The forest was quieter now, the fog thinning to a pale morning haze as Ostina began the long walk back to the orphanage.
Her small legs moved swiftly but carefully, weaving between tree roots and over mossy stones. The distant walls of the Church loomed faintly through the thinning mist, a silent reminder of the world she had to navigate with care.
Every sound was amplified in her ears—the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves, the occasional birdcall—but she did not fear.
The shards of dark magic hovered around her fingers, invisible to the naked eye, ready to act at her slightest thought.
Her teal eyes narrowed at the sudden movement ahead: a wolf, larger than any she had seen in the forest, its gray fur blending seamlessly with the mist. Its eyes glinted with hunger as it stepped onto her path. Ostina froze, assessing.
The wolf was powerful, agile, and far too close for comfort.
She smiled faintly. They think I am weak. They do not know.
A single thought, and the shards split silently into tiny, invisible threads, weaving between the roots and stones around her. The wolf lunged, jaws snapping, but the threads had already guided a tangle of vines from nearby roots, wrapping gently around its legs. The wolf stumbled, confused, its balance disrupted but unharmed.
Ostina crouched lower, letting the small surge of fear pass through her like a current she could ride.
"Go back,"
she whispered, and the threads pulsed. The wolf shook itself free of the vines, but the roots beneath its paws subtly shifted, creating an invisible barrier that guided it away from her path. Within moments, the wolf disappeared into the trees, leaving only the faint scent of fur and fear.
Her heart still raced, but she pressed forward, shards weaving and hovering like tiny, obedient sentinels. A branch cracked behind her—a band of Church scouts had ventured out, curious about her absence. Ostina slipped into the shadow of a hollow tree, blending perfectly, but her mind was already working.
She drew threads of earth mana from the roots beneath her, shaping them into nearly invisible spikes just enough to trip and slow the scouts. One stumbled, swearing under his breath, while the others glanced around in confusion, unaware that an invisible child had orchestrated their misstep.
Ostina's smile was faint, almost imperceptible. They see nothing, yet everything bends to me.
Further along, the path narrowed, flanked by thickets and low-hanging branches. Another threat emerged: a sudden pack of crows, black silhouettes against the fog, sensing the subtle pull of her dark magic. She lifted a shard, letting it hum with latent power, and a small wave of shadow pulse rippled outward.
The birds scattered, cawing, their wings brushing against the mist. One dared to swoop close, but a thread of air mana nudged it gently upward, redirecting it harmlessly back into the sky.
By the time she reached the last stretch of forest before the orphanage, the path was clear—but Ostina did not relax. She pressed herself into a hollow beneath a thick tree, shards hovering silently around her.
A single bead of sweat rolled down her temple, but her teal eyes sparkled with quiet satisfaction.
She could see the orphanage now, the high windows catching the early light, the nuns moving about the yard, oblivious to the tiny, clever figure returning among the trees. Every trap, every subtle defense, every pulse of dark magic had gone unnoticed.
Ostina rose, dusting off her small robes, letting the shards dissolve into nothingness. They will never know how close they came to being undone by what they call
"Trash Saint."
The gates of the orphanage loomed ahead. She stepped forward, small, fragile, unassuming… and infinitely dangerous.