The orphanage was quieter than usual that morning. Children moved slowly, lingering over breakfast, while nuns shuffled about with practiced efficiency.
Ostina's teal eyes flicked from corner to corner, watching patterns, listening for irregularities. Something had changed.
Sister Elara was new, but she had a sharpness that Ostina recognized immediately.
Small, precise movements betrayed her awareness: the way she paused at slightly misaligned trays, or lingered over uneven floors, examining dust, footprints, and smudges. Ostina had observed her from shadows before and now felt the subtle weight of being watched.
Good. That made this morning a test.
She pressed herself along the corridor wall, shards of dark magic hovering invisibly around her fingers. Today, she would see how much Elara could notice—and how much she could manipulate without being caught.
The first test was minor: a broom left slightly askew in the laundry room. Ostina nudged it gently with a thread of shadow, aligning it perfectly.
Elara passed by moments later, eyes narrowing at the precise arrangement. She muttered something under her breath, suspicion flickering, but she moved on. Ostina's lips curved into the faintest smile. One point of awareness noted, one obstacle assessed.
Next, the kitchen. A cup teetered on the edge of a counter, threatening to fall. Ostina guided a shard of shadow to steady it just enough. The cup wobbled, as if caught by chance, and stayed in place. Sister Elara's gaze swept over it, lingering, and she frowned. A minor imperfection corrected itself too neatly. Ostina held her breath, heart steady.
"Must be careful,"
she whispered to herself. She notices too much. I cannot afford mistakes.
The garden provided another test. Rain from the early morning had pooled near the newly planted flowers, a risk to the saplings. Ostina traced threads along the water, manipulating roots and soil to drain the excess. Elara wandered near, inspecting the garden with sharp eyes.
Ostina slowed her manipulations to almost imperceptible levels, making each adjustment appear natural—wind, gravity, coincidence.
The nun paused, frowning at how perfectly the soil flowed, the plants undisturbed. A tight-lipped mutter escaped her, but she moved on without further action. Ostina exhaled quietly, allowing herself a subtle internal victory.
She returned to the dormitory, moving with careful steps. Her escape routes had been tested in theory; today she tested how they could operate under scrutiny. Shadows beneath stairwells, loose floorboards, hollow tiles—everything was part of the web she had prepared.
A sudden voice called from the hallway: one of the children had dropped a tray. The clatter echoed, drawing Elara's attention immediately.
Ostina's shards pulsed subtly, nudging the tray into harmless alignment, creating just enough disturbance to look accidental. Elara's eyes swept the corridor, searching, but found nothing concrete.
Ostina curled into a shadowed corner, observing, her small frame perfect camouflage. She notices patterns… but she cannot catch me. Not yet.
By midday, she had cataloged every instance of Elara's behavior: how she scanned rooms, how her eyes lingered, where her blind spots were, and how long her attention could be held.
Every movement, every glance, every subtle hesitation became a thread in Ostina's mental map.
That night, beneath her window, she let her shards dissolve, her small figure seemingly exhausted and fragile. But inside, her mind raced with possibilities. The orphanage had become more than a maze of corridors—it was a chessboard, and Sister Elara was the first real piece she had to anticipate.
She is sharp. She is dangerous. But she cannot see me—not yet.
And with that knowledge,
Ostina allowed herself a quiet, triumphant smile.
The real game was beginning.