The next morning, Elena Virelle woke to the chirping of birds and the faint scent of ink clinging to her fingertips.
She'd fallen asleep in the library. Again.
She blinked up at the sun-dappled ceiling, half-buried beneath a wool blanket that definitely hadn't been there when she'd nodded off. One of the librarians must've taken pity on her sometime in the night. Probably Miss Lysa, the older assistant who had a soft spot for students and a sharp distaste for orderly schedules.
With a groan, Elena sat up and stretched, her back protesting the hours spent hunched over texts about local history, economic guilds, and—most curiously—the ruling lineage of the Asterian Empire.
Not that she'd found anything especially groundbreaking… until she'd flipped to the margin of one particular page, and found a familiar symbol hastily scrawled in ink.
The same mark from the note in her drawer: a star with a broken wing.
She fumbled for her satchel and dug it out. The paper was still there, tucked between her sketchbook and yesterday's dried bread roll.
Yes. The symbols matched.
And now she had a new question to lose sleep over: who else knew that symbol, and why was it in a library book about regional mining guilds?
---
"Mining?" Kaylen repeated later that day over a bowl of vegetable stew. "You're telling me you found your weird apocalyptic sigil in a book about rocks?"
"They're not just rocks," Elena muttered. "They're economically vital resources."
"You need more sleep," Kaylen said around a mouthful of carrot. "And possibly less stew. Your brain is leaking into your metaphors."
Elena shot her a look but didn't argue. Her brain was leaking. With facts. About ore distribution, underground trade routes, and how much the Mining Guild paid for a cart of raw cerium—roughly 3 silver crowns per crate, give or take the season and the purity.
That was decent money, considering a stablehand earned about 20 copper a day. Not enough to make someone rich, but definitely enough to start asking questions about monopolies and missing shipments.
And secret symbols in the margins of books.
She needed more information.
---
It was late afternoon when Elena ducked into the east wing of the library, clutching a new list of references. This wing had fewer visitors—mainly scholars and mages—and was lined with older tomes on statecraft, magical theory, and what looked like a very dusty shelf labeled Unsanctioned Arcane Studies: Handle With Caution.
She paused, glancing at the spines. The volumes looked untouched. Tempting. But she wasn't here to flirt with cursed books today.
Instead, she followed the trail left by that symbol.
She started comparing the handwriting in the margins. It was careful, precise—but rushed. Like someone was recording something important before they could forget. The same mark appeared in three more books, all in the economic history section. All in marginalia.
A pattern was forming.
Elena copied the symbols into her notebook, then sat back and studied them. They weren't just random. Some of the annotations referenced missing records. One even had a note scribbled: "Check Saltford ledgers. 648–652 AE. Something's wrong with the production logs."
That was over 30 years ago.
"Either someone's got way too much time," Elena murmured, "or something big was buried."
Literally, in a mining ledger.
She left the east wing with her mind buzzing. She'd need permission to access the regional records room, which was only open to researchers—or people with guild sponsorship. Maybe Liora could help. Or Lady Merisse, if she could be convinced it was intellectually relevant.
Convincing Lady Merisse to care about anything besides magical etiquette was a long shot, but Elena was learning that connections mattered more than coin in this city. And if she couldn't buy her way in, she could charm her way in.
---
Back in her room that night, she reviewed her notes by candlelight. The light flickered across the old note again. Now, she was sure of it—this symbol wasn't just decorative. It had been used deliberately, over decades.
She turned the paper over again, looking for new clues. But this time, something else caught her eye—a faint watermark near the edge, only visible in candlelight.
It was an emblem: a stylized tower, half-submerged in water.
She didn't recognize it.
Yet.
---
Math is Hard, Magic is Harder
Elena Virelle was starting to suspect that being literate in this world was actually a curse.
The book in front of her was supposed to be an introductory text—Practical Foundations of Arcane Manipulation: Beginner Tier. It had a nice leather cover, and neat golden threading on the spine. It was also lying to her face. There was nothing "practical" or "beginner" about a sentence like:
"Through oscillating etheric resonance, one may generate a persistent mana loop stabilized via controlled micro-leylines."
She stared at it for a solid minute, hoping it would translate itself into something normal. It did not.
Rynn, the old apothecary's apprentice who sometimes hovered nearby, peeked over her shoulder.
"That one took me a month," he said cheerfully. "I still don't get the loop thing."
Elena sighed and carefully set the book aside before it destroyed the last few functioning brain cells she had left.
---
Mira, of course, found all of this very amusing.
"You're trying to learn arcanodynamics without knowing basic ley conduction theory," the tailor said as she served tea with a smirk. "It's like trying to knit a sweater with a sword."
"I can knit," Elena replied defensively. "And swords have their uses."
"Mm-hmm. And how much mana do you have in your current reserve?"
Elena blinked. "There's a reserve?"
The smirk widened. Mira handed her a thin crystal sliver—glowing faintly blue. "Put a drop of your blood on this. It'll give you a rough estimate."
It pricked her finger as soon as she touched it. The crystal flared weakly, almost apologetically.
Rynn coughed into his sleeve. Mira just sipped her tea.
"That's... not ideal," she said gently. "Beginner mages usually have 5–10 units. You're hovering around two."
Elena slumped.
"But," Mira added, raising a finger, "your affinity rating is high. The way your mana is structured suggests quality over quantity. Precision over brute force."
"So I'm the magical version of a low-budget assassin?"
"Exactly. Now, about that book. You're going to need a tutor."
---
Elena didn't have money for a tutor. Her current job cleaning the back room of the herbalist's shop earned her 3 copper crowns per hour, and she worked four hours a day—barely enough to afford food, let alone formal instruction. A simple vegetable stew cost 5 copper per bowl. One loaf of coarse barley bread: 3 copper. Even secondhand clothes could go for 20 copper a piece.
Liora, who hadn't dropped by in two days, had once joked about paying for lessons in kisses. Elena, at the time, nearly dropped a broom.
But she wasn't about to start bartering affection. Even if the idea made her heart beat weirdly.
Instead, she returned to the back of the shop, determined to find a workaround.
---
Rynn, bless his easily distracted soul, had ideas. "There's this old hedge wizard outside the city who owes my uncle a favor. He's grumpy and smells like vinegar, but he teaches for cheap. Sometimes takes payment in wild mushrooms."
"What kind of mushrooms?"
"The not-poisonous kind, usually."
Elena decided it was worth investigating.
---
Three days later, she stood in front of a crooked cottage that smelled strongly of wet dirt and old socks. The hedge wizard, Master Telfen, was as advertised: grumpy, wrinkled, and capable of identifying seventeen types of fungi by scent alone.
"I'll teach you," he grumbled, scratching his beard. "But you gather my herbs and cook my meals. Also, don't talk in the morning. My dreams get tangled."
Elena agreed.
---
Her lessons began at dawn.
Telfen started with the basics. Mana threads. Flow control. Leyline awareness. Most of it sounded like nonsense until he showed her how to light a candle using a mana filament instead of a match.
She cried a little the first time she did it. Just a flicker, just for half a second—but it was real. Her own magic. It felt like warmth curling under her skin.
"Not bad," Telfen muttered, almost approvingly.
Then he handed her a textbook that made her miss the apothecary's handbook.
"Ley harmonics are best observed in a still mind. Eat only root vegetables during study weeks."
Why?
No one knew. It was tradition.
Elena wrote it down anyway.
---
Weeks passed. Her mana reserve crept up to three units. She learned how to identify mana-rich plants, how to use a focusing stone, and how to deflect a minor spell if someone accidentally set your boots on fire. (Thanks, Rynn.)
Back in town, she still worked her cleaning job—plus a second gig translating trade ledgers for a spice merchant with poor handwriting. That paid 7 copper per ledger, and she could finish two a night.
She was tired all the time. Her back hurt. Her fingers were stained with ink and lavender oil. But when she lit a candle now, it stayed lit. When she held a mana thread between her fingers, she could feel the subtle hum of the world's pulse.
It was slow, steady progress. But it was hers.
And even if she still didn't understand half of what the magic book was saying, at least she could pronounce "oscillating etheric resonance" without choking.
---
The mysterious note from weeks ago remained hidden under a floorboard in her room. She hadn't looked at it since—too busy with work and study. But sometimes, when her magic flickered in her fingertips, she thought about the sigil drawn in black ink.
Something told her she'd be seeing it again soon.
---
I Thought Magic Was Supposed to Be Flashier
The morning sun was doing its best impression of a lazy tavern drunk, barely peeking over the rooftops of Lyssan's west district. Elena yawned, tightening the scarf around her neck as she trotted down the sloped street with Liora beside her, their boots kicking up specks of dew from the stone path.
"I thought magic would be more… dramatic," Elena muttered, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
"You thought it'd come with sparkles and wind blowing your hair like some painting?" Liora asked with a sideways smirk.
"Well, yes," Elena admitted. "Instead, yesterday I spent four hours meditating with an empty bowl and then got scolded for thinking about potatoes."
"Potatoes are sacred," Liora said solemnly. "But so is mana. You've just met Priestess Idrienne. She teaches like a broom with legs."
Elena huffed. "She kept poking me with the handle of her staff every time I 'lost spiritual alignment'—which is apparently just a fancy way of saying 'you're thinking about food again.'"
"Honestly? That's better than her lecture on 'mana harmonics' I had last year," Liora said. "She compared it to beekeeping. I still don't know what the bees were supposed to represent."
Elena shook her head, grinning, but her amusement faded as they approached the gates of the Guildhall. It was her third morning of magic orientation, but today wasn't meditation. Today was "practical application," according to the notice pinned on the dormitory's wall.
And practical application meant spellwork.
Inside the Guildhall's eastern annex, a dozen wooden targets lined the wall like stoic soldiers, each scarred from years of magic flung their way. Elena spotted several familiar faces from her orientation group, all seated in rows before a wide, rune-etched platform. Standing atop it, arms crossed and wearing the expression of a disappointed headmaster, was Master Thanen—the Guild's elemental specialist.
"Form a line," he barked. "If you blow up your own face, we do not offer refunds."
Elena winced and stepped into place, heart beating a little faster.
"Remember," Liora whispered behind her, "focus on the core sensation. Don't force it. Just guide the mana like a thread through a needle."
That was easier said than done.
The first person in line—a boy with jittery hands and too many rings—attempted a fire spark. What came out was more of a wheeze of smoke.
Thanen groaned.
By the time it was Elena's turn, she'd memorized the pattern she was supposed to form in her mind: a small swirl of energy drawn from her chest, through the arms, and out through the palm. Basic energy projection. Harmless if it fizzled, messy if it didn't.
She stepped up, lifted her hand toward the wooden target, and breathed.
Mana, like Priestess Idrienne had described, was not a river. It was a lake. You didn't chase it—you invited it.
Elena imagined the mana as a shimmer behind her sternum. She drew on it, slow and steady, letting it rise like mist into her arm and down to her fingertips.
A soft hum built under her skin. Not pain, not heat. Just vibration.
Then—
Pop!
A burst of blue light zipped out from her hand and smacked the center of the wooden dummy with a puff of harmless force.
It wasn't impressive. It wasn't flashy.
But it worked.
Thanen raised an eyebrow. "Not terrible. Next."
Elena stepped back, resisting the urge to pump her fist. Liora gave her a little nod and smile. The rest of the session passed in a blur of sparks, sighs, and one unfortunate case of spontaneous beard ignition (thankfully not hers). By the end, her palm tingled and her mana reserves—small as they were—felt empty.
---
Later that day, after lunch at the guild's mess (gruel and overcooked beans—two copper for the privilege), Elena sat with a ledger open before her. She wasn't entirely sure why bookkeeping was part of her training, but Liora had insisted.
"If you want to survive in this world," Liora had said, passing her the ledger, "you need to know three things: how to cast a basic ward, how to spot a scam, and how to count your coins."
So Elena had started learning basic guild economics.
A simple healing spell might earn a junior mage five silver crowns per job. Alchemical salves sold for 2 to 3 silver each, depending on purity. But apprentices like her? They were capped at one job a week until proven competent, meaning Elena's earning potential was somewhere around twenty silver crowns per month—if she was lucky.
Rent at the dormitory was ten silver crowns monthly, food another ten to fifteen, not counting toiletries, paper, ink, or clothes.
"Basically," Elena muttered, calculating the columns, "I'll be bankrupt unless I live on bean gruel forever."
"No," Liora said, sipping her tea across the table. "You'll be bankrupt if you don't learn how to barter."
"Isn't that illegal?"
Liora raised a brow. "No, it's just called 'being clever.' I traded three days of potion bottling for a month's worth of bread from the baker's daughter."
Elena paused. "Wait, the red-haired one with the freckles?"
Liora coughed into her tea. "That's irrelevant."
Elena grinned.
---
That night, long after lights dimmed in the upper dorms, Elena sat by the window, the mysterious note from before in her lap again. She had read and reread the strange, slanted handwriting more times than she could count. Its words still gave her a chill:
"Your blood is not from this world. When the stars align, the key will return to your hands."
She traced the edge of the note.
So far, no one had approached her. No key had appeared. No alignment of stars that she could tell—though she didn't know much about constellations.
She considered showing it to Liora. But a part of her held back.
There was too much she didn't understand. Too much that didn't add up.
Why had the note been slipped into her laundry pile? Why did it mention "this world" as though she came from somewhere else?
And most troubling—why did something inside her feel like it knew what the note meant, even if her mind didn't?
She folded it carefully and tucked it into the lining of her cloak.
Sooner or later, whoever sent it would come knocking.
And when they did, she wanted to be ready—with spells, books, and hopefully more than bean gruel in her stomach.
---
[End of Chapter 21]