmer. Calyra glided past me, her cloak sweeping, leaving a chill in the air where she moved. Sable fell in beside me, closer than necessary. My heart stuttered — whether from the magic or proximity, I couldn’t tell.

“Focus on the veil,” Sienna said. “It senses hesitation. And it preys on it.”

The mist twisted, coiling around us. Shapes pressed outward — shadowy, faceless, hungry. I felt them probing, feeling for fear.

Calyra’s voice cut through the tension. “Don’t flinch. You do, and it will take everything you are.”

Sable’s hand brushed mine as she adjusted her grip on her wand. Again, fleeting. But the warmth lingered. “I’ve got your back,” she whispered. “If it tries, I’ll burn it for you.”

I swallowed. That small reassurance anchored me.

The veil shimmered like oil on water. And then, a form lunged from it — not fully material, more shadow than substance, with claws like broken starlight.

Calyra reacted instantly, striking it with a precise flick of her wand. Shadow recoiled, sizzled, but didn’t vanish.

Sable was beside me before I could even think. Her flame danced along the mist, warm, responsive, coaxing rather than forcing. My willow wand followed her rhythm instinctively. Together, the flames wove a barrier, pushing the shadow back. The moment lingered — our eyes met, hers sparkling with a thrill I couldn’t name, and my pulse raced.

Calyra watched, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, though her eyes glittered dangerously. “Not bad,” she said. “But don’t think this means you’re safe.”

“Safe isn’t part of today’s vocabulary,” I muttered, my fingers tightening around my wand.

Sable leaned slightly closer, enough that our shoulders brushed. “Good,” she said. “I like a challenge.”

The shadow hissed and retreated back into the veil, leaving the mist quivering in its wake.

Calyra’s glare was sharp enough to pierce armor. Sable’s smile made my chest feel like it was both anchored and lifted at once.

The veil did not open like a door.

It swallowed us.

One step forward and the world folded in on itself — sound muffled, colour drained, the air thick like breathing through wet silk. The trees beyond the boundary were still there, but wrong. Taller. Leaner. Their branches curved inward as if listening.

I nearly stumbled.

Sable caught my wrist before I fell.

“Steady,” she murmured. Her grip was warm, grounding. “It disorients you the first time.”

Calyra didn’t even glance back. She walked ahead as if she owned the dark, shadows curling eagerly around her boots.

“Or maybe she’s just weak,” Calyra said lightly.

My jaw tightened.

Sienna’s voice echoed faintly from behind us, already distant despite being only a few steps away. “The veil bends perception. Stay close. Stay aware. And do not trust what it shows you.”

The ground beneath my feet felt spongy, almost breathing. Mist coiled around our ankles, darker now, streaked with faint violet veins that pulsed like veins under skin.

I swallowed hard.

“This place feels alive,” I whispered.

“It is,” Calyra said without turning. “It remembers every Sorceress who crossed it and didn’t come back.”

That did not help.

A low hum vibrated through the air, barely audible but constant, like the echo of distant chanting. The mist thickened ahead, forming a corridor between twisted trees.

“Stay behind me,” Calyra ordered.

“I don’t take orders from you,” I snapped before thinking.

She finally stopped and turned, mirrored eyes flashing. “You will if you want to survive.”

The tension between us snapped tight as wire.

Sable stepped subtly between us, her shoulder brushing mine again. “Hey,” she said softly, though her eyes were alert. “Save the rivalry for after we’re not surrounded by things that want to eat our souls, yeah?”

Her tone was teasing, but her fingers lingered on my sleeve a second too long.

Heat rushed to my face despite the cold air.

Calyra noticed. Of course she did.

Her smirk sharpened. “Careful, Wren. Attachments make excellent weaknesses.”

Sable’s smile faded slightly. “So does arrogance.”

The mist ahead shuddered.

Then the corridor changed.

The trees shifted, their bark splitting open like mouths. Shadows bled from the cracks, forming vague, human-shaped silhouettes. Not solid. Not ghostly. Something in between.

Watching.

Waiting.

My locket burned hot against my skin.

“They’re illusions,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. “Right?”

“No,” Calyra said quietly. “They’re memories.”

The shadows began to move.

One stepped closer to me, its face forming slowly — not clear, but familiar enough to make my stomach twist. A figure in satin robes. Golden locket. Elm wand.

My old self.

Witch Harmony.

She looked at me with hollow, accusing eyes.

“You burned me,” the shadow said, voice layered with whispers. “You threw me away.”

My breath hitched. “You’re not real.”

“Not real?” it mocked softly. “You were weaker then. Safer. Smaller. Now look at you — pretending to be powerful while trembling in silk.”

My grip on my wand faltered.

The illusion leaned closer. “What if they see you fail? What if your fire turns to ash again?”

My chest tightened. The memory of grey dust from the kindling clawed back into my mind.

Suddenly — heat flared beside me.

Sable stepped forward, her flame glowing low and steady, not striking the illusion but warming the space between us.

“Don’t listen,” she said gently. “The veil feeds on doubt. It picks the version of you that hurts the most.”

Her voice was close, steady, real. I focused on it. On her.

The shadow hissed, recoiling from the warmth but not disappearing.

Calyra raised her wand lazily. “Pathetic,” she said. “You’re letting a ghost of yourself shake you?”

“It’s not that simple,” I snapped.

“No,” she said, voice suddenly sharp. “It is. You either command your fear… or you become it.”

She flicked her wand.

The shadows around her surged, wrapping and crushing the illusions near her until they dissolved like smoke. She didn’t even blink.

Show-off.

But effective.

I inhaled slowly, centering myself the way Sienna had taught. Feeling the river inside me, not fighting it — guiding it.

The illusion of my Witch self lunged.

I raised my willow wand.

“Discede,” I whispered.

Silver fire erupted, not violent but firm, slicing through the shadow. It shattered into drifting fragments that evaporated into the mist.

Silence followed.

My heart pounded, but I didn’t feel small anymore.

Sable’s eyes met mine, bright with something warmer than simple approval. “That,” she said softly, “was impressive.”

My pulse jumped again — dangerously so, considering where we were.

Calyra rolled her eyes. “Bare minimum competence is now impressive, apparently.”

But she didn’t sound entirely unimpressed.

The corridor ahead twisted again, darker now, narrower. A low growl echoed somewhere deeper within the veil.

Not illusion.

Real.

Sienna’s voice, distant but urgent, rang out: “Deeper shadows ahead. This is where many turn back. Decide now — continue, or retreat.”

I looked at Calyra.

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I don’t retreat.”

I looked at Sable.

She smiled, softer this time. “I stay where you stay.”

My chest tightened in a different way entirely.

Fear still curled in my stomach. The veil was watching. Testing. Waiting for us to fracture.

But rivalry burned hot at my left.

And something warmer — more dangerous — lingered at my right.

I tightened my grip on my wand.

“We continue,” I said.

The mist parted slowly, revealing deeper darkness ahead.

And this time, when we stepped forward together, the veil did not just watch.

It breathed.