The Order of Eldergrove rose like a bastion above the world, its twisting towers carved from ancient trees, bound together by roots older than memory. Jade light pulsed faintly through the wood, a heartbeat of the magic that thrummed in every stone and every petal. This sacred place was not just a coven of witches and wizards; it was a living, breathing entity, where enchantment flowed as naturally as the wind through the leaves.

  To the outside world, the members of Eldergrove were a force of nature, masters of the arcane. Within its halls, the Greenleaf family stood at its pinnacle—feared, revered, untouchable.

  Alice Greenleaf sat alone on the cold stone steps outside the great chamber, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the rough surface. The night's chill seeped into her skin, but she didn't move. Inside, the air hummed with magic, her sisters' voices weaving spells that crackled through the air. The great stained-glass windows pulsed with green and blue light, flickering in time with their spellwork.

  Catherine's magic was flawless, her words carving through the air like a master artist's brushstrokes. And Elara—Elara burned bright, her raw power untamed, the bursts of her energy rattling the very walls.

  Alice curled her fingers into her palms. A quiet shadow. That's all she was. Always watching, always behind.

  Her unique violet eyes glimmered with longing as she listened to the vibrant energy of her sisters' magic—a stark reminder of her own limitations. She felt like an echo in their wake, the forgotten link in the family chain. No matter how hard she tried, her spells never sparked with the same brilliance; they sputtered and faded like dying embers, leaving her feeling small and unseen.

  She exhaled softly and let her fingers drift back to the stone, absentmindedly tracing a spiral—a symbol she had drawn countless times since childhood. A simple loop, curling inward, then outward again, like an unbroken cycle. The motion was soothing, familiar, something tangible when everything else felt so distant.

  Then, beneath her fingertips, the stone pulsed.

  It was subtle—so faint she almost didn't notice. A whisper of warmth brushed against her skin, barely more than a breath. Alice froze, her heart quickening as she stared at the faint shimmer now threading through the lines she had drawn. The spiral glowed for the briefest moment, a flicker of violet light blooming from its center before fading into nothing, as if it had never been there at all.

  She blinked. Had she imagined it?

  A sharp voice broke through her thoughts. "Alice!"

  She turned sharply as her mother strode toward her, emerald robes trailing behind like rippling waves. Matilda Greenleaf's presence commanded the space, her staff glowing faintly, as if drawn to her very essence. Even her footsteps carried an echo of power.

  "What are you doing out here?" Matilda's voice was brisk, clipped. "Your sisters are practicing their craft. You should be inside, learning from them."

  Alice hesitated, shifting on the cool stone steps before rising to her feet. "I thought... I thought it would be better if I stayed out of the way."

  Matilda's sharp gaze lingered on her, the verdant shimmer of her staff flickering like an unreadable thought behind her eyes. But when she finally spoke, her voice carried an unusual softness—though it did not lose its weight. "You won't grow stronger by hiding, Alice. You're a Greenleaf. Power is in your blood."

  Power is in your blood. The words wrapped around her, as heavy as the air before a storm. But so was tragedy.

  Alice turned her gaze toward the distant treetops, where moonlight caught the charred remains of blackened bark. The scars of the Great Fire of Eldergrove still lingered, defiant against time. The scent of burning wood no longer clung to the air, but she could almost taste the smoke on her tongue, as if memory alone could summon it.

  The fire had come like a beast unchained—wild, ravenous, unnatural. No one knew where it had begun, only that it devoured faster than any ordinary flame, fueled by something beyond their understanding.

  She had been just a child, small enough for her mother to carry, but old enough to remember the heat licking at her back, the screams twisting through the night. Shadows had danced against the inferno's glow, distorted figures that might have been running, falling—disappearing.

  And her father.

  Alistair Greenleaf had stood at the heart of it all, his hands raised, his voice unshaken as he cast ward after ward, weaving barriers of light against the ever-consuming dark. He had held them back long enough for the others to escape—long enough for Matilda to run with Alice clutched against her chest, his last words lost in the roar of collapsing wood.

  The next morning, there had been nothing left of him. Just smoldering remnants drifting in the wind.

  Alice rarely spoke of him. She barely even remembered his face beyond the faded portrait in their home, beyond the aching silence that had settled into Matilda's voice whenever she spoke of him.

  But sometimes—sometimes, in the quiet spaces between thoughts—she wondered if he would have looked at her and seen only disappointment.

  Matilda had already turned back toward the chamber, her robes flowing like liquid ivy as she strode away. She hadn't waited for a response. She never did.

  Alice stayed behind, lingering in the hush of the empty space before retreating to her tower room.

  The space was small, secluded, a world apart from her sisters' grand quarters. Shelves bent under the weight of old tomes, their spines worn soft from restless hands. Vials of half-brewed potions cluttered the desk, their contents long since separated into inert, useless layers. Pages of scrawled notes lay abandoned in stacks, the ink smudged from repeated touch, as if tracing the words enough times would force them into her bones.

  A flutter of movement near the window caught her eye. Noir, her clumsy raven, flapped ungracefully onto her shoulder, his talons barely gripping before he settled, ruffling her hair with his beak.

  Ash, the second of her familiars, perched on the windowsill—a sleek contrast to his companion. He regarded her with sharp, intelligent eyes, tilting his head as if assessing her mood.

  "You're the only ones who don't expect too much from me," she murmured, stroking Noir's feathers. The bird let out a quiet croak, nudging her cheek as if in understanding.

  Alice hunched over her desk, the soft glow of her enchanted lamp casting light over the worn leather of her spellbook. The pages curled at the edges, smudged with ink and ash from endless attempts. She traced the familiar words with a fingertip, then pressed her palms together, whispering, "Ignite flame power."

  A spark flickered to life in her hands, a trembling ember no larger than a dim shimmer of light. Her breath caught—just for a moment, she dared to hope—but then, with a feeble hiss, it vanished, leaving only the sting of heat against her skin. Alice exhaled sharply and slammed the book shut, sending a puff of dust into the air.

  Ash ruffled his feathers from the windowsill, cocking his head as if unimpressed. Noir flapped onto her shoulder, nudging her cheek in a poor attempt at comfort.

  A knock echoed against her door.

  Alice turned, pulse quickening as Catherine's figure filled the doorway, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of her magic. The air itself seemed to shift around her sister, rippling with controlled power. Golden hair, woven into intricate braids, framed her sharp green eyes, which flickered over Alice's cluttered desk with mild disdain.

  "The elders want all of us to perform tonight." Catherine's voice was smooth, effortless. "Even you."

  Alice's fingers curled around the edge of her chair. "Do I have to?" She hated the way her voice wavered.

  Catherine's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Of course. You're a Greenleaf. It's time you started acting like one." Her gaze drifted to the scattered parchment and half-mixed potions. "Unless you'd rather stay here, playing with your little projects."

  Heat crept up Alice's neck, but she didn't answer. Catherine turned without another word, the soft click of her heels against the stone floor punctuating her departure. The door remained ajar, an unspoken expectation.

  Noir nipped lightly at her ear. Ash let out a quiet caw, shifting his weight on the windowsill.

  "I know," Alice murmured. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, smoothing her skirts as if the fabric could mask the storm in her chest.

  The walk to the great hall was too short. The air shimmered with the echoes of spells, the very walls thrumming with old magic. Luminous threads of power pulsed through the beams overhead, casting shifting light over the gathered witches. Silks embroidered with enchantments rippled as figures moved, their gazes sharp, assessing.

  Alice found her place at the edge of the crowd, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

  At the center of the hall, Elara stepped forward, her expression calm, assured. She lifted a single hand, voice a steady command: "Fireborn wings, ascend to the stars."

  Flames burst to life, curling and twisting into the shape of a magnificent phoenix. It spread its wings, sparks cascading like falling stars as it took flight. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the fiery bird soared, its glow painting the hall in warmth.

  The last traces of Elara's phoenix drifted down like molten gold, dissolving before they touched the smooth marble ground. Applause rolled through the hall, a wave of admiration that swelled and then receded as Elara turned, her lips curving in quiet satisfaction. Her gaze flicked over Alice, indifferent, as if she were no more than another shadow cast by the enchanted torches.

  Alice dropped her eyes, gripping the edges of her sleeves to steady the tremor in her hands. The tiny spark she had conjured earlier—weak, fleeting—felt like an illusion now, a mistake the universe had made before correcting itself.

  "And now," Matilda's voice rang out, carrying an authority that silenced the murmurs, "Alice Greenleaf will perform."

  The words struck like a thunderclap, silencing the remaining whispers. Every pair of eyes turned toward her.

  A lump caught in Alice's throat.

  She stepped into the center of the hall, the weight of countless stares pressing down on her like a heavy, suffocating fog. The floor beneath her felt cold, unyielding, as if even the very stones disapproved of her presence. She curled her fingers, trying to stop the tremor that threatened to betray her.

  A breath. Shaky. Unsteady.

  She lifted her hands, palms facing outward, her skin damp with sweat. The room held its breath with her. Somewhere in the crowd, a muffled cough. The whisper of shifting robes. The sharp intake of air as someone braced for yet another failure.

  "You can do this," she whispered. The words felt as fragile as the flickering light overhead.

  "Light of protection, stand as my shield," she murmured in the ancient tongue, the syllables curling from her lips like the whisper of wind through brittle leaves.

  For a moment, hope bloomed—soft and tentative. Threads of green light spun in the air before her, delicate as weaving spider silk. A translucent barrier began to form, shimmering at the edges.

  Then—

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The glow wavered.

  Alice's heart clenched as the spell buckled, the magic unraveling before her eyes. She tightened her grip, desperation surging through her veins as she poured more of herself into the incantation.

  Hold. Please hold.

  The barrier cracked.

  A sharp snap rang through the hall as the spell collapsed, sending harmless ripples of failed energy rolling outward. The light scattered like dust caught in a breeze, vanishing into the cold air.

  For an instant—so quick it might have been imagined—a flicker of violet light pulsed at her fingertips. Soft, unnatural, otherworldly. It disappeared before even Alice could process what she had seen.

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Then, a snicker.

  "Typical," someone muttered.

  "She'll never amount to anything," another voice said, louder this time, like the hiss of a blade being drawn.

  Alice stared at the empty space where her spell had failed, her breath caught between her ribs.

  Matilda's expression was unreadable, but Alice could feel the disappointment pressing against her skin like frostbite. Catherine's smirk was dagger-sharp, and Elara did not even meet her gaze.

  "A Greenleaf should be a master of their craft," an elder murmured, his voice laced with quiet disapproval. "This is unacceptable."

  Alice wanted to shrink, to disappear between the cracks in the floor. The laughter, the whispers, the weight of their judgment bore down on her, pressing her into something small and brittle.

  Matilda stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Alice will continue her training." Her words were crisp, final—offering no comfort, only obligation. "She will meet the expectations of her lineage."

  The whispers hushed, but the weight of judgment clung to the air like a lingering spell. Alice stood beneath the flickering light, her mother's words meant to shield her, but instead, they pressed down like invisible chains, tightening with every heartbeat.

  Catherine stepped forward, her presence effortless, and with a single gesture, ribbons of luminous magic spiraled into existence. The crowd gasped, admiration surging through the hall like a rolling tide. Applause thundered in waves, echoing long after Catherine's performance ended.

  Alice shrank back. The moment the attention shifted, she slipped through the towering archway, her footsteps dull against the worn cobblestones. The glow of the enchanted hall faded behind her, swallowed by the cold hush of night. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her breath uneven. The scent of damp earth and fallen leaves clung to the air, a stark contrast to the warmth and grandeur she had abandoned.

  By the time she reached home, the distant hum of celebration had dulled to a whisper, barely reaching her through the thick stone walls. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. The silence of her chamber wrapped around her like a fragile cocoon—offering no comfort, only emptiness.

  She sat on the edge of her bed, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. The weight of unseen gazes, the smirks, the quiet dismissal—it all gnawed at her.

  Ash ruffled his feathers from his perch, his sharp black eyes studying her. Noir flitted closer, his delicate wings whispering against her cheek. Their presence was the only warmth in the chilled room.

  "I'll never be good enough," Alice whispered. The words tasted bitter.

  Ash let out a low, inquisitive caw. Noir nestled against her neck, the faint brush of his feathers grounding her.

  Her gaze fell on the open spellbook atop her cluttered desk. Its pages were scrawled with frantic notes, crossed-out incantations, and half-formed ideas—a graveyard of failures. Yet, beneath the ink-stained pages, something else lingered. A whisper of possibility. A chance.

  They're wrong. I'll prove them wrong.

  Alice inhaled deeply, her fingers ghosting over Noir's soft feathers before she stood. Determination coiled within her, a quiet ember refusing to die. The corridors of her house stretched before her, dimly lit by enchanted lanterns that cast shifting patterns along the carved walls, their glow pulsing like a heartbeat in the silence.

  She slipped outside, her path set. The Eldergrove Library loomed in the distance, its arched windows glowing with the promise of knowledge. Pushing open the heavy door, she stepped inside, the hush of the ancient space settling over her like a spell.

  The towering shelves of the library loomed around Alice, their spines a patchwork of leather-bound wisdom, their whispered secrets lost to time. A faint scent of aged scrolls and ink clung to the air, mingling with the soft hum of distant magical wards woven into the library's very foundation.

  She let her fingers glide over the bindings, feeling the grooves of embossed lettering, the smoothness of well-worn tomes that had been passed through generations of witches. Then—her hand froze.

  A book unlike the others called to her.

  Its cover was deep obsidian, traced with silver filigree that pulsed faintly, as though breathing with an unseen force. The title—Codex of Infinite Power—shimmered under the soft glow of the room's arcane lights, each letter etched in elegant, ancient script. A thrill coursed through her veins. This book was different. This book wanted to be found.

  She hesitated, glancing around. The library was silent save for the occasional rustle of a turning page from a distant reader. Swallowing, she reached out and carefully slid the tome from the shelf. Its weight was solid in her hands, grounding yet electric, like holding the promise of something greater.

  With one last glance at the endless rows of books, she pulled her cloak tighter around her and slipped out into the night. The library's enchantments hummed softly as she passed through its threshold, the protective wards flickering briefly before settling once more.

  The cold air nipped at her skin as she hurried home, her pulse quickening with every step. The familiar path stretched before her, lined with flickering lights and the occasional glow of magic in the distance.

  At last, she reached the entrance of her home, slipping inside undetected. She didn't stop until she was safely inside her room, heart hammering in her chest.

  With a deep breath, Alice set the tome before her. The faint overhead lights cast a soft glow as she traced her fingers over the ancient pages, each word thrumming with arcane energy. The ink shimmered, the diagrams intricate beyond anything she had studied before.

  Her eyes widened as she read about elixirs that could amplify a witch's abilities and spells that could manipulate the very fabric of magic itself. This was what she had been searching for: a chance to harness a different kind of power, to transcend the limitations she had always felt. Her fingers traced the elegant script, her mind racing with possibilities.

  The door creaked open, and Elara strode in, her blue robes swaying with each effortless step. A knowing smirk played on her lips, the overhead lights catching the sharp amusement in her eyes.

  "Mother wants you at dinner. Don't be late," she said, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the wood. Without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared down the hall, the soft rustle of her robes trailing behind her.

  Alice stayed frozen, her fingers resting against the worn spine of the book. The pages beneath her touch thrummed faintly, reluctant to be abandoned. Then, with a slow exhale, she shut the book and rose from her chair.

  The dining hall flickered with warm lighting, the scent of roasted meat and herbs hanging thick in the air. Plates clinked, silverware scraped, and laughter drifted through the room like curling smoke. Alice slid into her seat, the polished wood cool beneath her fingertips as she smoothed her napkin across her lap.

  "I've been asked to lead the next full moon ceremony," Catherine announced, lifting a spoonful of soup and blowing lightly before taking a slow sip. "The elders said they've never seen such precise command of the magic."

  Elara let out a low chuckle, piercing a roasted carrot with her fork. "And I've been assigned to train the initiates. They'll need someone strong to guide them." She popped the bite into her mouth, chewing with satisfaction before setting her fork down with a quiet clink against the plate.

  Soft murmurs of approval passed around the table. Alice pushed a piece of bread to the side with her fingers, her appetite vanishing.

  "And what about you, Alice?" Catherine's voice sliced through the air, deceptively light. She traced the rim of her spoon along the edge of her bowl, watching Alice with thinly veiled amusement. "Any new spells to show us?"

  Alice's fingers tightened around her knife. "I've been working on a few things," she murmured, keeping her gaze lowered.

  Elara swirled the drink in her glass, watching the liquid catch the light before taking a slow sip. "Oh, I'm sure you have," she mused, placing it back down with deliberate ease. Her smirk deepened, sharp enough to wound. "Just try not to set the garden on fire again."

  Laughter rippled around the table like a sudden breeze, light but cutting. Alice's grip on her fork stiffened. She focused on the grains of her plate, willing herself to disappear.

  "That's enough."

  Matilda's voice sliced through the laughter, bringing instant silence. She set her knife down and folded her hands over her lap, her expression unreadable. Catherine and Elara exchanged quick glances before returning their attention to their meals, feigning innocence.

  The chandelier cast a golden glow over the table, catching the rich jade embroidery of Matilda's robes as she straightened. She reached for her glass, taking a measured sip before speaking.

  "Tomorrow, we will attend the ceremony at the Luminaries Sanctum in honor of the Protectors of our world," she said, her voice even but firm. "This is an honor bestowed upon us by the Elders, and I expect each of you to represent the Greenleaf family with pride and grace."

  Alice shifted in her seat, her hands curling into the folds of her dress beneath the table.

  Matilda's gaze lingered on her. "Alice," she continued, tone softening but no less commanding, "this is a chance for you to prove yourself to the Elders. Be mindful, and above all—" she set her drink down with a quiet but decisive motion— "do not bring shame upon our name. Our family's reputation depends on it."

  Alice's throat tightened. "Yes, Mother," she murmured.

  Her sisters nodded in acknowledgment, though Catherine idly dragged her fork through her potatoes, and Elara carved through her steak with unsettling calm.

  The meal continued, but Alice barely noticed the taste of anything she ate. Her thoughts drifted back to the book hidden upstairs. Few minutes ago, it had felt like a lifeline. Now, beneath her mother's expectations, it felt like a dangerous temptation.

  As soon as dinner ended, Alice excused herself, folding her napkin neatly before rising from the table.

  Back in her room, she leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. The only light came from the soft glow of an enchanted lamp on her desk, its luminescence steady and sure. Her gaze fell to the satchel resting on the chair, where the Codex of Infinite Power lay hidden beneath layers of fabric.

  Matilda's words echoed in her mind, a relentless drumbeat of expectation.

  But beneath the doubt, beneath the weight pressing down on her, a single thought burned bright.

  I will prove I belong.

  The morning light streamed through Alice's window, casting amber streaks over the wooden floor. She moved with quiet precision, folding her robes and tucking them into her satchel. Her fingers hovered over a thick, timeworn book resting on the desk. The leather cover, cracked with age, bore intricate sigils that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim radiance.

  She traced the markings, a shiver trailing down her spine. The book had called to her the night before, whispering its presence among the forgotten tomes of the library. Now, even in silence, it tugged at her senses, as if unwilling to be left behind. With a steadying breath, she slid it into her bag, the weight of it pressing against her palm like an unspoken promise.

  Nearby, her familiars perched atop a wooden shelf, their eyes gleaming with curiosity. Ash tilted his head, his silver feathers ruffling, while Noir's sleek form flickered with shifting shadows.

  "Ash, Noir, it's time," Alice murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

  A shimmer of silver light danced across the air, rippling outward as her familiars obeyed her call. Ash's sleek form shrank in an elegant swirl of smoke, while Noir flickered like a dying ember before condensing into a wisp no larger than a firefly. Their tiny, luminous bodies flitted toward her, slipping into the depths of her bag without a sound.

  Alice pulled the satchel's strap over her shoulder, the enchanted fabric cool against her fingertips. Though it appeared no different from an ordinary travel bag, a faint pulse of magic hummed beneath the surface, a quiet assurance of the vast space hidden within. The weight settled against her back, familiar and grounding.

  Outside, dawn's first light filtered through the towering trees of Eldergrove, gilding the ancient trunks in gold. The Greenleaf family stood gathered on the moss-laden steps of their ancestral home, the scent of damp earth and morning dew mingling with the ever-present whisper of magic in the air.

  Before them, their carriage awaited—a grand construct of intertwining roots and ivy, its wooden frame seemingly alive as delicate vines curled and unfurled in slow, rhythmic pulses. Sigils glowed faintly along its surface, their intricate patterns shifting as if breathing.

  Alice's fingers ghosted over the etchings, their texture raised beneath her touch. This was the last moment of stillness before the unknown, the familiar comfort of Eldergrove soon to be left behind for the grandeur of the Luminaries Sanctum.

  As the carriage jolted forward, she let her gaze drift to the passing scenery, her fingers absently tracing the enchanted bag at her side. Hidden within, the ancient tome she had unearthed the night before seemed heavier than its physical weight, as though its presence alone pressed against her thoughts.

  "Alice, you've been unusually quiet," Catherine's voice cut through the steady rhythm of hooves against the forest path. A teasing lilt curled around her words, her green eyes glinting. "Still thinking about last night?"

  Elara leaned back with the effortless poise their mother had instilled in them, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Let her be, Catherine. Perhaps she's plotting her grand moment at the Sanctum."

  Alice barely turned from the window, the shifting tapestry of emerald trees blurring as she murmured, "I'm just... thinking."

  A pause. Then Morgana's voice, smooth and measured, filled the space. "About the Ceremony?"

  Alice hesitated before nodding, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

  "The Protectors' Ceremony is more than mere tradition," Morgana continued, her hair catching the light streaming through the carriage window. "It is a tribute—to those who gave everything to preserve the balance between our worlds. Families from every land, even the human territories, come to honor their sacrifices."

  Alice swallowed against the tightness in her throat. The weight of history, of expectations, of a legacy greater than herself, pressed down on her like unseen hands.

  Elara leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "Do you think Sentinel will address us today? Or will it be one of the Elders?"

  Morgana's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Sentinel always speaks. As the Guardian of the Eclipse Heart, he would not remain silent on a day like this. The Ceremony is not just a remembrance—it is a call for unity, a reminder of what must be protected."

  Catherine huffed, rolling her eyes. "And here I thought it was just an excuse for the Elders to parade their self-importance."

  Morgana lifted an elegant brow, her voice light but firm. "Respect, Catherine. Even power must be honored."

  Catherine pursed her lips but said nothing more, looking away as if suddenly interested in the passing scenery.

  By the time they reached the Sanctum, the sun had risen high, casting long shadows over the vast courtyard. The structure before them defied mortal craftsmanship—towers of marble and obsidian twisted seamlessly into one another, their surfaces veined with liquid light. The very air shimmered, charged with an energy so thick Alice could almost grasp it.

  As she stepped from the carriage, her breath hitched. This was a place where the boundaries of magic and reality blurred, where the whispers of history clung to the stone like ghosts.

  Everything is going to change.

  The thought pulsed through her, quickening her heartbeat. She wasn't sure whether to fear it or embrace it.

  But as she followed her family into the Sanctum, the weight of destiny settled onto her shoulders like a shroud, urging her forward into the unknown.