CHAPTER TWO: BORROWED FLAMES AND HIDDEN EYES
Mireya learned quickly that power, when hidden, was safer than power displayed.
The morning after her first successful fire potion, she woke with her heart still racing. Her hands looked the same—small, unmarked, ordinary. If anyone had seen her the night before, they would never have believed what she had done.
Fire magic.Real fire magic.
She kept expecting the warmth to return on its own, to feel something awaken inside her blood the way it did for others. But there was nothing. No spark. No echo.
The power had been external. Designed. Temporary. Perfect.
She buried the broken vial beneath the loose floorboard under her bed and went about her day as usual, carrying books for elders who barely looked at her, sweeping rooms where children practiced magic openly.
That was when she realized something important.
The fire-mages were sloppy.
They wasted energy. They overreached. Flames flickered out of control, scorched walls, burned hands. Their magic answered emotion more than discipline.
Mireya, however, had felt none of that chaos. Her fire had been calm. Obedient. It frightened her—and thrilled her—in equal measure.
She began brewing in patterns.
Not random potions. Not experiments driven by curiosity alone. She chose a power and studied it obsessively before ever touching an ingredient.
For water magic, she watched the well-keepers. How they called moisture upward from stone. How their hands trembled when they grew tired. She noted how long they could work before collapsing onto benches, gasping.
For wind, she climbed the hill above Eldervale and listened to the messengers practice, sending voices across distances. She noticed how wind-users often lost their breath, dizzy and weak afterward.
Magic always demanded a price.
Mireya wanted to know if witchcraft did too.
Her water potion took twelve failures. The thirteenth worked. She drank it at the edge of the river, knees shaking. When she reached out, the water rose—not violently, not eagerly—but smoothly, curling around her fingers like it recognized her.
She laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
Witches weren't supposed to do this.
According to the village, witches could brew charms and tricks. Small things. Illusions. Weak copies.
This was not a copy.
This was control.
And control could stretch farther than anyone imagined.
It began with invisibility.
The villagers often watched her, suspicious despite her quiet demeanor. One night, frustrated by being spied on, she brewed a dark, thick potion using shadows of leaves, powdered glass, and a whisper of silver moonlight.
She drank it.
The next morning, Mireya walked through the village square unnoticed. She brushed past guards, weaving between children, invisible to every eye. The wind whispered against her ears, but no one looked in her direction. Even Kael, the fire-boy, passed within a foot of her without the slightest hint of recognition.
She smiled, a secret curl of satisfaction.
She could hide. She could observe. She could learn.
And she could go further.
Mireya discovered mind-touching potions by accident.
She had been experimenting with herbs that made thoughts sharper, clearer, when a swirl of rare ingredients—nightshade, silverroot, and a single strand of her hair—caused a sensation she hadn't anticipated. When she looked at a mouse in a cage, it froze. Then it moved as she willed.
The power was terrifying. It was intoxicating. She realized she could influence others—not just animals, but humans—if she perfected the mixture.
Not forcefully, not brutally. But subtly. A nudge here. A thought there. She could plant ideas, suggestions, even small fears without anyone noticing.
The implications were staggering.
With invisibility and mind control, combined with the potions that could replicate any villager's power, Mireya was no longer weak. She was… unstoppable.
Her first encounter with Kael almost ended badly.
One afternoon, he cornered her near the old storage sheds. "Why are you always watching us?" he demanded.
Mireya stiffened. "I'm not."
"You are," he said. "Like you're measuring us."
Fire flickered at his fingertips, unsteady and bright. Kael liked showing off. Everyone knew that.