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Chapter 2 - The Day Witchling Walked

Elira woke up one night.

The cottage felt wrong in the silence.

Not dangerous—just… unfinished. Like a spell half-cast.

She sat by the hearth, knees hugged to her chest, watching the embers shift and crackle. Mira, the cat, lounged on the windowsill, tail flicking like a metronome of disapproval.

The note still sat on the table. The teacup had cooled.

And Elira whispered, more to the fire than anything else,

"I wish I knew what to do."

A log cracked. Sparks danced upward like startled fireflies—

And a voice answered.

> "You could start by asking the right questions."

She froze.

Not Mira. The cat hadn't even looked up. No—the voice had come from the fire.From something in the fire. The coals glowed brighter. One of them moved.

Elira leaned closer, her heartbeat thudding awkwardly in her chest. "...Hello?"

> "Finally," the voice muttered. "I thought you'd never speak. Or think. Or function."

From the heart of the hearth, a flickering shape unfolded.

It was spider-like—but not really a spider. More like a thing that had once heard of spiders, decided the general concept was acceptable, and built itself out of smoke, ember, and irritation.

It wore a tiny, soot-black hat.Two golden eyes blinked at her.

"You're not... you're not supposed to be in there," Elira managed.

> "Tell me. I've been stuck in that hearth since your mentor dragged you here thirteen years ago. Do you have any idea what it's like to hear every song you ever sang to soup? Because I do. And I can't forget."

Elira squinted. "You're a spirit?"

"A familiar. Linnet. Sarcastic. Inconvenient. Smarter than you. Here to stop you from dying stupidly when you try to hug a cursed tree or make a pact with fungus."

She opened her mouth—then paused. "I already have a familiar. Mira."

The creature turned. Mira paused mid-lick, narrowed her eyes, and let out a long, offended snort.

"That?" Linnet said. "A decorative object with fur."

Mira meowed sharply and stalked out of the room with the furious dignity only cats possess.

Elira looked from the empty window to the flickering creature and back. "Why are you here now? Why tonight?"

Linnet's glow dimmed.

"Because she's gone," he said. "And you're finally about to do something stupid."

Something inside Elira flinched. She didn't answer.

Linnet floated higher, ember eyes sharpening.

> "Before you start chasing towers and ghosts, I need to know something."

She nodded, slowly. "What?"

> "That you're ready to leave. Not just walk away from this cottage. I mean leave—all of it. The Safety. The rituals. The waiting. Magic doesn't open for the hesitant."

The fire dimmed. The light around her fell inward.

And in the space between heartbeats, the room disappeared.

---

Fog. Thick and endless.The floor was mist. The sky was mist. The air tasted like waiting.And in the center stood three doors.

One was oak, carved with the patterns on her bedroom floor—homey, worn, safe.

One was iron, dark with rust but humming faintly, as if some spell still stirred inside.

And the third was glass, warped and reflective. Through it, she saw herself—older. Sharper. Alone.

> "Only one of these leads forward," Linnet's voice echoed. "The others? Loops. Traps. Mirrors."

Elira stepped closer. Each door pulled at something different in her chest.

The oak whispered comfort.

The iron hummed with danger—and potential.

The glass made her feel like she was looking at her own ghost.

She hesitated.

> "Most apprentices fail here," Linnet said. "They pick the door that flatters them. Or the one that feels like home."

Elira stared.Then turned away.

> "None of them," she said softly.

> "Explain," Linnet whispered.

She lifted her eyes to the grey sky. "If I walk through a door you made, I'm still in your maze. I'm still choosing what someone else decided I could handle."

She turned her back to the doors.

"I don't want a path. I want my mentor, the witch of the Crescent Hollow."

And she stepped into the mist.

Behind her, the doors shattered—soundlessly.

---

Elira hit the floor of the cottage, breathless.

The fire snapped back into place. The walls returned. Mira was on the shelf, pretending nothing had happened.

Linnet hovered nearby.

> "Huh," he said. "Didn't think you had it in you."

Elira sat up slowly, heartbeat still uneven. "What would've happened if I chose one?"

> "You'd still be standing there," he said. "Ten years from now. Stuck. Comfortable. Convinced you were being brave."

She stared into the embers.

"I need to save her."

> "Then stop brewing potions that smell like regret," Linnet said.

She followed his gaze to the half-finished books on her shelf and desk all around, she'd been searching on every day. The only thing was supposed to help.

She started research for clues. After a few weeks, she found the storybook with spindly structure on mechanical bird legs, tangled with vines and broken sky. The caption beneath was mostly faded.

> "The tower that walks on Lost memories."

Her eyes flicked to the window. The breeze smelled different now. Wind, sky-fruit, storm-oil.

Something was calling.

"I'll need whisperglass," she said. "To reach her memory. That's all I know."

> "Whisperglass," Linnet snorted. "Perfect. You're starting with rare, brittle, impossible."

---

She stood in her room, the satchel open on the bed. Light poured in through the curtains—honeyed, hesitant.

She didn't know where she was going. But she knew this wasn't a trip.

This was leaving.

First, a spellbook

Not the thick grimoires. Just the one her mentor gave her at ten.

Water-stained. Pages soft at the edges. One spell was just a frog in a coat.

The first page read:

> "To Elira, who already knows more than she realizes."

She packed it.

Second, Her Cloak

Moss green. Still too big.

Frayed sleeves. Tiny constellations stitched along the hem.

Her mentor used to call it her "invisibility cloak" during thunderstorms.

She folded it like something sacred.

Third,The Teacup

Not for tea. Just because it was the last thing her mentor touched.

She wrapped it in a scarf. Tucked it beside the book.

Fourth, A Stone

Dull blue. Smooth.

Found the night she saw her first falling star.

"Keep it," her mentor had said. "You'll know when it matters."

Fifth, the note and the story book,

Written by her mentor,

Just one sentence, left behind,

"Find the tower that walks on Lost memories."

---

Linnet drifted above her, unimpressed.

> "You forgot food."

"I'll forage."

> "You'll starve in style."

She stuffed a crust of bread into her pocket.

Mira watched from the shelf, eyes half-lidded.

"You're not coming?"

The cat blinked, then yawned.

"Right," Elira murmured. "Queen of the Cottage. Take care of our house until I return."

---

She stood at the threshold.

Behind her: a life of waiting.

Ahead: fog. Wind. Towers. Memory.

She didn't feel ready.

But she didn't feel afraid, either.

Just… decided.

She took a breath.

And opened the door.

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