The streets of Magix blurred around them in streaks of color and sound as Maggie, Ashya, and Sirene sprinted after the fleeing witches. The midday sun hung high overhead, casting everything in sharp light, and the heat of the cobblestones seemed to pulse beneath their feet.
Shoppers and merchants barely had time to react as the girls tore past, weaving through clusters of people, upsetting boxes of merchandise and dodging startled bystanders. Magic shimmered faintly in the air—thin threads of residual energy from the witches they pursued, like smoke trailing in the breeze.
"There! That's them!" Sirene's sharp voice rang out as she pointed down the crowded street.
- ✧ ❖ ✧ -
Ashya didn't hesitate. "Come on!" She pushed forward, weaving past startled shoppers, moving like a relentless arrowhead as Maggie and Sirene flanked her without needing to be told.
The witches ahead were fast—but sloppy. They kept glancing back, their movements panicked and uneven. They stumbled over crates and shoved past pedestrians without strategy, their thin disguises slipping in their desperation to escape.
Amateurs.
Maggie's gaze sharpened just in time to see something unexpected—one of the witches deliberately stuck her foot out, tripping the girl next to her, the one carrying the largest, bulging satchel. The girl hit the ground hard, a few small objects spilling from her bag and skittering across the cobblestones. Without even looking back, the rest of the witches scattered like frightened birds, disappearing into the crush of the crowd.
It wasn't just a clumsy fall. She was meant to be bait.
Ashya's eyes narrowed, locked onto the one now scrambling awkwardly to gather her things—the satchel nearly too heavy for her slight frame. The girl's hood slipped slightly, revealing sweat-slicked curls and a shocked expression.
"They're splitting!" Sirene called out behind them, her breath quick and sharp, strands of her long hair lashing across her face in the breeze.
Ashya barely glanced back. "Forget the rest!" she snapped, jabbing a finger toward the girl struggling to get up. "That bag is what matters."
Ahead, Ashya spotted a narrow alley cutting off to the right, snaking between two rows of market stalls. Without slowing, she barked, "Maggie! Take that alley—circle around! If my hunch is correct, it'll spit you out by the city square. That's where she'll probably try to hide."
Maggie didn't question it. "Got it," she shot back, pivoting sharply and darting into the side street. She trusted Ashya's instincts. Always had.
The alley swallowed her in a cool shadow. She ducked past hanging laundry, startled vendors, and piles of crates. Somewhere behind her, Sirene and Ashya's footsteps faded beneath the clamor of the market.
The faint sting in Maggie's arm—scraped earlier in the chase—barely registered under the rush of adrenaline. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her legs burning with every stride, but she kept going, weaving through the maze of side streets like a fish in fast-moving water.
When she finally burst into the open, the bright sunlight blinded her.
She'd made it.
The city center sprawled out before her—a wide square of stone surrounded by clustered shops, fountains, and the imposing clock tower that stood like a sentinel at the plaza's heart. The noon sun glinted off the tower's stone face, casting sharp shadows across the throng of shoppers and workers leaving for their early midday breaks. Children darted between the legs of distracted adults, and the clamor of the crowd swelled around her.
Maggie slowed her steps, forcing her breathing to even out. She needed to blend in now, not draw attention.
Closing her eyes briefly, she reached out—not with her eyes, but with her senses. That faint, wild thread of magic still lingered in the air, a ripple of unstable energy prickling at her skin.
There.
Her eyes snapped open.
Near the base of the clock tower, she spotted her. The girl had pulled her hood low again, trying to vanish into the crowd—but she was easy to pick out once Maggie knew what to look for. There was tension in her shoulders, an awkward, hunched gait. She clutched the satchel tight to her chest like a lifeline, her gaze flickering nervously.
The girl angled toward the edge of the square, oblivious to Maggie drifting casually in her direction, cutting a wide, smooth arc across the plaza.
Maggie's pulse steadied. Almost there.
"Got you." The moment the witch passed too close, Maggie struck. She lunged forward, fingers snapping around the girl's wrist and yanking her to a stop. The satchel nearly slipped from the girl's grasp, but before she could react, Maggie's other hand shot up, grabbing the edge of her hood and yanking it back.
The face that stared up at her wasn't what Maggie expected.
She was Maggie's age—maybe younger. Sweat clung to her brow, her breathing shallow and frantic. Her eyes were wide, wild, a mix of defiance and fear swimming beneath her glare.
Not some cold-hearted ringleader.
Not even a seasoned witch.
A first-year, like her, Maggie realized distantly. Probably new to all of this.
The girl jerked in Maggie's grasp, trying to twist free, but her fingers tightened like iron around the witch's wrist, forcing her to stand still. The girl's pulse raced beneath her skin, a rapid beat of panic, and the unstable magic thrummed in the air around them like a warning.
"Let go of me," the girl gasped, her voice tight with panic.
Maggie's grip tightened, a proud smirk tugging at her lips as she met the girl's frantic eyes. "After that stunt? No way. I'm not letting you slip away that easily." Her gaze flicked to the bulging satchel, heavy and suspicious, dangling from the girl's shoulder. "Besides, what could possibly be worth stealing from a simple tea shop?"
The witch wrenched her wrist, desperate to break free. "You don't understand. You can't—"
Maggie leaned in, not loosening her hold for a second. "Tell me," she pressed, voice low like a gossiping friend, "What's so important? You surely didn't just grab anything. You risked everything for whatever's in that bag. What's in there?"
"Doesn't matter what or why she stole," Ashya interrupted, her arm slicing through the space between Maggie and the witch, her presence forming a protective barrier between the two. Maggie's words died in her throat as Ashya spoke, her voice sharp and cold as ice. "But she's not getting away with it. Hand it over."
Maggie flinched, her eyes narrowing as she met Ashya's gaze, the sharpness of the interruption leaving her momentarily stunned. Her grip on the girl tightened reflexively, but even Maggie understood the weight of Ashya's words. They were a team, and Ashya had made the call.
The witch, for her part, was still fighting, her breathing ragged as she turned wild eyes from Ashya back to Maggie. But before anyone could react further, Sirene appeared at Maggie's other side, her inter dimensional phone already in hand, her fingers poised to dial.
"I'll get the authorities," Sirene said, her words clipped but purposeful as she glanced at the screen, ready to call for backup. Her thumb pressed down firmly on the screen, but as she did, the ground beneath them seemed to shift, and the air around them vibrated with an unsettling hum.
A deafening roar suddenly erupted from above the girls.
The explosion on the clock tower ripped violently through the air. The earth trembled beneath their feet, shaking like the deep growl of an awakening beast. Dust and fragments of stone filled the air in a storm of debris, some falling dangerously close to the group. The force of the blast sent a shockwave through the crowd, scattering shoppers and merchants in all directions.
Above them, the clock tower, a towering sentinel over the square, shuddered violently. The great bell that had once tolled every hour now hung precariously, swaying wildly on a single, fraying rope. It creaked ominously, as if it could collapse at any moment.
Maggie's grip on the girl's wrist tightened once again, pulling her closer, but even she couldn't ignore the danger hanging above them. The bell swayed in its precarious dance, and the building underneath groaned under the strain of the shockwave.
"What the hell?!" Maggie shouted, her voice barely audible over the chaos. She instinctively pulled the witch closer to her, eyes scanning the surrounding area. The explosion had drawn everyone's attention, but the risk of the bell's fall was still there. Her heart pounded in her ears.
The girl in her grasp jerked away, her body lurching with sudden ferocity. In a single motion, she twisted free from Maggie's hold, her magic flaring around them as she rushed forward into dust beginning to pool at its base.
- ✧ ❖ ✧ -
All of Maggie's instincts screamed at her not to follow, to resist the urge to chase the witch down and stop her from escaping. But Maggie couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the witch was in more danger than anyone realized, more than Maggie herself even understood. Every fiber of her being screamed that the situation was spiraling beyond their control. Her pulse quickened, heart racing as she dashed into the thick cloud of dust. The world around her blurred into a disorienting mess of shapes and sounds, and yet her senses felt sharper than ever.
"Maggie! Forget it!" Ashya and Sirene's frantic shouts sliced through the haze, but Maggie barely heard the words. The witch was slipping away, and she couldn't—no, she wouldn't—let that happen. She was too close now. She had to find her.
The dust was suffocating. It coated her lungs, making every breath a struggle. Maggie's chest tightened with each labored inhale, her throat scratching dry and raw. She coughed, desperately trying to clear the heavy fog that clouded her mind, but it clung to her, thick and choking. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, as she gasped for air, each breath more shallow than the last.
Come on, Maggie, breathe.
Focus, she told herself, even as the world around her continued to spin. The stinging in her eyes only grew worse as the dust settled over her skin like an unwanted cloak.
Finally, under the still looming shadow of the clock tower, Maggie caught sight of the witch. The figure barely registered through the haze, but there was something wrong about the way she stood. Her posture was unnervingly still, almost like she was waiting for something.
Waiting for someone.
Maggie's breath hitched as her eyes darted around frantically, trying to catch any movement in the thick smoke.
Then she saw it.
A figure emerged—a girl.
The air seemed to shift around her as she stepped forward, her presence barely a whisper in comparison to the chaos that currently churned in the streets. Maggie's heart skipped a beat. The girl moved with an eerie, deliberate grace, as if she were untouched by the wild magic that swirled around them. Silver hair cascaded around her shoulders, almost glowing in the dim light, and her figure was almost ghostly, too perfect, too ethereal. It was as though she didn't belong in this world. And though Maggie couldn't see the girl's face clearly—there was no time for that—the aura around her was undeniably breathtaking.
At first, Maggie couldn't place it—there was nothing overtly threatening about the girl's presence. In fact, there was something almost calming about the way she moved. The air around her felt strangely still, as though the chaotic energy of the world had been quieted in her wake. For a brief moment, Maggie felt the sharp edges of the chaos around her soften. It was as if the girl's magic, while undeniable, was so contained, so composed, that it made everything else feel less volatile.
The silver-haired girl reached out, her fingers brushing the fleeing witch's wrist. The touch was light, delicate, and yet, there was something electric about it, a pulse that resonated deep in Maggie's bones. Maggie froze, her body tensing in response. She couldn't quite explain it, but she felt it—an undercurrent of power, quiet at first, but growing steadily. It was a pulse, a beat in the air, that made Maggie's own magic stir with wariness, recoiling instinctively. The more she felt it, the more it seemed to thrum with an invisible force. At first, Maggie thought it was a trick of her senses, but then she realized—this wasn't just the girl's presence. It was her magic. It was drawing on something darker, something deeper.
Maggie's chest tightened as she felt the girl's magic in a way that went beyond any mere presence—it wasn't just a calm; it was a flicker of something that wanted to devour her if given the chance. The realization sent a shiver up her spine. Her own magic recoiled as though repelled by an invisible force.
She felt drawn in, as though some invisible tether connected her to the girl. Maggie didn't want to move closer, but the pull was undeniable, as if her body was betraying her, compelled to step forward. She fought against it, her instincts flaring with resistance. Every inch of her body screamed danger, but the connection held her in place, as if the girl's power had become part of the very air around her.
The girl's hand closed around the witch's wrist as they turned to leave, and in that moment, Maggie saw it clearly—the calm that radiated from the silver-haired girl was not peace. It was control. Shewas in control, every move deliberate and predatory.
A rift then opened behind the pair, a dark swirling vortex that seemed to pulse with a similar unnatural hunger. The silver haired girl stepped through first, melting through the swirling shadows.
Without a second thought before the duo could leave, Maggie lunged forward, her hand reaching for the retreating witch's arm, desperate as if to stop her from being sucked into the vortex. The air around her turned cold—unnaturally so—as if the portal itself was draining the warmth from the world. The pull of the rift intensified, twisting like a living entity, dragging at her with a force she could barely comprehend. She dug her heels into the ground, every muscle in her body straining against the pressure, but it was useless. The force of the portal was like a weight pressing down on her chest, forcing her to yield.
"Get your hands off of me!" The young witch's voice was hoarse, desperate, but Maggie wasn't listening. She couldn't. She couldn't let the witch disappear—not without knowing more. Not without learning more about the pale-haired girl and her magic.
Beyond the portal, there was another force pulling at the witch from the opposite direction. Maggie's teeth clenched as she realized that the silver-haired girl wasn't just standing by. She wasn't passive.
The air around them thickened, the forces of magic swirling violently, crackling with energy. Maggie felt the metallic taste of fear on her tongue. Her grip on the witch's wrist was slipping, but she refused to yield. Though Maggie couldn't see her fully, she could feel her presence—like a shadow weaving itself between the threads of reality. The girl's magic pressed against Maggie's, subtle and testing at first, but then it bloomed into something more, alive, hungry.
Her chest constricted as the girl's power swelled—tighter, tighter—until it felt like it was pulling at her own magic, trying to devour it. Maggie's heart pounded. Her magic recoiled instinctively, setting her teeth on edge, but it wasn't enough. The girl's aura was precise, controlled, and overwhelming. Maggie's magic was caught between two forces: her own untamed control, and the girl's quiet, deliberate power.
She could feel her magic faltering, and the frustration hit her like a physical blow. She felt the jolt deep within her chest, as though the very core of her power had been yanked back unwillingly. Her connection to the magic, already tenuous, seemed to almost falter, slipping through her fingers in jagged bursts of chaotic energy. It was as if her magic itself was disappointed—its raw potential, so close to being unleashed, was locked behind the cage of her inexperience. She could feel it, thrashing like a rising tide trapped behind a crumbling dam, desperate to be free, but unable to act.
Her grip on the witch's wrist was slipping, and her magic hesitating under the overwhelming weight of the silver-haired girl's aura. She could feel it recoiling, pulling back in fear, as though it could sense that it wasn't enough to survive this battle.
Maggie's chest tightened, an unwelcome flicker of doubt creeping in. No. Not now. She didn't fail—not often, at least. And she wasn't about to start now.
Her fingers tightened. She refused to let go.
Then, she saw it—the satchel.
Bulging at the witch's side. Maggie's fingers reached out without thinking, grabbing the strap. The silver-haired girl, hidden in the swirling portal, didn't seem to notice. Maggie seized the chance, her heart pounding as she yanked the satchel with everything she had left.
The witch fought against her, but Maggie held on, ignoring the frustration still clinging to her magic. She pulled harder, her hands trembling, her power still erratic but determined.
The young witch continued to fight against Maggie's hold, nearly in tears, but Maggie refused to let go. She yanked on the satchel, pulling with everything she had left. The effort was nearly impossible, her hands trembling with the strain, her magic still tangled in chaotic bursts of power that refused to be controlled. But Maggie gritted her teeth and pulled harder, her determination outweighing the frustration gnawing at her.
Then, with a sudden snap, the strap gave way. The sound was sharp and final, cutting through the tension of the moment like a breaking thread. Maggie stumbled backward, her hands losing their grip on the strap for a heartbeat before her fingers tightened again. The weight of the satchel dragged her down, and she hit the ground hard, but she didn't let go.
Ashya and Sirene were at her side in an instant, their worried faces blurring through the haze of her tear-filled vision. They were frantic, their hands reaching out to steady her, but Maggie couldn't quite focus. The magic inside her was still there, pulsing, restless, but it wasn't enough. Not yet. Maggie's chest heaved with exhaustion, and the sudden clarity of the small victory felt bittersweet. It was a reprieve, but it didn't solve the problem. Her magic was still wild, still untrustworthy, and that stung more than she cared to admit.
Before Maggie could say anything, the young witch up ahead jerked violently, as though struck by some unseen force. The words between her and the silver-haired girl were lost to the chaos, muffled by the swirling movement of the portal. But Maggie saw it—fear. Real, bone-deep terror in the witch's eyes as she recoiled from something only she was privy to.
Then, with a final, desperate look over her shoulder, the witch turned and bolted into the portal—retreating into the melting mess of shadows, her figure dissolving like smoke on the wind. The portal snapping shut behind her with a soft, eerie hiss, like a wound sealing itself.
But just as the dust finally seemed to settle, something shifted. Maggie's chest tightened, her instincts flaring again, as though the atmosphere itself had changed. The danger wasn't over. Not yet.
The wind shifted, sharp and sudden, curling cold fingers down her spine. Overhead, the shadow of the broken clock tower stretched unnaturally long beneath the noonday sun, bending at odd, impossible angles.
And then—a shimmer split the air high above the square, the space between moments unraveling. Slowly, deliberately, the rift began to widen, like silk tearing down the middle. This portal wasn't like the first—small, hurried, a witch's quick escape. No, this one unfurled with dreadful performance, widening inch by inch until it loomed across the sky like an enormous eye peeling open.
The edges of the portal quivered, slick and fluid, the darkness within churning like ink in water. Light bent around it, bending unnaturally, as if the portal was swallowing the midday sunlight. Nearby shadows danced erratically across the ground, twisting in every direction, as if the eye above was casting them at random.
And then, from the depths of that gaping void, something began to move.
The shape slithered free, uncoiling inch by inch like some forgotten nightmare. The darkness peeling back to reveal sinew, muscle, fur, scales—a monstrous patchwork stitched together by a madman's logic.
A Nue.
A species of chimera, a beast made of nightmares and fury. The head was of a snarling monkey, lips peeled back to reveal jagged teeth, eyes wide and wild with a savage, almost human madness. Its body rippled with muscle beneath coarse, bristling fur—badger-like and low-slung, built for brute strength. Coiled beneath it were the powerful legs of a tiger, each step rolling with predatory grace, lethal and precise. And trailing behind—its tail, long and sinuous—a serpent, its mouth open in a perpetual hiss, fangs bared and twitching for a strike.
The Nue roared, the sound tore through the square like a cannon blast—pure, unfiltered rage made flesh and sound. The ground shuddering beneath its weight, the cracks in the pavement widening with every lumbering step. A shockwave of power rippled outward, blasting away any lingering dust, as if the creature's arrival itself demanded to be seen.
The air felt electric, charged with energy, and Maggie could feel the hair on her arm frizz in response to the volatile atmosphere.
Great.
Lightning magic.
Maggie thought bitterly, sarcasm bubbling beneath the knot of dread in her chest. As if this day couldn't get worse.
But this wasn't the time for jokes.
The Nue's head swiveled sharply, eyes locking not on her—but on the crowd.
Its gaze sharpened, hungry and hollow, drawn to the panicked herd of people scattering like loose paper in the wind. It moved with terrifying, deliberate grace, muscles coiling and releasing in rhythm ready to carve a path straight towards them.
Ashya huffed, cracking her knuckles as she eyed the Nue like it was more of an inconvenience than a monstrous, lightning-wielding chimera. "Of course it had to be a Nue. Why can't it ever be something simple? Like a rogue imp or a stupid troll?" She shot Maggie a look. "Your arm better not be slowing you down."
Maggie laughed, rolling her shoulder like the wound didn't sting. "It's barely a scratch. You're worrying over nothing."
Ashya raised a skeptical brow but thankfully didn't argue. Instead, she stretched, tilting her head until her neck popped. "Alright, fine. Let's take this thing down before it turns anyone into charcoal."
Sirene's arms were already crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on the creature. "Don't get too cocky," she warned. "It doesn't just have brute strength—it's fast, and it's got control over lightning. You saw what it did to the ground just stepping out of that portal."
Sirene then eyed Ashya with a smirk, tilting her head just enough to be annoying. "Try not to get zapped in the first five seconds, Ashya. I'd hateto see you go down like an overcooked sparkler."
Ashya snorted, rolling her wrists like she was loosening up for a match. "Oh, don't worry about me. Worry about yourself—unless you want to end up like a fried fish." She grinned. "All that water magic? One wrong move and you're seafood tempura."
Maggie exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple in frustration. "Seriously? You two are arguing now?" She gestured toward the Nue, its predator-sharp gaze now fixed on them. "Maybe save the insults for after we've taken down this walking thunderstorm?"
Ashya cracked her knuckles, flames dancing between her fingers. "Fine, fine. Let's make this quick."
Maggie let out a slow breath, shaking off the last shreds of doubt from earlier. "Exactly. We'll stop it here, before anyone gets hurt." She met their eyes, matching the fire burning in her own. "Let's go."
Then, she lifted her hand, her power flaring to life again at her fingertips as she called out—
"Transform."