The gates of the orphanage closed behind her with a dull clang, echoing through the courtyard. The sun was higher now, spilling pale light across the stone paths and flowerbeds, but Ostina barely noticed.
Her mind was already moving, calculating routes, hiding spots, and ways to remain unseen. Every corridor, every shadowed nook was a thread in the web she was beginning to weave.
Her small frame slipped along the walls, toes barely making a sound. She observed the nuns moving in their precise routines, their eyes sharp for any misstep.
Each time one paused to inspect a corner or check a window, Ostina froze, shards of dark magic hovering invisibly around her fingers, ready to create distractions if necessary.
A breeze carried the scent of incense from the chapel. She ducked beneath a low bench, tucking herself into the shadows, letting her black hair spill like a curtain. From her position, she could see the hallway ahead, the staircase leading to the dormitories, and even the side exit where deliveries arrived.
Every path, every blind spot, every door that opened outward was etched into her mind.
Movement caught her attention—a guard checking the pantry doors. Ostina pressed herself into a hollow between stacked crates, shards of shadow forming subtle threads along the floor. A quiet pulse of dark magic made a small jar wobble and fall, clattering lightly.
The guard's head snapped toward it, muttering in irritation, then returned to his inspection. Ostina let out a barely audible breath.
She rose, letting her shards guide her. Every corridor had a rhythm, every hallway a flow. She touched the wall lightly, coaxing threads of mana from the stone itself, sensing weak points in the floorboards, the hollow spaces beneath stairs, and the cracks in the walls. She memorized each one—not for destruction, but for survival.
The dormitories loomed ahead. Children were beginning to stir, their voices muffled through doors. Ostina ducked into a linen closet, petals of sunlight falling on her small figure, disguising her presence. Here she could watch, observe, and plan. A key lesson had become clear: the Church did not expect cunning from those they deemed weak.
That was her advantage.
A sudden commotion drew her attention:
one of the older girls had dropped a tray in the kitchen, the crash echoing down the hall.
A head nun rushed forward, barking orders. Ostina allowed her shards to pulse subtly, creating tiny, imperceptible distractions—a swaying curtain, a floating spoon brushing against a wall, a thread of wind stirring papers. The adults' attention was drawn to the noise, giving her a clear path along the hallway to the back stairwell.
Her small hands touched the banister, fingers brushing invisible threads along the wood.
If needed, she could create a subtle vibration to delay a pursuer or gently nudge a guard off balance, all while remaining unseen. Every step was calculated, every breath measured. She had learned to blend into the environment, using light, shadow, and mana as her allies.
At the top floor, the nuns' rooms were locked, but the windows were slightly ajar to let in the morning air. Ostina paused, studying the ledges, the ropes tied to laundry poles, the gaps between roof tiles.
Each offered an escape route. Should pursuit come, she could slip across rooftops, descend through hidden passages, or vanish into shadows beneath staircases.
By the time she returned to her own dormitory, she was a ghost among the waking children. Her shards dissipated, her presence unnoticed. She curled beneath her blanket, small and seemingly fragile, letting the world believe she was the weak "Trash Saint" once more.
But inside, her mind raced with possibilities, routes, and contingencies. The orphanage was no longer just a place of confinement—it was a map, a puzzle, and a network she could manipulate. And Ostina, clever, unseen, and infinitely powerful, held every piece in her hands.
They will never catch me. Not here. Not anywhere.
Her teal eyes glimmered as she drifted into a light, watchful sleep, the shards of dark magic lingering faintly in the corners of the room, invisible sentinels waiting for the next challenge.